[6.7/10] The witches of *Hocus Pocus* are fun. Bette Middler, Kathy Najimy, and Sarah Jessica Parker all definitely go broad with their witchy personae. The snarl and vamp and cackle and mug at every opportunity. But it’s that kind of movie, one that revels in camp and the outsized ridiculousness of it all. When the movie leans into their particular brand of live action cartoonishness, it’s an All Hallow’s Hoot.

The problem is that those spell-casting wenches only get about half the movie. Director Kenny Ortega and a trio of screen-writers force the audience to endure the misadventures of the usual set of insipid Disney kids in the other half. I couldn’t care less about the irksome protagonist Max, his underwritten crush Allison, or their generic kid escapades that are supposed to be our bridge to the witchy goings on otherwise. A young Thora Birch manages to break this trend a bit, breathing pluck and charm into little sister Dani, but even she’s weighed down by a weak story in a film where the perspective characters are the least essential part.

Somewhere in all those hijinks is a decent throughline about loving and protecting one’s younger siblings. [spoiler]The witches turn Thackery Binx into a cat for trying to save his sister, and he yearns to pass on into the next life so that he can reunite with her. Max initially laments having to take Dani out trick-or-treating and blames her for all that goes wrong. And yet, when the tension is at its highest, he drinks the life-stealing potion so that Winifred can’t inflict it on his little sister, prompting the pair’s closing embrace.[/spoiler]

It’s not much, and the film doesn’t do a whole hell of a lot to earn that closing bit of sweetness, but hey, there’s at least some sort of family-friendly theme to build this chocolate-covered trifle around, which is something.

That tack does not, however, prevent *Hocus Pocus* from being a strangely horny film for something theoretically directed at children. There’s a strange amount of focus on Max in particular being a virgin. The witches offer and deflect come-ons with everyone from bus drivers to random old men dressed like the devil. And in the film’s most tonally bizarre scene, Dani an eight-year-old tells Alison about how Max has explained to her that she can’t wear certain dresses due to her lack of bosom, but also how he’s apparently told his sister how much he loves Alison’s chest! (And that’s after she catches him canoodling with a pillow he’s pretending is Allison.)

Why is there so much focus on this stuff in a kids’ movie? God only knows. Under other circumstances, I’d chalk it up to capturing the true awkwardness of youth and adolescent attraction. But in such a cartoon-y movie, it lacks the genuineness of something like *Freaks and Geeks* to make that work. Instead, that whole throughline just feels bizarre and out of place.

But even if you excise that material (and you would lose nothing if you did), the kids just don’t have a very interesting story. They accidentally summon the witches and spend the rest of the movie running from them or fighting them or their minion, Billy. Their escapes and strikes back aren’t especially clever and little of what they do is set up by anything that happens more than five minutes before it becomes relevant. There’s some vague cleverness with rules about salt and hallowed ground and the morning son, but most of what our heroes do is run and yell at one another to run and occasionally grouse about not liking Salem or believing in its legends.

What *Hocus Pocus* does have going for it, even in the interludes focused on the kids, is texture. There’s a delightfully spooky atmosphere to the picture, both in the haunted house background music score and the “picturesque New England town on a bustling Halloween Night” vibe that suffuses every frame. The sets, the various kids’ Halloween costumes, and even grumbling zombie Billy Butcherson have a toybox-come-to-life feel that makes them amusingly spooky without ever truly verging on the scary. Even Binks the cat holds up as a remarkable effect decades later, especially for 1993.

That sense of autumnal whimsy extends to the witches themselves. Middler, Najimy, and Parker are all done up in ludicrous costumes and make-up, befitting the colorful vibe and play-for-the-cheap-seats energy they bring to their performances. The trio make for a good ersatz three stooges, bonking one another, getting into various mishaps, and yet seeming like a team (albeit one that’s less than well-oiled). They make some fun choices together, particularly their little three-person walk and sense of controlled chaos when they’re all fumbling for ingredients for their bubbling brew.

They’re so much brighter and more entertaining on the screen, that you slowly but surely realize it should be their movie. Sure, finding an excuse for Bette Middler to do a song is a little contrived, but there’s a lot more hay to made out of a triple-threat of witches from the 1600s bumping into the ways of the 1990s than there is in the usual crop of moppets doing the usual monster escape routine. If *Hocus Pocus* could somehow jettison its annoying teen lead and let the broom-riders (and mop and vacuum-riders) take over, it could be a fun romp 100% of the time rather than 50% of the time.

Instead, we get a heap of light and goofy comic sketches from Winifred, Mary, and Sara interacting with the modern world, punctuated by a dull mad libs plot for the kiddos. The film is never funnier or more endearing than when the witches are on screen, whether they’re scheming, searching, or just getting in one another’s way. Mary’s children-sniffing bumbles, Sara’s blithe kookiness, and Winifred’s deliberately shtick-y queen bee routine each give *Hocus Pocus* a sense of outsized fun and flavor when they’re on the screen. It’s just a shame the rest of the movie’s Halloween treats are so bland by comparison.