After more than two decades, the Owens sisters return — older, wiser, and still carrying that irresistible blend of magic and melancholy that made Practical Magic a modern classic. Practical Magic 2 (2025) isn’t just a sequel; it’s a rebirth — a hauntingly beautiful continuation of a story that was never truly finished. With Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman reprising their beloved roles, joined by Joey King and Maisie Williams as the next generation of Owens witches, the film becomes a sweeping, generational saga about love, loss, and the courage to embrace who you are.
From its very first scene, the film feels like a homecoming. Sally (Bullock) now lives a quiet life near the coast, her magic buried deep beneath layers of routine and restraint. Gillian (Kidman), ever the free spirit, wanders from place to place, chasing sunsets and avoiding the ghosts of her past. The two haven’t spoken in years — until one evening, both women witness the same impossible vision: a raven carrying a crimson thread, a harbinger of the Owens curse awakening once more. It’s a chilling omen, rendered in painterly beauty by director Sarah Polley, whose delicate touch turns every frame into a whisper of memory.
When Sally’s daughter Ivy (Joey King) begins having vivid dreams of the old Owens home — the greenhouse glowing, the spellbook whispering her name — she and her cousin Rowan (Maisie Williams) set out to uncover the truth their mothers have tried so hard to hide. Their journey to the seaside house becomes the film’s heart: two young women discovering not just magic, but the legacy of pain and love woven through their bloodline. King and Williams bring youthful curiosity and defiance, embodying the spirit of a new generation that no longer fears what makes them different.
Bullock’s performance is a masterclass in quiet emotion. Her Sally is a woman who’s spent years trying to live without magic — and without loss — but beneath her calm exterior lies the ache of someone who’s forgotten how to hope. Her scenes with King are especially poignant, capturing the fragile bond between a mother desperate to protect and a daughter determined to live freely. Kidman’s Gillian, meanwhile, radiates untamed energy. Time has softened her recklessness but not her fire, and watching her reunite with Sally — their laughter laced with old wounds — is pure cinematic alchemy.
The film’s magic sequences are breathtaking, fusing modern visual effects with the tactile charm of the original. Spellcraft feels elemental again — fire that moves like breath, wind that hums with emotion. The Owens house itself is reborn as a living entity, its walls murmuring secrets, its gardens blooming in impossible colors. Composer Rachel Portman returns with an ethereal score that flows like a heartbeat through the story, blending melancholy piano with distant whispers of enchantment.
But Practical Magic 2 is not merely about witchcraft — it’s about inheritance. The script, co-written by Polley and Alice Hoffman (author of the original novel), deftly explores how trauma and love echo through generations. The curse that once doomed the Owens women — that any man they love will die — now manifests not as doom, but as fear: the fear of loving too deeply, of being known. The film’s emotional core lies in watching these women confront that fear and finally break the cycle not with spells, but with forgiveness.
The supporting cast adds richness without overshadowing the family at the story’s center. A ghostly presence voiced by Tilda Swinton haunts the Owens home — a forgotten ancestor seeking closure — while a kind-hearted neighbor (played by Hugh Dancy) becomes an unlikely ally. Every side character feels like part of a larger, breathing world where the mundane and the magical coexist seamlessly.
Visually, the movie is pure enchantment. The cinematography drapes every scene in candlelight and coastal mist, creating an atmosphere both intimate and mythic. Whether it’s the soft shimmer of moonlight on a potion bottle or the flicker of love reflected in a teacup, every detail feels touched by something divine. It’s a world that invites you to believe again — not just in magic, but in healing.
By the time the Owens women stand together beneath a blood-red sky — mother, daughter, sister, niece — casting one final spell to silence the vengeful spirit once and for all, the moment feels like destiny fulfilled. Their chant, echoing across generations, becomes both a lullaby and a declaration: We are not cursed. We are chosen. When dawn breaks over the sea, it’s not just the spirit that’s freed — it’s every Owens woman, past and present.
The ending is as tender as it is triumphant. Sally and Gillian, sitting on the porch of the old house, share a quiet cup of tea as their daughters laugh in the garden below. “You know,” Gillian says softly, “maybe magic was never the curse.” Sally smiles, eyes glimmering. “Maybe it was the fear of it.” It’s a line that encapsulates the film’s soul — that love, in all its forms, is the most practical magic of all.
