Addams Family: Son’s New Friends (2026) is a delightfully macabre return to a franchise that has always thrived on turning social norms upside down. Instead of focusing on world-ending threats or grand spectacles, this installment smartly zooms in on something far more terrifying to the Addams clan: growing up, making friends, and letting the outside world in.
At the heart of the story is Pugsley Addams, played with awkward charm and emotional sincerity by Finn Wolfhard. No longer just the explosive-loving sidekick, Pugsley is finally given space to evolve. His desire to connect beyond the mansion walls feels authentic, and the film treats his curiosity not as betrayal of his family’s values, but as a natural step toward self-discovery.
Oscar Isaac’s Gomez remains a whirlwind of passion and theatrical affection. His boundless love for his son is both hilarious and touching, especially as he struggles to reconcile his romantic ideals with the reality of Pugsley forming bonds he cannot control. Isaac leans fully into Gomez’s operatic intensity, turning parental anxiety into grand, sword-waving devotion.
Charlize Theron’s Morticia is, as always, elegance incarnate. Her calm acceptance of chaos provides the film with its emotional anchor. Morticia understands that darkness is not something to be protected—it is something to be trusted. Theron plays her with a quiet authority that reminds us why Morticia remains one of the most iconic mothers in pop culture.
Jenna Ortega’s Wednesday continues to be a standout, weaponizing deadpan delivery and razor-sharp intelligence. Her reluctant involvement in Pugsley’s social circle leads to some of the film’s darkest humor. Wednesday doesn’t reject “normal” children out of cruelty—she studies them like an anthropologist examining a deeply unsettling species.
The new friends themselves are a clever twist. Initially framed as ordinary classmates, they slowly reveal quirks that blur the line between normal and strange. The film uses them to question who actually defines weirdness, flipping expectations until the Addams household feels like the safest place imaginable.
Visually, the film embraces gothic warmth. Shadows, candlelight, and ornate interiors contrast beautifully with bright school hallways and suburban spaces. This contrast reinforces the central theme: conformity can be more suffocating than any dungeon, and individuality often thrives in darkness.
Humor remains the film’s strongest weapon. The jokes are sharp but affectionate, never mocking difference but celebrating it. From uncomfortable dinner conversations to misunderstood school traditions, the comedy grows organically from character rather than cheap gags.
What makes Son’s New Friends resonate is its emotional honesty. Beneath the cobwebs and gallows humor lies a story about parenting, identity, and letting go. Gomez and Morticia must accept that loving your child sometimes means allowing them to walk paths you cannot follow.
The pacing is confident, giving room for both chaos and quiet moments. The film knows when to linger—on a shared glance, a subtle realization, or a perfectly timed pause before a morbid punchline. These moments elevate it beyond a simple family comedy.
By the end, Addams Family: Son’s New Friends (2026) reaffirms why the Addams endure. They do not fear change—they embrace it, sharpen it, and dress it in black. In a world obsessed with fitting in, this film reminds us that the bravest thing a family can do is stay gloriously, unapologetically strange.
