Movie Review: In ‘Big Fat Greek Wedding 3,’ the Wedding’s in Greece and the Formula Feels Ancient

This image released by Focus Features shows Nia Vardalos, left, and John Corbett in a scene from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3." (Focus Features via AP)
This image released by Focus Features shows Nia Vardalos, left, and John Corbett in a scene from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3." (Focus Features via AP)
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Movie Review: In ‘Big Fat Greek Wedding 3,’ the Wedding’s in Greece and the Formula Feels Ancient

This image released by Focus Features shows Nia Vardalos, left, and John Corbett in a scene from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3." (Focus Features via AP)
This image released by Focus Features shows Nia Vardalos, left, and John Corbett in a scene from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3." (Focus Features via AP)

“We’re getting married!” This rather inevitable line crops up early in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3,” and if you’re like me, it will inspire mixed reactions.

First: Wait, so soon? We didn’t know anyone was even engaged! And second: Phew, it’s about time! Because, just like there can be no sunrise over the glittering Ionian sea without a sun, there can be no “big fat Greek wedding” movie without ... you know.

Yet the mere fact that a wedding is so crucial to the DNA of this trilogy — which surely will morph into a quadrilogy and then a quintology – raises its own issues. Which Greek philosopher was it who said there’s no problem that can’t be solved with a wedding? Right, that would be Nia Vardalos, the franchise star, writer and now director, too. But is she also saying a wedding is the only possible happy ending?

That would be out of sync with certain obvious efforts in this script — some more swallowable than others — to modernize a formula that worked so well in the beloved, hugely successful 2002 original. It’s a formula that lost luster with that first, deflating sequel in 2016, a whole 14 years later.

And if “My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2” felt like a pale imitation of the buoyant original, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3” feels sorta like a pale imitation of that pale imitation. Or, to analogize with a favored franchise food item: like a thrice-warmed piece of baklava.

Then again, even thrice-warmed baklava can be worth the calories. So too this sequel will prove worthwhile for those most eager to reconnect with characters they loved, and willing to overlook clunky pacing and dialogue and sometimes absurd plot machinations. On the plus side: Vardalos and crew are really, really good at staging weddings.

For those who need a refresher: The last film left us at an NYU dorm room, dropping off Paris, teen daughter of Toula (Vardalos, empathetic and appealing as usual) and her wholesomely hunky husband Aidan, oops, Ian (John Corbett, wink wink). Paris’ choice to leave her hometown of Chicago for college provided much of the half-boiled suspense in the first sequel. She got her way, but perhaps also her punishment when the whole extended family — aunts, uncles, cousins — came to drop her off. Ugh!

Because it’s hard to let go of things that worked so well in the original — did we mention it was a ginormous hit? — Vardalos hasn’t, really. The Portokalos family is still loving, boisterous and invasive. We’ve sadly lost patriarch Gus (Michael Constantine, who died in 2021). But wife Maria is still there (Lainie Kazan has only a cameo here) and Toula is still married to hunky Ian. Everyone still uses Windex to clean objects and cure diseases.

And the clan is on the move, led by spunky, oversharing Aunt Voula (Andrea Martin, still by far the the funniest onscreen presence), this time to ... Greece! Yes! The ostensible reason: a family reunion in their lovely ancestral mountain village (shooting was done in Corfu). The plan is to find Gus’ childhood friends and fulfill his wish of giving them a precious journal he kept.

Why that journal shouldn’t stay with Gus’ adoring children is not truly explained — but neither is much else. Subplots are introduced and then largely ignored. A handful of new characters arrive with little backstory — like Victory (Melina Kotselou), the young, mayor of the village — and even less character development.

The same lack of detail plagues the story arcs of returning characters. Toula’s brother Nick (Louis Mandylor) — poor Nick — has been saddled with an ugly habit, namely trimming nose hairs and toenails at the family table. Why? Who knows? As for Ian, he’s still a nice, patient husband, with little else to distinguish him. Toula’s still the glue holding everyone together.

As for their marriage, it’s fine. That’s perhaps a problem. In most rom-com relationships, you don’t get through three movies without some meaty conflict — we need the breakup to have the makeup! Vardalos doesn’t want to go there.

Or maybe she’s just in a rush to get to the altar. That, we can understand. Here in Greece, all roads lead to ... the wedding. The party’s in the quaint village square. The candlelit table is gorgeous, the food sumptuous. And the dancing is a joyous mix of Greek and Syrian tradition — one of the spouses-to-be is a migrant from Syria, a nod to contemporary Greek politics.

But how contemporary are we getting if nothing brings resolution but a wedding? And more importantly, who will be married in the inevitable “Greek Wedding 4?”

