Back to the Hollywood Sequel Machine Back to the Future was one of a kind. It was written that way; exceptional attention was paid to detail, and it paid off. Zemeckis had a hit on his hands, and movie audiences swooned: Michael J. Fox at the pinnacle of his acting career paired with a high budget, fantastic script, there was no way the original could fail. Sequels, unless planned, are fated to surpass the bar set by the original story. When the secondary and tertiary scripts are not planned at the same time, the result is cotton candy fare that leaves you feeling empty, like this movie does.
Sadly, the sequel(s) reflect the need for Hollywood suits to capitalize on an excellent idea. Instead of inventing truly original second and third scripts where none was originally intended, this and the third film were called for to fill the bank accounts of those involved. Although there are moments when BTTF II shines - such as the splicing of original material with old, bringing back scenes from the beloved original, there is so much kitsch and poor acting, even from the principals, that it's hard to swallow.
Michael is Michael, Marty is Marty. Chrisopher Lloyd is Christopher Lloyd, Doc is Doc, and that's about it. Oh yeah, let's not forget old Einstein. The rest of the cast, while mostly returning, could have been forgotten. Michael J. Fox as his son AND daughter? Please. Lea Thompson struggles with multiple identities... the characters are so far beyond belief that it's painful. Where the original film almost made time travel seem plausible (albeit in a goofy way) the sequels make a parody of the original script and seem more like an insult. The budget covers makeup and some fantastic ideas, but it can't cover up the forced feeling that this film and its successor share. Slick effects and obvious humor can't save sequels, but the need to capitalize on a successful franchise overrides originality. Everything about this movie seems clichéd instead of daring. Some actors define their careers by being involved in quality productions; in this film time the cast shows their need to finance a yacht payment.
If you can suspend all need for believability, this flick might get it done. But it won't work without the third installment, and for once in my life I have to give credit to Crispin Glover: he may be a freak, but he's an honest freak, and he stayed away from the scripts for a reason. I'd recommend that you do too. Watch the first installment as intended: a standalone production, and find better fare if you need to watch a movie instead of the the poor sequels.