Matilda 2: The Wormwood Revenge walks a delicate line between nostalgia and evolution, and surprisingly, it does so with confidence and heart. Revisiting a beloved character decades later is always risky, but this sequel understands that Matilda’s magic was never just telekinesis—it was intelligence, empathy, and moral clarity. Those qualities age beautifully.
Mara Wilson’s return as an adult Matilda feels quietly triumphant. Now a university professor, Matilda carries herself with calm authority and sharp wit, embodying the kind of adulthood children once imagined for her. Wilson plays her with restraint, allowing the character’s intelligence to speak louder than spectacle. This is a Matilda who doesn’t need to prove herself—until the past forces her hand.
The emotional core of the film lies in Matilda’s relationship with Miss Honey, once again portrayed with warmth and grace by Embeth Davidtz. Their shared life feels earned, gentle, and deeply human. Miss Honey remains Matilda’s moral anchor, reminding the film—and the audience—that kindness is still the most powerful force in the room.
Then chaos arrives in the form of Harry and Zinnia Wormwood. Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman slip back into their roles effortlessly, delivering cartoonish selfishness with impeccable comedic timing. The Wormwoods haven’t learned a thing, and that’s precisely the point. They are living reminders of the world Matilda escaped—and the temptations she continues to resist.
What elevates the sequel beyond simple family comedy is its understanding of adult conflict. The Wormwoods don’t just want money; they want relevance. Their desire to exploit Matilda’s powers becomes a metaphor for parents who see their children as extensions of their own failures, rather than individuals with autonomy.
The introduction of a Trunchbull legacy villain smartly updates the stakes. Rather than repeating physical cruelty, this antagonist represents systemic oppression—turning schools into joyless institutions that crush curiosity and creativity. It’s a timely threat, and one that aligns perfectly with Matilda’s lifelong belief in education as liberation.
Matilda’s powers are used sparingly but meaningfully. The film resists turning her into a superhero, instead framing her abilities as tools—activated only when injustice demands it. When objects move, it feels earned, symbolic, and deeply satisfying rather than flashy.
Visually, the film retains a whimsical storybook tone while embracing maturity. The color palette is warmer, the settings more grounded, and the magic more subtle. This aesthetic choice reinforces the idea that wonder doesn’t disappear with age—it simply changes shape.
The supporting cast of gifted children injects fresh energy into the narrative, echoing the spirit of the original without copying it. These kids don’t replace Matilda; they reflect her legacy. She is no longer the miracle child—she is the mentor who ensures miracles continue.
Tonally, The Wormwood Revenge balances humor and heart with surprising finesse. The jokes land for longtime fans, but the emotional beats resonate with anyone who grew up feeling misunderstood or underestimated. The film trusts its audience to have grown up too.
By the final act, Matilda 2 makes its message clear without ever becoming preachy: intelligence is resistance, kindness is power, and standing up for what’s right never goes out of style. This isn’t just a sequel—it’s a continuation of a philosophy.
Matilda 2: The Wormwood Revenge proves that the books may be closed, but the story was never finished. Magic doesn’t fade with time—it waits for the moment you choose to use it again.
