There is a long running joke among movie fans that every blockbuster series eventually rockets into orbit. Some franchises wait until the audience has had a few entries to settle in before pulling the space card. The street racing juggernaut about family did not aim for the stars until its ninth chapter, with Tyrese Gibson and Ludacris strapped into a souped up Pontiac Fiero on a mission that felt more like a dare than a plot point. The Bad Guys 2 does not wait nearly as long. In this follow up to the surprise hit from 2022, the crew is blasting off by the time the credits roll. That restless eagerness to top the original tells you a lot about the movie itself. It is flashy and restless and keen to outdo its predecessor at every turn. It is also, unfortunately, a sign that the creative well might be running low.
The first Bad Guys won people over with a breezy heist story, a charismatic voice cast, and a fresh look that balanced sleek angular shapes with a jazzy sense of movement. The sequel keeps that crisp visual identity intact. The images still have the pop and snap that made the first film feel like a stylish comic book come to life. The energy is there too, at least in the opening stretch. Sam Rockwell returns as Mr. Wolf, the sly and dapper ringleader who makes every line sound like a conspiratorial whisper. His colleagues are back as well. Marc Maron grumbles with familiar bite as Mr. Snake, Craig Robinson leans into easygoing bravado as Mr. Shark, Anthony Ramos brings high spirits to Mr. Piranha, and Awkwafina lends sly speed to Ms. Tarantula. When they are simply talking and bickering and planning, the film finds its rhythm. But as the story grows bigger and busier, the antics start to feel forced. The set pieces stack up like a tower of teetering plates. The higher it gets, the wobblier it becomes. By the time the entire enterprise leaves earth, the reason for the trip is so tangled that it barely matters.
There is promise at the beginning. The film opens with a flashback to a daring job in Cairo five years earlier. The gang swings into action to swipe a glimmering muscle car from a billionaire’s penthouse. Mr. Wolf is suavely in charge. Mr. Snake mocks and frets. Mr. Shark deploys his disguises with a straight face. Mr. Piranha is on impulse control duty, which is to say he is not on impulse control duty at all. And their newest recruit, the hacker Ms. Tarantula, keeps the systems dancing to her tune. It is a crisp little mini movie. The banter is quick, the chase that follows is nimble, and the getaway has that pleasurable click of cleverness that makes a heist tale sing. If the rest of the film had stayed in that register, it might have been a worthy companion to the original. Instead, it uses this jaunty opener as a springboard to a tangle of reveals, reversals and motives that undercut the simple pleasures of watching pros at work.
A brisk recap from Mr. Wolf brings us up to speed after that flashback. Ever since the events of the first film, the crew has tried to abandon the life of crime. They want to be known as the Good Guys now, not merely infamous thieves with a soft spot for each other. This shift in reputation does not go smoothly. A montage of job interviews unfolds like a gallery of social awkwardness. The world may love a redemption story, but hiring managers are skeptical when the candidate in front of them once plundered a museum or hacked a national grid. Between rejections, the crew regroups in their loft, which is tucked away inside the cavernous concrete veins of the Los Angeles River storm drain system. The production design makes this space look both cool and lived in, like a clubhouse for reformed rogues. That sense of place is one of the film’s consistent strengths. Director Pierre Perifel and the large team of animators retain an eye for the textures and moods of the city. There is one showpiece sequence at a Lucha Libre event that captures a vibrant multicultural vibe. Masked wrestlers flying through the air, a crowd alive with color and motion, and the gang weaving through it all in a burst of kinetic choreography make for a visual highlight.
