Father of the Bride (2022)

Remaking a good film must be torture for a filmmaker. Expectations rise instantly because there is a direct comparison invited by the process and every decision gets filtered through that lens. A director holding onto an element is unoriginal; a director injecting something new risks alienation. It’s an impossible tightrope: a remake comes complete with a built-in audience…with justifiable cause to be prickly. 

Watching the new take on Father of the Bride last night pressed me into the role of that pesky second-guesser that must be the bane of every filmmaker’s existence. 1991’s Father of the Bride (itself a remake) starring Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, and Martin Short is a beloved film for me, a gentle comedy that introduced me to Martin’s kinetic humor and always played well when I was lying ill on the couch. It’s a film I’ve watched dozens of times; I have asked for the “chipper chicken” and ranted about “superfluous buns” with people who don’t get the reference. I would never call it a favorite, but I think of it fondly and credit it with far too much of what I know and think about weddings. 

I was therefore a skeptical viewer in the early going of this modern update. Inspecting every line and expression delivered by Andy Garcia alongside Martin’s iconic performance, 2022’s was found wanting for long stretches. Martin’s was a heartfelt comedy first; Garcia’s felt like it was channeling only the driest portions of its three decades’ elder.

But Father of the Bride seemed ripe for a truly modern reinvention. When I first heard a new adaptation was en route, I assumed present day conflicts might sneak in. There’s great potential for a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner-style conflict where a biracial couple must convince two entrenched families to come together and close a cultural divide. Similarly this could have fit into a coming out narrative of sorts where the successful oldest child returns home with their partner whose family knew their sexuality, begging questions of trust and inviting a fresh angle for a movie originally written in the 50s. True though it is that both those angles have been done before (and well) in other films, the specific focus on tradition and weddings offered great potential. This was not to be: just as in Martin’s, Garcia’s features two very affluent families. There’s stronger conflict here—Garcia’s Billy started from nothing after leaving Cuba, while his daughter’s new father-in-law built up a brewery he inherited in Mexico—but I couldn’t help but feel like an opportunity had been missed. 

Eventually I got past my preconceptions though, right as the film moved into its stronger second half. I warmed to the film in front of me and watched it tap into many of the same emotions the original does. The sentimentality is far more understated here than in 1991 but still plays and the new arcs it offers give the film some added urgency. There is plenty here that doesn’t land but ultimately I found something sweet and endearing here. 

For those of you with Father of the Bride absent in the fabric of your childhood, a quick summary. Billy (Garcia) and his wife Ingrid (Gloria Estefan) welcome their daughter Sofia (Adria Arjona) home from a few years away at law school in New York. She brings surprising news: she is engaged to Adán (Diego Boneta) and they want to get married soon before moving to Mexico to work at a non-profit. This upsets Billy; Sofi is the apple of his eye, the daughter whose drive mimics his own. He wants her close by and present in his life, particularly because Billy and Ingrid were planning to announce a divorce. He also wants her making money and accruing power. The wedding puts all those plans on pause, though, and soon a hectic and ever more expensive ceremony has conflict brewing and Billy on the edge of breaking. 

The main attraction here is the wedding—just look at the movie’s title—but that focus allows every other issue in Billy’s life to reach a head. Weddings are optimistic events that unify two people, but the impending divorce casts a cynical light on the proceedings. Billy demands traditions from the event as though they offer some security, but, pretending with Ingrid (whom he clearly still loves) all along shakes his foundation. Other conflicts percolate as well. Younger daughter Cora (Isabela Merced, who played the cinematic Dora the Explorer) is doubted by Billy but gets a chance to shine making dresses. Adán is not the alpha-male Billy expects him to be, leading to additional bristling skepticism. Billy’s pride results in an expensive pissing match with Adán’s wealthy father Hernan (Pedro Damián) over the venue and guest list. Every one of these threads revolves around Billy, but these arcs—each one absent from the 1991 film—add dimensions that elevate the proceedings. Many of these threads get forgotten for huge swaths of the story—Garcia’s Billy is the Sun here; everyone else just flies by—but, in a movie about a wedding, I liked that there were greater stakes in place than just that wedding.