Will Paris (Elena Kampouris), whose own turbulent existence is quickly hinted at, marry the cute young Aristotle? (Yes, that’s his name). Will there be a big fat Greek alternative wedding? Who knows, but if there’s a movie, there will be a wedding. “My Big Fat Just-Cohabiting-For-Now” doesn’t quite cut it.



The Real-Life Violence That Inspired South Korea’s ‘Squid Game'

Riot police march in front of the main building of Ssangyong Motor in Pyeongtaek, 70km south of Seoul, on August 6, 2009. (AFP)
Riot police march in front of the main building of Ssangyong Motor in Pyeongtaek, 70km south of Seoul, on August 6, 2009. (AFP)
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The Real-Life Violence That Inspired South Korea’s ‘Squid Game'

Riot police march in front of the main building of Ssangyong Motor in Pyeongtaek, 70km south of Seoul, on August 6, 2009. (AFP)
Riot police march in front of the main building of Ssangyong Motor in Pyeongtaek, 70km south of Seoul, on August 6, 2009. (AFP)

A factory turned into a battlefield, riot police armed with tasers and an activist who spent 100 days atop a chimney -- the unrest that inspired Netflix's most successful show ever has all the hallmarks of a TV drama.

This month sees the release of the second season of "Squid Game", a dystopian vision of South Korea where desperate people compete in deadly versions of traditional children's games for a massive cash prize.

But while the show itself is a work of fiction, Hwang Dong-hyuk, its director and writer, has said the experiences of the main character Gi-hun, a laid-off worker, were inspired by the violent Ssangyong strikes in 2009.

"I wanted to show that any ordinary middle-class person in the world we live in today can fall to the bottom of the economic ladder overnight," he has said.

In May 2009, Ssangyong, a struggling car giant taken over by a consortium of banks and private investors, announced it was laying off more than 2,600 people, or nearly 40 percent of its workforce.

That was the beginning of an occupation of the factory and a 77-day strike that ended in clashes between strikers armed with slingshots and steel pipes and riot police wielding rubber bullets and tasers.

Many union members were severely beaten and some were jailed.

- 'Many lost their lives' -

The conflict did not end there.

Five years later, union leader Lee Chang-kun held a sit-in for 100 days on top of one of the factory's chimneys to protest a sentence in favor of Ssangyong against the strikers.

He was supplied with food from a basket attached to a rope by supporters and endured hallucinations of a tent rope transformed into a writhing snake.

Some who experienced the unrest struggled to discuss "Squid Game" because of the trauma they endured, Lee told AFP.

The repercussions of the strike, compounded by protracted legal battles, caused significant financial and mental strain for workers and their families, resulting in around 30 deaths by suicide and stress-related issues, Lee said.

"Many have lost their lives. People had to suffer for too long," he said.

He vividly remembers the police helicopters circling overhead, creating intense winds that ripped away workers' raincoats.

Lee said he felt he could not give up.

"We were seen as incompetent breadwinners and outdated labor activists who had lost their minds," he said.

"Police kept beating us even after we fell unconscious -- this happened at our workplace, and it was broadcast for so many to see."

Lee said he had been moved by scenes in the first season of "Squid Game" where Gi-hun struggles not to betray his fellow competitors.

But he wished the show had spurred real-life change for workers in a country marked by economic inequality, tense industrial relations and deeply polarized politics.

"Despite being widely discussed and consumed, it is disappointing that we have not channeled these conversations into more beneficial outcomes," he said.

- 'Shadow of state violence' -

The success of "Squid Game" in 2021 left him feeling "empty and frustrated".

"At the time, it felt like the story of the Ssangyong workers had been reduced to a commodity in the series," Lee told AFP.

"Squid Game", the streaming platform's most-watched series of all time, is seen as embodying the country's rise to a global cultural powerhouse, part of the "Korean wave" alongside the Oscar-winning "Parasite" and K-pop stars such as BTS.

But its second season comes as the Asian democracy finds itself embroiled in some of its worst political turmoil in decades, triggered by conservative President Yoon Suk Yeol's failed bid to impose martial law this month.

Yoon has since been impeached and suspended from duties pending a ruling by the Constitutional Court.

That declaration of martial law risked sending the Korean wave "into the abyss", around 3,000 people in the film industry, including "Parasite" director Bong Joon-ho, said in a letter following Yoon's shocking decision.

Vladimir Tikhonov, a Korean studies professor at the University of Oslo, told AFP that some of South Korea's most successful cultural products highlight state and capitalist violence.

"It is a noteworthy and interesting phenomenon -- we still live in the shadow of state violence, and this state violence is a recurrent theme in highly successful cultural products."