The Second Best Exotic Hotel

One of the enjoyable bonuses of living where I do in Philadelphia is I can often walk to my film screenings. Although tonight happened to be a particularly fearsome mix of sleet, rain and ice sheen, it was still infinitely preferable to trudge through the muck than to drive and fight for a parking space in the ever popular Old City district of the city.

On this night, I happened to stop by a nearby Chinese place for a quick pre-screening dinner, and was seated directly in front of a pair of elderly women happily chatting about, among other things, the very Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel screening I was about to attend. Affecting something of an imperious air ("You may bring me a spring roll" was more or less the sentence construction one of the women used to order her entire dinner), they were nevertheless extolling the virtues of the first film, released way back in 2011. About this sequel, however, they were not so sure: "They just better not ruin it," one woman vowed, and the other readily agreed. "It would be just like them," she said.

And there is the most problematic element to creating a sequel to a small, art-house hit like the first Marigold Hotel: You need a new story to justify the new film, but it best not stray too far from the original's winning formula. You can't be completely derivative (or what's the point, eh, The Hangover 2?) but you can't break any real new ground for fear of alienating the original audience.

Not to worry, in this case. Director John Madden, working again with screenwriter Ol Parker, has fashioned a film whose agonizing plot machinations are merely the faintest premise in order to leave us with as many characters making important romantic decisions and smiling broadly as humanly possible by the end. A sort of unholy mixture of aging British thespian royalty (this film returns Maggie Smith, Judi Dench and Bill Nighy to the cast) and Bollywood dancing tomfoolery, this go-round turns fetid and curdles long before the excruciating big wedding scene closes the affair.

Wildly enthusiastic Sonny (Dev Patel) and dour, sensible Mrs. Donnelly (Smith) are planning the expansion of their first, highly successful hotel for aging Brits, but need the financial backing of a huge American hotel conglomerate in order to procure the next crumbling hotel in India that Sonny has his eye on to rehab.

The company, led by the debonair Ty Burley (David Strathairn), is intrigued but insists on sending a secret inspector in order to check out the premises beforehand, an idea that sends Sonny into a tizzy trying to determine which of his new guests (including a would-be writer played by a white-haired Richard Gere and a younger woman played by Tamsin Greig) might be the person to impress, all on the eve of his wedding to the beautiful Sunaina (Tina Desai).

Meanwhile, all others in the bloody place have romantic situations of their own to unfurl. Evelyn (Dench) gets a job offer, and continues to play cat-and-mouse with Douglas (Nighy). Madge (Celia Imrie) has two rich Indian suitors to choose between for her next husband. Norman (Ronald Pickup) fears he may have inadvertently put a hit out on his girlfriend (Diana Hardcastle), who may or may not be having an affair. And Mrs. Donnelly gets some medical news that may affect the whole kit and caboodle.

As the stories lurch and hurl themselves together ("cross" is far too nimble a word for what happens here), we are treated to a landslide of maddeningly predictable plot points (a matter gleefully noted by a woman sitting near me, who quite loudly pointed out to her companions what she surmised was going to happen), and all the irritating charm the actors can muster to make up for the lack of story tension. While Smith lands a few good barbs (when asked what she thinks of America upon returning from her trip, she quips, "It makes death more enticing," and later, "I went with low expectations and came back disappointed") and Patel's manic energy is nearly enough to sustain swaths of the film that otherwise would be hopelessly flat, none of it really ever justifies the film's existence.

Except, perhaps, for its ability to play as a fairy tale for aging adults, who can see the twilight of their lives less as a terrifying and likely lonely proposition, and more like an exotic Indian sitcom in which all the congested roads lead to love and self-fulfillment. As one patron put it after the movie ended and many of us were standing in the lobby, peering out into the still sleeting skies, contemplating a wet and joyless trudge home, "I just like movies that make you feel good." Well, if this film is what you were referring to, madam, then I won't bother trying to stand in your way.

MovieStyle on 03/06/2015