Of course, the universe will not let the crew retire gracefully. They are accused of a string of audacious thefts and suddenly the news has them pegged as outlaws again. The screenplay by Yoni Brenner and Etan Cohen, working from the book series by Aaron Blabey, drops in a playful verbal joke tied to the name of a rare metal that shows up in the stolen artifacts. It is one of the few moments that lands with true laugh out loud surprise. The rest of the plotting arrives in thick layers. The team realizes that if they want to clear their names they will have to pull off that most time honored of genre staples. One last heist. They are not flying solo either. They are pressed into a reluctant alliance with a trio of formidable women. Kitty Kat, voiced with confidence by Danielle Brooks, is all poise and claw. Doom, delivered in Natasha Lyonne’s wry register that fans of her detective character will recognize, seems to see through everyone, including the audience. Pigtail, voiced by Maria Bakalova, complements the group with a blend of bite and charm. The uneasy partnership provides some spark in the middle stretch. It is fun to watch the teams size each other up, and the idea of rivals learning to trust each other is an old reliable. Yet even here the film keeps piling on subplots.
Complicating matters is the ongoing secret identity of Governor Diane Foxington, the reform minded leader who first crossed paths with Mr. Wolf in the original film. Zazie Beetz returns to the role with warmth and authority. There is a flirtatious push and pull between Diane and Wolf that the film treats as both cute and reckless. Their chemistry suggests something real, but the story uses their connection mostly as a lever to move characters around. Mr. Wolf wants to protect Diane. Diane wants to protect her image and her city. These desires make sense, yet the scenes that develop them feel rushed, as if the movie is glancing toward a richer emotional arc and then hurrying past it to get back to the next gadget, the next chase, the next twist.
And then there is Professor Marmalade, who lives on the boundary between villain and nuisance. Richard Ayoade makes the diminutive guinea pig sound like a genius who knows he is the smartest in the room and is deeply thrilled about it. His presence brings a prickle of mischief every time he shows up. In a cleaner story, he would either be a central puppet master or a sharp comedic foil who pops the balloon of self seriousness. Here he is something in between, an agent of messiness who keeps the plot churning without giving it much shape.
Eventually everything begins to feel chaotic. The movie sprinkles in pop culture references as if it were salting fries, which can be tasty in moderation and numbing when overdone. The humor leans heavily into bodily gags, with Mr. Piranha’s gas becoming a recurring bit. It is not just a tiny runner either. In the outlandish final stretch, that gas turns into a literal power source. The climax sets the characters racing through the void above the planet. The storytelling boldly announces that it will go anywhere for a laugh or a wow, even if the steps that get there are ungainly. Somewhere in the middle of that spectacle, a question creeps in. What exactly are the stakes here. The antagonists are mainly greedy. Greed is not a trivial motive, but it lacks the focus that could make the finale feel urgent. There is also a tech magnate in the mix, clearly modeled on one of the better known figures of the modern billionaire class and voiced by Colin Jost. He is more a caricature than a true foe. The movie seems to want to poke at his public image without committing to a real satirical sting. As a result, the threat he represents floats like a balloon rather than cutting like a knife.
It is tempting to say that none of this would matter if the film were funny enough. Animated capers can coast on charm for long stretches, and this one has a fair bit of charm. Yet you can sense the strain when a joke has to carry the load of a scene because the scene itself is not built on strong foundations. When the movie is playing to its strengths, it hums. Watching the team plan a new scheme, pulling together disparate talents into something mesmerizing, is satisfying almost on a musical level. The Cairo prologue works for that reason. So does the Lucha Libre sequence. The loft scenes have a mellow warmth that makes the crew feel like a family. But the constant movement toward bigger and busier action does not flatter those strengths. The filmmakers know how to make a striking image and a catchy rhythm. They would have been better served trusting that more often instead of chasing ever louder crescendos.
Even with these frustrations, the look of the film remains a marvel. The art direction is full of painterly touches that give the world a tactile feel. A phone booth sits alone in a desert night, lit with a spare glow that makes the scene feel haunted and alive at once. Outside a stadium, lowriders bounce and gleam beneath lights that make the cars look like jewels in motion. The Los Angeles of this movie is a dream of the city. It is not realistic, but it is specific and loving. You can feel the influence of mural art and street culture and neon soaked nightlife on the color palette. That visual verve carries the film a long way. For younger viewers it may be enough by itself. For older viewers it becomes the consolation prize when the storytelling wobbles.
