Although big studios deserve derision for refusing to let IP die, creatives themselves are at least complicit, allowing (and in many cases, encouraging) their inventions to be mutated into another tumor on the corporate morass of Content.

Tina Fey, one of the most critically and commercially successful comedians of the 21st century, is one of these creatives. After more than five years as a writer and star of Saturday Night Live, her film debut, Mean Girls, was released in 2004. Although directed by Freaky Friday's Mark Waters, Fey was the clear mastermind of the universe and its singularly brilliant encapsulation of the anxieties, joys, and heartbreaks of high school. She leveraged this central role to make a cash-grab stage adaptation (of which Fey wrote the book and her husband Jeff Richmond wrote the music), and kept beating the dead horse in 2020 when she announced the film adaptation of the stage musical version of the original movie. 

This nesting doll was doomed from the beginning, but trust me: Mean Girls, out in theaters last month, is worse than you think. And in the words of a friend and fellow audience member, the film leaves only one thought on your mind walking out of the theater: "How can Tina Fey be proud of this?"

Going through the movie's plot is largely unnecessary, because for all of its claims to "reinterpreting" the original or "updating" it to modern times, 2024's Mean Girls is an almost shot-for-shot remake of the 2004 version that we've all seen. Teenager Cady Heron (now inexplicably daughter of a single mother rather than two parents), homeschooled in Africa for her whole life, moves back to the US and enrolls at a big, traditional, midwestern public high school. She struggles to fit in, unaccustomed to America and the complex social dynamics of being a girl in high school. Two social outcasts, Janis and Damien, quickly take Cady under their wing. As a conventionally pretty new girl, though, Cady also attracts the attention of the Plastics, a nasty clique of the "hottest" girls in school, and their leader, Regina George. Cady, developing a crush on Regina's ex-boyfriend Aaron Samuels, begins worming her way into the Plastics in an attempt to undermine Regina, win over Aaron, and be popular. 

Disappointingly, for how much the producers touted the film's updates, its plot is nearly identical — a huge missed opportunity. While individual jokes and broad themes of the original are as fresh as ever (but could be better appreciated from simply watching the 2004 version), a lot has changed culturally in the last twenty years, so it's odd that (besides rote nods to TikTok and social media) the new script doesn't reflect that. A glaring example: part of Cady's 2004 sabotage of Regina is (in)famously centered on the latter's weight; by tricking Regina into eating the Swedish weight-gain Kalteen bars, the popular girl can't fit into her preferred spring fling dress, is forced to wear sweatpants to school, and is consequently excommunicated from the Plastics. In 2024, even though the women cast as Plastics (and the fictional high school community more broadly) better represent all body types, Cady's strategy still centers on fattening up Regina, and hits the exact same notes (down to Regina's goal of "losing three pounds"). One can imagine replacing this plotline with an equally vapid takedown about skincare, for example, that would be more attuned to the anxieties of modern-day high-school girls. 

Similarly, the script is updated to reduce usage of the word "slut." Sure, it's true that kids today are more aware of the pitfalls of slut-shaming, but replacing the climactic (and hilariously mean) Burn Book description of Regina as a "fugly slut" with "fugly cow" is a step backward; "cow" is an even more dated term, and oddly doubles down on fat-shaming. Ditto for Janis, who in 2004 was coldly labeled "dyke" in the Book (which even then we knew was wrong!), but who twenty years later is now just "pyro lez" — still a dig at her sexuality, but an oddly more flowery one. Throughout these examples, Fey and the rest of the film's creators are less in-touch with how kids talk these days, and end up spending the whole script with one foot in the door, one foot out, uncertain how much and what to change. (Funny tweaks are few and far between, but include a party blasting reggaeton, Regina's mom obnoxiously sporting a ring light, and a greater acceptance of nose jobs than in the early aughts.) 

The only part of the film's plot that does substantively change is the decision to add musical numbers: nearly twenty of them, scattered haphazardly throughout the two-hour runtime. Unfortunately, there's not a single one that's enjoyable, catchy, heartfelt, or memorable; in fact, the only two that are even remotely fun are Damian's ballad rendition of the real-life iCarly theme song and "Not My Fault," supported by Megan Thee Stallion (calling herself "the black Regina George" and eliciting laughs as the credits rolled). Otherwise, the tracklist is full of overly on-the-nose narration ("A Cautionary Tale" beats us over the head with the movie's message in its opening minutes), atrocious writing ("Meet the Plastics" and "World Burn" both feature the same painfully expository line, "My name is Regina George / And I'm a massive deal"), and tired composition (bass-heavy "Sexy", boring Broadway-ensemble "Revenge Party", or sleep-inducing "I See Stars"). Each of the songs is supported by unimaginative, flailing choreography that is orders of magnitude worse than any straight-to-TV Disney movie this century, and dull costuming and set design that are bandaged over with overused dance-scene confetti. 

The uneven plot, weakly-imagined script updates, and terrible musical decisions are sunken further by an over-their-head central cast that collectively don't hold a candle to the original performances. Angourie Rice is almost as sweet as Lindsay Lohan, but can't pull off Cady's critical evolution into a mean girl herself; Avantika and Bebe Wood are weak and instantly forgettable as the supporting Plastics Karen and Gretchen; Christopher Briney has neither the love-interest looks nor the dopey charisma that Jonathan Bennet had in spades; and Auliʻi Cravalho and Jaquel Spivey are just serviceable carbon copies of Lizzy Caplan and Daniel Franzese. Most notably, the musical hangs its hat on Gen-Z it-girl Reneé Rapp as Regina — compare the 2024 movie poster above to 2004's division between Lohan and the three Plastics — but Rapp doesn't have the militance or malice of Rachel McAdams, causing us to question how she was able to bully her class into submission in the first place. Damningly, besides Rapp and Moana alum Cravalho, the cast can barely sing. 

If this wasn't just Corporate IP Content, Fey and her team really could have tried to do something here, and tiny good ideas glimmer throughout. For instance, a quick gag implies that the Mathletes team has their own Plastics-esque dynamics (a member tries to make "squills" happen just like "fetch," just to be sharply shut down by the leader); another clique could have beefed up the story. But instead, we get a near-identical remake of the 2004 film, replacing all the original version's wit and charisma with twenty crappy songs.