NONNAS (2025)

So this is a true story about a man who opens up a restaurant and has real grandmas be the chefs. Should be a slam fucking dunk, and yet, we have this.

The movie follows Joe Scaravella (Vince Vaughn) as he manages his grief after his mother’s passing, and decides to open an Italian restaurant with real-life nonnas as the chefs. What’s really cool about this movie is that I'm fairly certain the writer has never been in a restaurant before, which I suppose makes this filmmaking endeavor all the more impressive. Sure honey, a restaurant can have 5 employees. 4 cooks and 1…Bigfoot in a suit. Who are the waiters? The busboys? Is Joe doing everything else himself? 

The film felt, nay, was edited out of order. Not only were key moments introduced way too late (oh, so these nice women were working together “for months” but never bonded until the night before they opened the restaurant?), but a lot of moments were glossed over or alluded to instead of being shown to push the narrative along. Every scene in a movie should be teaching you more about the characters and moving the story forward, and yet this movie somehow was filled to the brim with scenes that did neither. Why didn't we, the audience, ever see the food stand guy actively blackball the restaurant? Why didn't we ever see them “put the word out”? Because sure, Joe mentions it offhand, but we never see anything. Until the last night of the restaurant, when everyone suddenly remembers they have friends and family? There’s a throwaway line about how it's only been a handful of friends and family here and there. So was the food so bad they couldn't recommend it? Gia (Susan Sarandon) can't promote it at her shop? Joe can't offer a few thank you meals to his MTA buddies for covering for him? This felt like a Hallmark movie that looked like a long credit card commercial. Movies should never have you feeling puzzled as to why a character does something. They spent too long having the old ladies fight and make up and fight and make up, they forgot to develop any real relationships. 

Too many people were too supportive off the bat of this idea. Not enough tension from this alone. If anyone in my life told me they were going to open a restaurant, I'd genuinely ask if they've hit their head, if they're well, because that is a stupid, stupid idea. Only Bruno (Joe Manganiello) questions Joe? Bonkers. Joe should be receiving pushback the whole time. Not just from “oh I didn't realize this” or “oh no, we won't have an inspection in time!” tension. 

Where's the rest of his family? Or any memories of his mother? We opened on a huge family get together, and yet this man seems to be completely alone. He keeps saying that the restaurant is “all about family” but where are they? Why didn't we see him try any of the sauce attempts he was making by himself?

The food critic part felt stretched thin even when it was initially introduced: Sure, that guy is just sitting there, on an empty set, completely alone, just in waiting mode. Absolutely. And he definitely eats unsolicited food from a stranger supposedly delivering from an unknown restaurant. And you know what? If they had stopped there, I could have rolled my eyes and moved along. But no, they had to pull a Ratatouille on us, and have the guy write this whole review waxing poetic about the restaurant. Which again, we never fucking see him at, nor does Joe notice that he's there? It's not the Staples Center. He'd definitely notice that guy at the restaurant. The review’s verbiage seemed to allude to a visit to the restaurant, and not just based on a few nibbles from a lukewarm food container. Genuinely appalling. 

It's a cute, real story. What they did to it is a tragedy. In a few years, hopefully someone better will make a movie about it and we can forget this ever happened. I know I've been trying to forget it since I last saw it. 

Food recommendation: Go to an airport, eat at a Sbarro. Nothing will sum up how desperately bleak and devoid of any flavor this film was than the experience of buying an airline ticket just to eat at a fucking Sbarro.