Spa Weekend (2026) Review: Moore's Chilling Getaway

Jane (Mann), Coco (Buteau), Sophie (Faris), and Mel (Fisher) are tethered to the same frayed thread: careers they don’t recognize, partners who don’t listen, kids who need constant managing, and a collective inability to say "no." The inciting incident is a hilariously sad group chat - Mel accidentally sends a voice memo meant for her therapist, which includes the phrase "I feel like a vending machine that’s out of everything but still rattles." That earns the four of them a mandatory intervention weekend at a luxury retreat run by the serene-but-suspicious Shanti (Erika Heynatz) and her annoyingly fit staff.

What follows is a predictable but well-executed arc: they arrive cynical, resist the wellness routine, sneak booze and junk food, and make a series of "really bad decisions" involving a handsome yoga instructor (Adam Demos), a stolen jet ski, and a disastrously revealing group therapy session. The plot doesn’t break new ground, but the script is smart enough to let the women be messy without turning them into caricatures. By the final act, the "spa weekend" becomes less about detoxing and more about owning their dysfunction.

The MVP here is Michelle Buteau, whose Coco delivers every line with the timing of a stand-up pro and the warmth of a friend who’ll hold your hair back. Faris, meanwhile, leans into her signature wide-eyed innocence, but there’s a melancholy underneath Sophie’s jokes about her husband’s new "emotional support motorcycle." Fisher is the group’s anxious wreck, and she plays the anxiety for laughs but never loses the thread of real pain. Mann anchors it all with a weary grace - her Jane is the one who’s forgotten how to laugh, and Mann makes that realization feel earned.

Demos is fine as the requisite eye-candy love interest, serving mostly as a plot device for Jane’s midlife crisis, but the film is far more interested in the female friendships than the romantic entanglements. The best scenes are the quiet ones: a late-night conversation by the pool about the terror of needing help, and a cringe-inducing karaoke rendition of a song from 2003 that becomes a surprisingly touching anthem of self-acceptance.

Director Scott Moore (best known for co-writing The Hangover) brings a breezy, if conventional, visual style. The spa setting is gorged with over-saturated greens and calming pastels, which makes the moments of chaos pop. The film doesn’t always trust its audience to get the joke - a few gags are over-explained - but when it lets the actresses riff, it hits hard. A montage of the four trying to do a "sound bath" meditation while silently judging each other’s breathing is comedic gold. The third act gets a bit speechy, with each woman delivering a tidy life lesson that feels written rather than lived, but the sincerity saves it from being maudlin.

Pros

• Fantastic, lived-in chemistry among the four leads; you genuinely believe they’re lifelong friends.
• Buteau’s comedic timing is a masterclass, stealing nearly every scene.
• A surprisingly tender core about burnout and self-neglect that avoids cheap sentimentality.
• Good balance of physical comedy (a mud bath fight) and sharp dialogue.
• The 97-minute runtime is lean and doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Cons

• The plot is a checklist of predictable spa-gone-wrong tropes, offering no surprises.
• Adam Demos’ character is underwritten, serving more as a plot device than a person.
• The final resolution wraps everything up too neatly, undercutting the rawer emotional moments.
• Some supporting characters (Dominic Ona-Ariki’s Roger, Courtney Clarke’s Ayurveda) are barely sketched.

Spa Weekend isn’t trying to be deep cinema, but it understands something real: sometimes the best therapy is a weekend of terrible decisions with people who’ve seen you at your worst. It’s the rare comedy where the jokes about bad choices lead to actual emotional growth, and that’s not nothing. Go in expecting a fun night out with familiar faces, and you’ll leave with a warm, fuzzy feeling - and maybe a sudden urge to text your group chat that you love them. It fumbles its final message with too-neat bows, but for 97 minutes, it’s a delightful reminder that taking care of each other starts with admitting you’re a little broken. That’s a pretty good deal.