With every scene centered on him, Garcia has a lot on his plate and, unfortunately, I found the performance uneven. Even when playing a villain in the Ocean’s films, I find Garcia immensely likable, but, while his Billy is far from one-note, within individual scenes, he was: the wounded grouch, the reflective sentimentalist, and the warm self-deprecating father all appear but never within the same section. This only heightens the lunging leaps of growth Billy undergoes. They work but for their lurching suddenness. 

Estefan is good here—her Ingrid is defeated but looking ahead—although this mother role is far thinner than Keaton’s in 1991, Merced shines in almost every one of her scenes, and I was impressed with Boneta playing such a mellow, wholesome guy after previously knowing him only from Rock of Ages. Agreeable and kind but also with bursts of frustration, Adán feels as fully-realized as any character here. The Miami setting, although green-screened in at one point, has a few moments of vibrancy as well. I’d be remiss to not toss in some praise for Ruben Rabasa as Tio Walter who steals every scene he’s in and almost single-handedly delivers comedic goods.

At the same time, two performances stood out as misfires. The first is Chloe Fineman playing wedding planner Natalie, a vapid Instagram designer who butts heads with everyone while being decidedly incompetent (to be generous). I get what she was going for—Short’s filled this role as Franz in 1991, playing it with an over-the-top zeal—but Fineman is in a different movie than everyone else and grates in every scene as Natalie races through internet jargon and insults people for being out of touch. Unlike Franz whom Martin’s George comes to trust, Natalie does not become a symbol of Billy’s growth. I can appreciate that she, as the only white person present, gets the role defined by stereotypes here. But, in a movie that leans into sincerity, she sticks out in the worst way. 

The other issue is Arjona’s Sofi, not because of performance but character. Every character here gets something to do but Sofi, at the center of all this drama, gets somewhat left in the dust. We see flecks of genuine warmth with her sister and some frustrated fire towards Billy but mostly she feels like the object inspiring action rather than a part of it. This isn’t to say that Sofi doesn’t have dimensions; she is an intelligent lawyer capable of grand things and someone deeply connected to her immigrant family’s story…but we are told this rather than shown it. Surely the cost of fleshing out such a large cast, it’s nonetheless odd that a major player gets so much less to do. This isn’t to say that Kimberly Williams’ Annie in 1991 was as thoroughly-crafted as Martin’s George, but we saw and heard more from Annie throughout the film. Here, we got Sofi disposing of a domino game like a boss in the first fifteen minutes…and then lots of characters talking about how great she is. Arjona is great; they just needed to cede more stage to her character as the film progressed. 

On the whole, Father of the Bride treads such familiar ground that I know I’m failing to fully evaluate it on its own merits. Instead of enjoying the awesome cut-free camera work during wedding set-up, I was shaking my head over the grocery store scene omitting a joke about hotdog buns. I’m too close to Martin’s to be fully objective; I pressed play in HBO Max knowing that, at best, this would feel like an excellent xerox. 

And it does…but it doesn’t settle for being one-to-one with its predecessors. It shows special warmth for its secondary characters, it grafts original arcs onto the story to lend it extra propulsion, and it explores the universal story of a father needing to grow up when his little girl leaves within a new cultural heritage. If I’m honest, 1991’s Father of the Bride is a heartfelt story told by a talented cast reacting to Martin’s antics; 2022’s brings a heartfelt story told by a talented cast reacting to the drama inherent to planning a wedding and adjusting to all the changes it foretells. That’s a subtle difference but I liked it. There’s no replacing the 1991 version for me—watching Only Murders in the Building is basically channeling my love for it—but this one has a live performance of “Caraluna” by Bacilos, offers a great cast too, and ultimately hits every beat such a movie should. 

Is Garcia’s iteration perfect? Nope. But neither is Martin’s.