The voice performances deserve credit as well. Sam Rockwell integrates swagger and tenderness in a way that makes Mr. Wolf the steady center even when the plot wants to spin off into absurdity. Marc Maron gives Mr. Snake a pleasingly prickly texture. His snark lands, but he also lets tiny notes of affection slip through. Craig Robinson leans into confidence that never curdles into arrogance. Anthony Ramos brings a puppyish eagerness to Mr. Piranha that helps soften the grosser jokes. Awkwafina keeps her delivery crisp and playful, letting Ms. Tarantula’s pride in her skills shine through. Zazie Beetz balances poise with a touch of playfulness as Diane. Richard Ayoade wraps barbed intelligence in a gentle delivery that makes Professor Marmalade simultaneously adorable and exasperating. Danielle Brooks, Natasha Lyonne, and Maria Bakalova make the new trio feel formidable without overwhelming the core ensemble. Even Colin Jost, playing the billionaire man child with an eye on the heavens, hits the expected beats with a smile that suggests he is in on the joke. If the movie were judged entirely on performance, it would be an easy recommend.
The challenge is that all of this talent serves a story that keeps reaching for more without finding its footing. Going to space in a sequel can be a fun act of escalation, but there needs to be a reason that matters beyond the thrill of the idea. In earlier heist films, the team had a clear target and a clear goal. They were working against time or security or a rival thief. Here all of that clarity dissolves into a breeze of reveal after reveal. The gear spins, but the engine is not engaged. You can almost feel the filmmakers wrestling with a desire to deliver a bigger film while also trying to recreate the scrappy spirit that made the original lively. Those impulses are not incompatible, but they require discipline to balance. Too often the movie opts for more rather than better.
There are flashes of a sharper sequel within this one. When the crew tries on the role of rehabilitated citizens and runs headlong into the dull indignities of the job hunt, there is a comic spark that also carries a sting. Their attempts at reinvention invite honest questions the series could explore. What does redemption look like after a lifetime of crime. How do you change the way the world sees you when the world needs you to remain a cartoon of your past. The film touches these ideas then hurries past them. The same is true of the delicate dance between Diane and Wolf. Their connection could serve as an anchor for the emotional stakes, yet it remains a subplot in a movie that has too many subplots already.
In the end, The Bad Guys 2 is a showcase for superb animation craft and energetic voice work that is underserved by its own ambition. It wants to be larger and zanier and more surprising than the film that came before. In a few stretches, especially early on, it manages that kinetic glee. In too many others, it substitutes noise for wit and size for stakes. The space bound climax is the perfect symbol of this tendency. It goes higher than the first film, and it certainly looks sensational, but it does not land with the meaning or clarity that would make the ascent feel earned.
The coda points toward another chapter. There is every chance that a third outing will appear on the horizon. On the evidence here, it will at least be beautiful to look at. That may sound like faint praise, but it is not nothing. The series still has a world worth visiting and a cast worth hearing. What it needs is a story with the confidence to slow down and let its best qualities shine. Give the crew a target worthy of their skills. Give them a reason to risk their freedom that is more than a quip and a contraption. Give Diane and Wolf a connection that complicates the job rather than merely ornamenting it. Trim the pop culture elbow nudges. Retire a few of the cheap gags. Trust in the sparkle of a smart plan well executed.
There was a reason the first film caught on. It was not only the eye candy, though that certainly helped. It was the pleasure of watching a well oiled team of oddballs figure something out together and pull it off against the odds. This sequel remembers that pleasure in moments and then forgets it in the rush to go bigger. The next time these animals pull a caper, here is hoping they stay a little closer to earth. Not because the stars are not enticing, but because the heart of this series is most alive when the gang is on the ground, improvising one brilliant move at a time. If they can find their way back to that sweet spot, a third film could deliver the full package. Until then, what we have is a slick and often dazzling ride that misses the simple joy of its own opening scene, when the plan was tight, the jokes were sharp, and the escape felt like a wink shared with the audience. That is the version of The Bad Guys that deserves another crack at the vault.
