Now You See Me: Now You Don't

The appeal of this franchise has always been the promise that a heist can resemble live magic, and Now You See Me 3 (Now You See Me: Now You Don't) builds on that fantasy while quietly acknowledging its limitations. Director Ruben Fleischer inherits a machine built on arrogance, jokes, and carefully timed revelations, and he revs it up to full throttle: the opening “reunion” show in Bushwick for the Four Horsemen explodes into a clever revelation when the stars turn out to be holograms created by a trio of sidekicks: Bosco Leroy (Dominic Sessa), Charlie (Justice Smith), and June (Ariana Greenblatt). It's a clever metatextual reference for a series that has always sold the idea of presence while operating remotely thanks to the artifice inherent in cinema. The joke isn't so much whether we're being fooled, but rather whether we appreciate being told, with a smile, that we wanted to be fooled all along.

The new driving force behind the plot is Veronika Vanderberg (Rosamund Pike), a diamond magnate whose family empire launders the world's dirtiest money behind the sparkle of a fist-sized heart-shaped diamond. The Eye resurfaces, tarot cards fly, and the Horsemen—J. Daniel Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg), Merritt McKinney (Woody Harrelson), Jack Wilder (Dave Franco), and Henley Reeves (Isla Fisher), who makes a comeback—are pushed back into the game alongside their Gen Z doubles. As a device, the intergenerational pairing is openly functional (a smooth passing of the torch in full view), but it often works because Ruben Fleischer maintains a brisk pace and lively dialogue; the jousting between Atlas and Bosco gives the film substance, while June's agility as a pickpocket and Charlie's calmness as the brains behind the design add welcome texture. The screenplay, written by Michael Lesslie, Paul Wernick, Rhett Reese, and Seth Grahame-Smith, still goes well beyond the limits of plausibility, but the charismatic ping-pong between veterans and novices helps to mask more than a few gaps.

As the villain, Rosamund Pike brings the touch of tension the series needed. Dressed in haute couture and sporting a deliberately ambiguous South African accent, she embodies Veronika as a James Bond villain who understands that the camera loves indulgent pauses; her performance oscillates between icy aloofness and delightful pantomime, and it keeps the film afloat whenever the logistics become ridiculous. There's a delightful moment when Atlas, played by Jesse Eisenberg, teases her by saying that convincing the world to buy diamonds is the ultimate magic trick; the scene crystallizes the series' Robin Hood cosplay, half-critical, half-complicit. While the third-act twist echoes the structure of the previous film a little too closely, the satisfaction here comes less from novelty than from the pleasure of watching Rosamund Pike relish her inevitable downfall.

The franchise's trademark remains its scenographic expertise, and the film's geography—the shop windows of Antwerp, a castle-museum of magic in France, and a chase scene in Abu Dhabi—gives Ruben Fleischer the opportunity to mix practical gags with digital effects. The castle interlude is remarkable: corridors with forced perspective, Escher-like slanted spaces, and a mirror maze that also serves as a confidence-building exercise for a team still finding its footing. You can see the seams—the “magic” of cinema is never fair—but there is more tactility than before in the passes, cardistry, and even the fights that degenerate into rivalry between magicians. When the film lets us settle into the mechanics, it flirts with the dizzying pleasure of old-fashioned illusion, the “pledge-turn-prestige” cadence that previous installments have too often neglected.

The old problem with the franchise remains: on screen, magic risks dissolving into special effects, and Now You Don't continues to explain too much in detail after the fact, retroactively incorporating elaborate preparations within impossible timeframes. Yet the film sometimes earns its revelations through its characters rather than just its gimmicks. Thaddeus Bradley, played by Morgan Freeman, both guardian of the myth and rogue, welcomes the ensemble to a sanctuary haunted by the history of magic, and the sequence unfolds as if the series were pausing to breathe, to acknowledge its lineage. Even a brief nod to the franchise's storylines—why Dylan Rhodes, played by Mark Ruffalo, is off the map, how Lula, played by Lizzy Caplan, fits into the ever-growing roster—shows an unusual concern for continuity in a property that could easily have been content to stumble along.

In terms of performances, the film has its strengths. Jesse Eisenberg leans into the thorny command of Atlas, a drier, funnier variation on his hyperverbal character, while Woody Harrelson maintains Merritt's prickly energy right on the edge of self-parody. Isla Fisher returns with casual mastery, and Dave Franco continues to make discarded cards seem like both a joke and a weapon. Among the newcomers, Dominic Sessa projects the confidence of a movie star with a little something that invites gentleness, Justice Smith gives Charlie the humility of an engineer who plays, and Ariana Greenblatt steals the show with her athletic wit. The whole thing works like a deck of cards: individual grains, a satisfying ripple.

Ideologically, the film continues to sell a comforting myth: anti-capitalist theater played out by famous thieves, justice as televised prestige. The script winks at this hypocrisy (Veronika's jab at artists posing as anti-capitalists hits the mark) while doubling down on the candy-coated catharsis of watching corrupt wealth get publicly humiliated. This film can be described as comforting cinema for an exhausting era; when a character declares with a deadpan expression that in the midst of war, pandemics, climate anxiety, and AI, “you all need magic more than ever,” the line is corny but clear. The film doesn't pretend to be plausible; it offers a ritual: applause as absolution, spectacle as balm.

If there is one structural criticism, it is the speed: the film moves too fast to allow the viewer to assimilate the consequences. The decisive moments fly by, and the final explanation of the master plan glosses over at least three steps that would be exhausting in reality. But as a transitional chapter, “Now You Don't” finds an honest path. It's less about surpassing the first two films than it is about repositioning the brand, testing whether the Cavaliers can become mentors without losing their presence, whether the next generation can inherit their playfulness with a specific goal in mind. On this axis, it works. The tricks still smell of camera smoke, but the sense of spectacle—cautious smiles, sharp elbows, and a few authentic gestures—hits the mark. If the series wants to continue, it will need a future antagonist capable of truly putting these illusionists on the spot; for now, the pleasure lies in seeing the pros and their protégés negotiate, divert attention, and bow in sync.

Now You See Me: Now You Don't
Directed by Ruben Fleischer
Written by Michael Lesslie, Paul Wernick, Rhett Reese, Seth Grahame-Smith
Story by Eric Warren Singer, Michael Lesslie
Based on Characters by Boaz Yakin, Edward Ricourt
Produced by Bobby Cohen, Alex Kurtzman
Starring Jesse Eisenberg, Woody Harrelson, Dave Franco, Isla Fisher, Justice Smith, Dominic Sessa, Ariana Greenblatt, Rosamund Pike, Morgan Freeman
Cinematography: George Richmond
Edited by Stacey Schroeder
Music by Brian Tyler
Production companies: Summit Entertainment, Secret Hideout
Distributed by Lionsgate (United States), SND (France)
Release date: November 12, 2025 (France), November 14, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 112 minutes

Seen on November 11, 2025 at Gaumont Disney Village, Theater 2, seat A21

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