Home Alone 2: Lost in New York

Chris Columbus’s Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is an intermittently funny sequel that spends too much time repeating itself. John Hughes’s screenplay keeps trusting the familiar contest between Kevin and the burglars to do the work, and familiarity does help the jokes along. It also makes the next joke rather easy to anticipate. There is enough pleasure here for an indulgent family evening, provided nobody expects much surprise.

Macaulay Culkin gives Kevin the certainty of someone who has never considered that he might be the nuisance. That confidence remains funny when an adult is expected to take him seriously, though the character’s pleasure in getting his own way becomes wearing. Tim Curry’s Concierge supplies a welcome change of comic emphasis: officiousness is a more agreeable target than a human skull. His performance gives us an adult worth watching even when Kevin is not controlling the joke.

Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern approach Harry and Marv’s punishment with admirable commitment, making each indignity register through their reactions. We laughed at their extravagant suffering, then grew uncomfortable as the film kept finding reasons to hurt them again. The difficulty is the accumulation: there is less recovery time for either the burglars or our sympathy. Their performances keep the violence cartoonish, but Kevin’s enthusiasm makes some of it unpleasant. A little less satisfaction from him would make it easier to enjoy their work.

The cinematography by Julio Macat and Douglas F. O’Neons makes New York feel welcoming enough that Kevin’s independence remains an attractive proposition. Sandy Veneziano’s production design contributes to that comfort; the surroundings encourage us to enjoy his freedom rather than fret about his safety. This is a sensible approach to a family comedy built around a child being alone. We could have used more time enjoying that setting before the familiar business takes over, because the city offers the film its clearest opportunity to do something different.

Raja Gosnell’s editing serves the physical comedy better than the story’s pace. The action is readable, and individual jokes have the preparation they need, but too many of them serve much the same purpose. At 120 minutes, the film gives us ample opportunity to notice the repetition. Cutting more quickly would not solve that; John Hughes’s screenplay needed fewer returns to material whose effect was already established. Even a successful gag can make the next one harder work.

John Williams’s score gives the sentimental passages considerable encouragement, sometimes more than they need. Catherine O’Hara’s Kate and Brenda Fricker’s Pigeon Lady bring sufficient warmth without quite so much musical assistance. Their performances also make the harsher comedy feel awkwardly placed, because the film wants us to take some people’s feelings seriously while treating other people’s pain as inexhaustible entertainment. That mixture can work in slapstick, but here the shifts ask for more indulgence than the writing earns.

Compared with Home Alone, this is a less satisfying use of Kevin’s resourcefulness, although Macaulay Culkin remains a persuasive reason to spend time with him. Family slapstick can be cruel, and there is no need to demand good behaviour from everyone involved. The problem is how often this sequel repeats a joke after getting the laugh. Return if Kevin already amuses you, and allow for stretches when he does not.