CODA II: The Next Verse returns to the world of the Oscar-winning original with quiet confidence and emotional maturity, offering a sequel that feels earned rather than forced. Instead of repeating the beats of the first film, it dares to ask a harder question: who are you when the role that once defined you is gone?
Four years after leaving Gloucester for Berklee, Ruby Rossi stands at the edge of adulthood, diploma in hand and doubt in her heart. Emilia Jones delivers a restrained, aching performance as Ruby navigates New York’s unforgiving music scene, where talent is everywhere and certainty is rare. Her voice, once a lifeline, now feels distant—lost amid subway noise, crowded auditions, and the weight of expectation.
The film captures creative paralysis with painful accuracy. Ruby isn’t failing; she’s drifting. And that distinction matters. Her struggle isn’t about ability, but about identity—about what it means to sing when no one is listening for the same reasons anymore.
When a sudden family emergency pulls her back to Gloucester, the return feels less like comfort and more like collision. Ruby expects to fall back into place as the family’s translator, protector, and bridge to the hearing world. Instead, she finds herself unnecessary—and that realization cuts deeper than any rejection she’s faced in New York.
Troy Kotsur and Marlee Matlin shine once again as Frank and Jackie, now fully in control of their lives and business. Their growth is portrayed not as betrayal, but as triumph. Leo, played with grounded confidence by Daniel Durant, has stepped into leadership and fatherhood, embodying a future Ruby was never meant to carry for him.
This shift is the film’s emotional core. CODA II flips the original narrative on its head: Ruby is no longer the one everyone relies on. She must learn how to exist without being essential—and that, perhaps, is her greatest challenge.
Eugenio Derbez returns as Ruby’s mentor, but this time his guidance is quieter, more philosophical. He no longer pushes her toward the spotlight; instead, he urges her inward. His lessons aren’t about performance, but presence—about listening to silence instead of fearing it.
Director Sian Heder once again treats sound and silence with poetic intention. Moments without dialogue stretch long enough to become uncomfortable, mirroring Ruby’s internal emptiness. Music, when it finally returns, feels earned—fragile, imperfect, and deeply personal.
What makes The Next Verse resonate is its refusal to offer easy catharsis. There is no grand triumph, no instant clarity. Ruby’s journey is messy, uncertain, and beautifully human. She doesn’t rediscover her voice by saving her family—but by allowing herself to be simply their daughter.
The final act is understated yet devastatingly effective. A small performance, a shared glance, a moment of understanding spoken without words—these quiet beats carry more emotional weight than any soaring finale ever could.
CODA II: The Next Verse is a rare sequel that deepens its predecessor rather than echoing it. It’s a film about growing up, growing apart, and finding harmony not in being needed—but in being known. Soft, sincere, and profoundly moving, it reminds us that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is return home and accept that everyone—including yourself—has changed.
Watch movie:
*Content is hosted on a partner site.
