Food in film has long served as more than just sensory garnish. It simmers beneath the surface of many great narratives; an aromatic subtext that binds characters, sets tone, and heightens drama. Whether in the feverish kitchen showdowns of Big Night, the fizzy family chaos of The Nutty Professor, or the tense culinary choreography of The Bear, meals in cinema often act as shorthand for communion, conflict, or both. Even in the infamous banquet scene of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, food becomes a grotesque spectacle, revealing more about its characters’ discomfort than any line of dialogue could. Yet, rare is the film where food does not merely accompany the story; it is the story. Nonnas, the forthcoming film directed by Stephen Chbosky, seeks to correct that imbalance. Based on the real-life Staten Island restaurant Enoteca Maria; famous for its rotating cast of Italian grandmothers at the helm of its kitchen; Nonnas offers a tender portrait of grief, rebirth, and the transcendent magic of handmade pasta.
Chbosky, best known for the adolescent poignancy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, brings his trademark emotional clarity to this richly flavorful material. At the center is Joe Scaravella, played by a quietly restrained Vince Vaughn, shedding the raucous bravado of Wedding Crashers and Old School for a more subdued, aching masculinity. Joe is a man lost in the silence that follows a mother’s death, and unsure what remains of himself without her. In response, he does what many Italian sons only dream of: he opens a restaurant; not merely to serve food, but to serve memory.
With the help of his childhood friend Bruno (Joe Manganiello, wielding a streetwise charm) and Bruno’s wife Stella (the ever-compelling Drea de Matteo), Joe refurbishes a local space with little more than grit and sentimentality. The twist: his chefs are not celebrity cooks or knife-wielding prodigies, but a cadre of Italian nonnas, each representing a different region of the boot. These are women who have fed generations, now sharing their recipes; and, more poignantly, their personal histories, with a new audience.
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The cast brims with familiar faces, particularly for those who remember Sunday nights watching The Sopranos. Lorraine Bracco, Michael Rispoli, and de Matteo all reappear here, lending the film an oddly warm, visual nostalgia. Brenda Vaccaro’s Antonella, Susan Sarandon’s Gia, and Talia Shire’s Teresa round out the core ensemble of matriarchs, each woman battling her own demons; be they widowhood, estrangement, or simply the aching void of aging.
The film is not without its frictions. Antonella and Roberta (Bracco) bicker like rival mayors of neighboring hill towns, while Gia and Teresa try to forge a kind of uneasy conciliation in the kitchen. The inevitable food fights and culinary disagreements are played for laughs, but always with a wink toward something more enduring: the ways in which culture, grief, and appetite are all carried through the hands.
And then there’s Linda Cardellini, luminous and understated, as Olivia, Joe’s high school flame, now reintroduced as a neighbor with her own scars and longing. Her gentle flirtation with Joe; like so much in the film; is less about romance and more about recognition: two people finding home not in each other, but near each other.
Chbosky resists the mawkish at every turn. While Nonnas could have easily leaned into saccharine sentimentality, it opts instead for character-driven pathos. Each person in the film is, in some way, untethered; lonely, grieving, or simply adrift; and it is in the act of feeding others that they begin to rediscover themselves. The emotional arc of Nonnas is as carefully layered as a lasagna: a little spice, a little sweetness, and something unspoken between the layers.
That Nonnas is unlikely to sweep award season is beside the point. Its triumph lies in its soul. Like the best home-cooked meals, it sneaks up on you; unpretentious, deeply satisfying, and more profound than it initially appears. With an evocative Italian soundtrack and a warm glow that lingers long after the credits roll, Nonnas isn’t just a film you watch. It’s one you feel; deep in the gut. Make the reservation. And bring tissues.
