Youre Gonna Love Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, Whether You Like It or Not

Theres not really a point, exactly, to Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, the sequel to the smash-hit 2008 film arriving in theaters on July 20. But why would there need to be? The pleasures of Ol Parkers film are simple and sensual, its riot of color and sweet, nostalgic songs proving wholly agreeable even without much of a plot to hold it all together. I went into the movie a bit of a skeptic—about jukebox musicals, about unnecessary sequels, especially ones without the originals main star—but left entirely won over, cheered and a little teary. Here We Go Again is uncomplicated joy in complicated, despairing times.

That said, there is a sad shimmer rippling throughout the movie. I have to spoil something about the film in order to discuss it, so turn away now if you want to remain in the dark. For those still with me, whats true of the film is what we suspected when the first trailer debuted: Meryls gone. Theyve killed off La Streeps Donna, and her daughter, Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), is working to honor her moms legacy by opening a posh hotel on the Greek island where she made her home. Shes fighting with her husband, Sky (Dominic Cooper), and mourning Donna, without two of her three dads there to comfort her.

But the film isnt a downer, somehow. Parker works hard to keep the energy up, bringing back Donnas friends and former bandmates (Julie Walters and Christine Baranski) and churning out the ABBA in abundance. Most of the Swedish pop groups biggest hits were covered in the original film, but they have a deep enough catalogue that theres plenty left to be mined and massaged into the films context. (Theres some repetition, too.) Everyone sounds good, even howler Pierce Brosnan, and were reminded (or I was anyway) of ABBAs almost quaint melodiousness, that gushing sincerity that is somehow never quite cloying.

Helping the movies sense of levity is its journey back in time to when Donna was in her 20s and first arriving on Kalokairi—and sleeping with the three men who would someday become Sophies fathers. (This new movies plot conveniently forgets . . . a lot of the first ones details.) Young Donna is played by Lily James, golden of hue and bright as a bell. The effervescence she displayed in 2015s Cinderella was not a fluke—theres something almost ludicrous about Jamess radiant glow. I laughed watching soulful, carefree Donna doing cartwheels in an olive orchard or lounging languidly on a sailboat—its funny that someone could ever be kissed by that much sun. And yet you dont resent her for it. You only pine for the blessed possibility of Donnas youth, all its dreamy appetite for the world, and the worlds eager reciprocation.

I mean, Id probably be doing cartwheels in a maxi skirt too if I had just been romanced by the trio of handsome men Donna gets involved with in her travels. She meets-cute with young Harry (Hugh Skinner) in Paris, falls for Bill (Josh Dylan) at sea, and is swept away by Sam (Jeremy Irvine) in a rainstorm. All three have their charm, and its a comfort to know that theyll all be a part of Donnas life further down the road. That makes it easier to enjoy the carefree abandon of their young selves, singing goofy (but pretty) songs and reveling in all the sunny potential swirling around them.

And then, of course, theres Cher, making a wild appearance thats just a little more than a cameo. Shes an arch delight, playing Sophies estranged grandmother with a divas wink. She no doubt is hip to the joke that she is playing Donnas mom despite being only three years older than Streep. (Very little of the films timeline makes a lick of sense.) Its a gas. And! Even better, she sings “Fernando” to a ridiculous character played by Andy Garcia— who, between this and Book Club, is having quite a fruitful year of wooing women of a certain age on screen.

The Cher bits are where the movies self-aware camp could teeter into gimmickry. But once again, Parker keeps the reins just tight enough that whats absurd doesnt become stupid. Cher certainly has something to do with that too; as soon she shows up on screen (earning raucous applause from my audience, and not for the last time), you feel in very capable, familiar hands.

Speaking of capable hands: someone may show up toward the end of the film, and she may sing a downright lovely “My Love, My Life” with Seyfried, in a genuine tearjerker of a sequence. Its in those poignant moments that the movie really finds its meaning, as a film about the pain of missing someone while celebrating that they were alive at all, that grief and appreciation and fond memory mingling together to aching, “I have to call my mom” effect. It just feels nice, right now, to watch something so forthcoming with its sentiment, steeped in both the wistfulness of the past and the boggling, impossible immediacy of the present.

Enough of the serious talk, though. Here We Go Again is a movie that has people singing “Dancing Queen” as they make their way to a party on a flotilla of boats, the jewel-tone Mediterranean beneath them reflecting a cloudless sky. So its a movie that I shouldnt bog down with heavy-handed assessment. Just go and have fun. They sing “Waterloo” in a French restaurant! Christine Baranski has a funny vagina joke! (Oh, and the actress who plays her younger self, Jessica Keenan Wynn, is an uncannily good match.) Its all that good, playful, drink-sloshing Mamma Mia! stuff, just with an added layer of disarming melancholy. Hopefully audiences will take its spirited message to heart. The sun-dappled dance ends for us all eventually, so why not throw our arms up while we can and—unafraid of how silly well look (and we will)—cut a rug with the ones we love?

Get Vanity Fairs HWD NewsletterSign up for essential industry and award news from Hollywood.Richard LawsonRichard Lawson is a columnist for Vanity Fair's Hollywood, reviewing film and television and covering entertainment news and gossip. He lives in New York City.