Mean Girls reboots the beloved teen comedy as a bright, stage-to-screen musical, embracing both nostalgia and reinvention. With Tina Fey’s original screenplay refreshed for a new generation and directed by Samantha Jayne and Arturo Perez Jr., the film splashes into cinemas with choreography, catchy songs, and sanitized high school chaos—sparklier than ever, though not without the sting of its predecessor.
Angourie Rice takes over as Cady Heron, the homeschooled newcomer navigating the cruel terrain of North Shore High. She’s earnest and earnest alone, with eyes wide open to the bitter playground politics she’s about to crash. Across the hall, René é Rapp dazzles as Regina George, delivering a vocal performance that flirts with diva energy and sharp wit. Their chemistry fuels the film’s pulse, even when the momentum occasionally flags beneath showy musical numbers.
Speaking of which, the musicality here is a double-edged pink satin glove. With toe-tappers like “Revenge Party” and “Apex Predator,” the production zest is undeniable—dance breaks erupt in the school hallways, neon lights bathe the chaos in technicolor swagger, and the spotlight seizes each gleaming beat. Auli’i Cravalho’s Janis and Jaquel Spivey’s Damian steal conduct of key ensemble numbers, their vocal power and comedic timing giving the film its emotional and rhythmic anchor. Still, some fans may miss the grit in the original dialogue—here, the barbs are delivered with a sugary coating, safer and twice as polished as Regina’s iconic burn of “get in loser.”
Yet Mean Girls preserves plenty of iconic beats: the Burn Book, the Spring Fling transformation, even the mathlete redemption arc—all streamlined and occasionally reshuffled to fit musical pacing. Social media is updated and threaded into scenes like digital confessional posts, group chats, and meme-worthy reaction shots. The musical format lets soliloquies bloom into production numbers, layering insight beneath the glitz. At its best, it feels playful and pop-smart; at its worst, it’s showy without heart.
Supporting turns land punches with precision. Bebe Wood as Gretchen Wieners sharpens the character’s anxiety into feverish charm. Avantika’s Karen is still delightfully oblivious, and Christopher Briney’s Aaron is a grounded romantic lead. Jasper voices return too—Tina Fey pops in as Ms. Norbury, now musically savvy, and Tim Meadows reprises Principal Duvall with the same wry affection as 2004.
What the 2024 Mean Girls version lacks in raw bite, it makes up for in stage-ready spectacle. The production never shies from theatricality: dream sequences, school-wide dance numbers, and dramatic lighting pushes it firmly into boot-scootin’ musical territory. Occasionally, the familiarity is comforting—watching the Plastics recreate their snap judgments—and sometimes the songs feel crammed, as if eager to show off rather than tell.
By the third act, however, the film leans into sincerity. Cady’s growth, once a subplot, is center stage in “Stupid with Love (Reprise),” creating a payoff that feels earned in a way only a song can deliver. As forgiveness and self-awareness sweep through the junior class in their matching Spring Fling outfits, the musical surface finally reveals a pulse beneath.
This version of Mean Girls may not eclipse the indelible original, but it updates the world with an affectionate wink and a tap-tap tap of high-heeled attack. With a backbone of smart casting, glittering choreography, and a script that knows when to lip-synch and when to land a barbed zinger, it delivers a pastel-coated jolt of nostalgia. Whether you’re hierarchically inclined or just here for “fetch,” the film is as entertaining as it is shamelessly familiar—and sometimes, familiarity is exactly what the Burn Book ordered.
