My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3

This second sequel to the 2002 monster hit My Big Fat Greek Wedding – believe it or not, still the highest-grossing rom-com ever – mines bits from the original film like a fire-sale excavation of once-precious artifacts that have fossilized. The Hellenic origins of the entire English language, the wonders of Windex, the food-porn parade of Greek cuisine, the guaranteed exclamation of “Opa!” – it’s all there, ad nauseam. But truth be asked: Was this stuff really that funny (not always) or endearing (maybe, sometimes) the first time around? In its laziest moments, MBFGW3, like the 2016 sequel preceding it, dutifully plays these greatest hits on repeat to reassure its loyal core audience it hasn’t abandoned the memory of the first film, even at the risk of demonstrating its creative bankruptcy. If keeping faithful content is the objective here, why not just remake the 2002 movie over and over again, rather than pretending to attempt something new?

The script penned by cast-headliner and director Nia Vardalos is insubstantial, politely speaking. In the rushed exposition of the opening scenes, you’re informed that stalwart daughter Toula (Vardalos) promised Portokalos family patriarch Gus (played by the late Michael Constantine in the first two MBFGW incarnations) before his death that she would visit his birthplace in remote Greece for a reunion of the childhood friends he left behind decades before. (Much of the film was shot on the inviting island of Corfu.) Predictably enough, most of the immediate family members join her on this transcontinental adventure to reconnect with their heritage, per Gus’ last wish. Portokalos inanity and insanity ensues, complete with smuggled urns, majestic olive trees, revealed half-brothers, crowing roosters, and a scowling local matriarch (Andreopoulou, stealing the movie) who occasionally appears out of nowhere to terrorize the tourists.

Except for an interminably chaotic scene on the flight to Greece, MBFGW3 isn’t as rowdy as its predecessors, which is no small blessing. It makes things more palatable, even Aunt Voula’s incessant narcissism. (The always dependable Andrea Martin is now officially above reproach.) But although little here feels satisfactorily fleshed out, the movie finds its happy place when the titular nuptials finally take place in the village where Gus grew up, and something (dare I say this?) close to magical happens. An irresistible joy emanates onscreen as the movie’s family – an expanded definition of the word, beyond blood kin – celebrates the importance of being together. It might seem a little sappy, but you can’t deny its draw. And maybe, for a time, you may ponder whether the movie simply needs a squirt of Windex or two to set everything right.