Bad Moms 3: The Empty Nest arrives with a familiar promise: louder laughs, fewer rules, and absolutely zero shame. But beneath the raunchy humor and tequila-soaked escapades, this third installment unexpectedly explores a deeply relatable fear—what happens when being a mom is no longer your primary identity?
The film opens on a quiet shock: the kids are gone. College dorms are filled, apartments rented, and suddenly the houses that once echoed with chaos feel unsettlingly still. For Amy, Kiki, and Carla, this silence is more terrifying than any PTA meeting they ever survived.
Mila Kunis once again grounds the film as Amy, whose brand of anxious relatability evolves into something more introspective here. Her quest for self-discovery—complete with yoga mats, wellness buzzwords, and wine-fueled honesty—feels both absurd and painfully real. Amy isn’t just lost; she’s grieving a version of herself that defined her for decades.
Kristen Bell’s Kiki is the emotional heartache disguised as comedy. Her compulsive FaceTiming, boundary-crossing concern, and inability to let go deliver some of the film’s funniest moments—but also its most uncomfortable truths. Kiki represents the parents who love so hard they forget to loosen their grip.
Kathryn Hahn, unsurprisingly, steals every scene as Carla. With motherhood no longer tying her down, Carla explodes into pure, unapologetic freedom. Her tequila-first, consequences-later philosophy isn’t just comic relief—it’s rebellion. Carla refuses to mourn the empty nest; she dances on its ruins.
The Cabo wellness retreat is where the film fully unleashes its madness. What begins as a serene promise of healing quickly devolves into yoga disasters, erotic misunderstandings, salsa showdowns, and increasingly dangerous detours. The setting becomes a metaphor: even when women try to “fix” themselves, chaos has other plans.
The raunchy humor is unapologetic and relentless. Bad Moms 3 doesn’t shy away from crude jokes, sexual misfires, or morally questionable decisions. But unlike earlier installments, the shock value here feels more purposeful—less about rebellion against parenting, more about reclaiming agency.
Jay Hernandez adds a smooth, charming counterbalance, grounding the chaos with a laid-back energy that keeps the story from spiraling too far into cartoon territory. His presence reinforces the idea that this chapter isn’t about replacing family—but expanding what fulfillment can look like.
What makes The Empty Nest surprisingly effective is its emotional honesty. Between the hangovers and punchlines are moments of vulnerability—confessions about loneliness, fear of aging, and the dread of becoming irrelevant. These scenes land because they’re earned, not forced.
Visually, the film leans into bright colors, tropical excess, and exaggerated physical comedy, but its emotional palette is more nuanced. The editing allows jokes to breathe while giving serious moments space to linger, a balance the franchise hasn’t always achieved.
In the end, Bad Moms 3: The Empty Nest isn’t about losing children—it’s about finding women again. It celebrates friendship over obligation, joy over guilt, and reinvention over resignation. The nest may be empty, but these moms prove that life doesn’t get smaller after motherhood—it just gets louder, messier, and a hell of a lot more fun.
