“You need to feed your grief. It’s the only way through.” That’s what one of the characters says near the beginning of “Nonnas.” Then she serves a dish with 18 cloves of garlic. I wondered if the vampires from “Sinners” were coming by, and if so, which ones. It’s a line that lingers—setting the table for a film that invites you to sit down, fill a plate, and remember where you come from. Whether it’s Sicily, Bologna, or the Bronx. Wherever.
Now on Netflix, “Nonnas” is inspired by the life of Jody Scaravella, who, after losing his mother, opened Enoteca Maria on Staten Island in 2007. Still thriving two decades later, the restaurant became famous for the grandmothers or nonnas in the kitchen. Each of them cooking dishes from different Italian regions. Directed by Stephen Chbosky (“The Perks of Being a Wallflower”) and written by Liz Maccie (the upcoming “A Thousand Boy Kisses”), the film tells the story of a grieving son (Vince Vaughn) who creates a place where grief is transformed into a haven, one spoonful at a time. By the end, we find a parallel for that first quote: Food with family and friends will heal you.
With sensibilities reminiscent of movies like “Big Night” (1996), the story doesn’t diverge far from other family-friendly outings. The underdog opens a business with a quirky concept and makes it work against all odds. But tropes are tropes because they work. Vaughn’s performance is pure teddy bear, supported by a strong ensemble that includes The Nonnas: Susan Sarandon, the sexy survivor, Lorraine Bracco, the prickly loner, Brenda Vaccaro, the sassy widow, and Talia Shire, the godly one. Vaughn’s Joe bumps into Linda Cardellini for a quaint second chance at love. While Drea de Matteo and Joe Manganiello are the “old married” besties, Stella and Bruno.
There’s an expression in my community, “losing the recipes,” that speaks to the idea of a disconnect from one’s history. It’s about holding onto tradition—conjuring our ancestors through the things they pass down to us—whether it’s culture, inheritance, or food. “Nonnas” is the same. I don’t judge a movie by its ranking on a big list of greatest films of all time. Instead, I focus on how it fares within its genre and style. Like the dishes served by the real grandmothers at Enoteca Maria, “Nonnas” was made to provide comfort. This is a Sunday afternoon kind of film.
It may be sentimental, but Chbosky, Maccie, and Scaravella, with his cookbook Nonna’s House, are holding onto the threads that tie us to our grandmothers, and their grandmamas, and their grannies before them. That’s what Stella means when she tells Joe to “feed his grief.” If we hold our ancestors in memory, we cannot lose them or the recipes that are as foundational to our families as DNA. Maybe that isn’t a review, but much like the journey of Vaughn and Manganiello’s characters, it’s an observance of tradition and the symbols of love we carry with us.
If you look closely during a pivotal scene, you’ll spot Scaravella himself in the dining room. Bruno, his lifelong friend, is still there too. Even the famous capuzzelle—a traditional lamb’s head dish that nearly brought the house down—remains on the menu. That sentiment is what makes “Nonnas” satisfying. It isn’t a prestige film; it’s the kind of story that reminds us we can heal through connections to the past and each other. I could sit and eat a bowl of it, topped with Pecorino Romano and a good Sunday gravy. If that’s something you’re in the mood for, join me.
