“Meatballs, Tears, and a Dash of Grandma: My Take on ‘Nonnas’ (2025)”

After losing his beloved mother, a man risks everything to honor her by opening an Italian restaurant with actual grandmothers as the chefs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDJxJd3FzDY

I swear, I’m not crying at the sight of grandmothers kneading fresh pasta in a bustling kitchen—okay, fine, maybe I am. But “Nonnas,” the new crowd-pleaser that feels like a warm hug from your Italian aunt who insists you eat more lasagna, hits all the right emotional notes while occasionally tripping over its own good intentions. Based on the true story of Enoteca Maria in Staten Island and built on the bones of the now-shuttered Spiritos in Elizabeth, New Jersey, this movie takes the familiar fish-out-of-water trope and marinates it in nonna-approved nostalgia.

Vince Vaughn, that wisecracking tornado of one-liners, plays Michael whose greatest inheritance isn’t the family fortune but a recipe box filled with memories of his mother’s Sunday meals. Vaughn’s timing is impeccable—he can deliver a quip about saffron risotto and have you snorting popcorn through your nose—yet he also imbues Michael with genuine pathos. When the camera cuts to a close-up of his reddened eyes, you remember that beneath those rapid-fire quips lies a man wrestling with grief. It’s Vaughn’s balancing act between comedy and sincerity that makes Michael’s journey believable: one minute he’s elbow-deep in meatballs, the next he’s choking back tears over old Super 8 home footage.

And speaking of footage, those genuine vintage clips during the credits are an absolute masterstroke. They’re not the afterthought tacked on to pad the runtime; they’re the emotional exclamation point that transforms “Nonnas” from a well-crafted dramedy into a living, breathing homage to the unsung matriarchs of Italian cuisine. You’ll watch great-grandmas in kerchiefs, and suddenly you’re not just rooting for Michael—you’re vowing to hug your abuela the next time you FaceTime her.

Joe Scaravella pops up as Tony, Michael’s childhood friend turned business partner. Scaravella brings the kind of quiet charm that feels like a warm plate of polenta: understated but utterly comforting. He’s the yin to Vaughn’s yang, grounding Michael when he gets too lofty about “honoring traditions” and reminding him that, hey, sometimes tradition is just halfway decent garlic bread.

Lorraine Bracco is Roberta, the first nonna in Michael’s eclectic kitchen brigade. Watching her boss around a modern-day stovetop like it’s a family council meeting, you’re reminded why she was such a scene-stealer in “Goodfellas.” Roberta commands respect with a single raised eyebrow, and when she points out that Michael’s sauce is too bitter, you feel the culinary burn. Bracco’s performance is a delicious reminder that, while the world may revolve around stars and directors, it’s the grandmothers who hold the real power.

Talia Shire plays Teresa, a battle-hardened nonna whose stories of wartime shortages are punctuated by anecdotes about turning scraps into feasts. If she ever decided to write a cookbook, I’d pre-order it in bulk. Shire navigates Teresa’s arc with the grace of someone who’s seen too much but still believes in miracles—like extra garlic on a Sunday.

Brenda Vaccaro is Antonella, the no-nonsense nonna whose tough love includes threatening to toss your phone into the tomato sauce if you dawdle. Her comedic timing is on point; one scolding glance is enough to make Michael rethink his life choices and double-check that the garlic press is actually pressing garlic. Vaccaro’s bark is glorious, and her occasional softening—revealing a vulnerability when she recalls her own late husband—adds emotional heft to a film that could have otherwise been all pasta and no substance.

Drea de Matteo rounds out the dream team as Stella, the feisty “kitchen consigliere” who ensures deliveries arrive on time and social media hashtags trend (#NonnaLove, anyone?). De Matteo’s Stella is the connective tissue between old-world wisdom and new-world marketing.

And then there’s Susan Sarandon as Gia, the mysterious hairdresser who offers to help with Michael’s dream—provided he can impress her with an authentic feast cooked by bona fide grandmothers. Sarandon brings her trademark gravitas, and the scenes where she samples pesto straight from a mortar are delightfully regal. You believe she could either knight you or send you back to culinary boot camp with a single nod.

What I adored about “Nonnas” is its unabashed sentimentality. This is not a film that sneers at heartfelt moments; it revels in them. True-story buffs will appreciate the meticulous recreation of Enoteca Maria’s atmosphere: the checkered tablecloths, the chatter of nonnas swapping gossip in Sicilian, the occasional rogue olive pit. It’s a pizza slice of Americana—if that pizza slice were lovingly baked by grandmothers across three generations.

But, for the sake of full disclosure, “Nonnas” isn’t without its meatballs-on-the-wall moments. Somewhere between the third montage of smiling patrons and the earnest monologue about keeping traditions alive, an unwelcome “woke agenda” creeps in. Don’t get me wrong—I’m all for inclusion and nuance, but when ideology in forced into the script its more about cultural appropriation than cuisine, it feels like the screenplay veered off the pasta highway to attend a board meeting on social justice. The movie didn’t need it; it was perfectly potent as a story about family, food, and the universal language of nonna’s love.

Still, even that moment is quickly drowned out by the next scene of grandmothers hurling dough like frisbees, so I’ll forgive the heavy-handed messaging—just barely. After all, if your biggest gripe is that a movie with Vince Vaughn, Lorraine Bracco, Susan Sarandon, and a battalion of Italian nonnas got a little preachy, you’re doing better than most of us.

By the time the credits roll and real footage shows the original Staten Island nonnas teaching young chefs in modern kitchens, you’re left with a deep respect for the women who built communities around shared meals. You might even feel inspired to enroll in a cooking class, call your grandma, or open a restaurant staffed entirely by senior citizens. (All legal details aside, it would probably be a hit.)

Rating: 7.3/10

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