Nonnas: A delectable repast

Nonnas (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for no particular reason, and suitable for all ages

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

This is a total charmer.

 

Director Stephen Chbosky’s quiet dramedy is inspired by actual events — which are adorable in their own right — although Liz Maccie’s script takes liberties with what actually went down, in order to generate enough dramatic tension for a two-hour film.

 

Joe (Vince Vaughn) challenges each of his new chefs — from left, Roberta (Lorraine
Bracco) Teresa (Talia Shire) and Antonella (Brenda Vaccaro) — to amaze him with
one of their best dishes.

Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with Maccie’s various shadings of truth, particularly when the result is this entertaining.

Chbosky’s film also has strong echoes of 1996’s Big Night, in the sense of lovingly prepared food bonding strangers into a “family” they get to choose.

 

This also joins the ranks of all-time best “foodie movies,” right up there with Babette’s Feast, Chocolat, Tom Jones and Eat, Drink, Man, Woman. You’ll be ravenous before this one’s half done.

 

And when blessed with a cast top-lined by the always enjoyable Vince Vaughn — who gets plenty of competition from his quartet of veteran scene-stealing co-stars — what’s not to love?

 

The setting is a working-class Italian neighborhood in present-day New York. Joe Scaravella (Vaughn), a single MTA worker, has recently lost his mother; on this day, the house he shared with her is laden with loving friends and sympathetic well-wishers. Vaughn’s bearing throughout is note-perfect: somber, quick with a polite smile when addressed, but with a faraway gaze that bespeaks bereavement, abandonment and the hopelessness that comes from wondering what the next day will be like ... and the one after that, and the one after that.

 

Everybody eventually departs, having left a home-cooked token of love.

 

Memory flashbacks show an adolescent Joe watching in rapt fascination, at the edge of the family kitchen, as his mother and nonna (grandmother) prepare a meal; every ingredient is added in just the right amount, from memory and long practice.

 

Joe grew up retaining this fascination with food, and has become a respectable scratch cook ... within limits. He’s never been able to nail down the ingredients in his nonna’s Sunday gravy.

 

As the days inevitably pass, longtime best friend Bruno (Joe Manganiello) and his outspoken wife Stella (Drea de Matteo) encourage Joe to use his inheritance money for something fun, or wild, or meaningful ... but definitely new. Joe takes that advice in the worst possible way, and makes a down payment on a dilapidated former Staten Island restaurant, a ferry ride away from his home and work.

 

And announces that he intends to create a restaurant where all the chefs are nonnas.

Kubo and the Two Strings: An enchanting fable

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity and scary moments
By Derrick Bang

It’s extraordinarily difficult to replicate the look, atmosphere and ambiance of an entirely difficult culture, and yet the Oregon-based Laika animation studio has done just that, with Kubo and the Two Strings.

With a rather large monster preparing to stomp and/or devour them, Kubo is stunned into
temporary immobility. Fortunately, Monkey and Beetle are better prepared for action ... as
also is true of the tiny origami samurai warrior perched on Kubo's shoulder.

Director Travis Knight and a trio of writers — Shannon Tindle, Marc Haimes and Chris Butler — have concocted what feels like an authentic Japanese folk tale, laced with fantastic characters and a little boy who is, himself, a purveyor of stories. The stop-motion animation style will be recognized by fans who adored previous Laika efforts, such as Coraline and ParaNorman, but in this case with an added twist: This new film’s look is inspired by origami and classic Japanese woodblock printing.

The action takes place in a colorful realm of rough-hewn sawtooth patterns, strong linear striations and bold but simple colors, all inspired by the work of woodblock masters such as Kiyoshi Saito and Katsushika Hokusai. The resulting texture — the apparent “feel” of the images — is truly lovely, and unlike anything else we’ve seen from today’s panoply of animation studios.

But of course style cannot be paramount; it must serve the story. That’s absolutely the case here, as we quickly become immersed in an otherworldly narrative with the mythic authenticity of a Hayao Miyazaki fable.

“If you must blink, do it now,” we’re cautioned, as this saga begins. “If you look away, even for an instant, then our hero will surely perish.”

Kubo (voiced by Art Parkinson) is a popular street urchin who lives near a fishing village in ancient Japan, and survives by enchanting townspeople with wild tales of samurai warriors and mythical creatures, all brought to life via origami figures created magically when he plays a guitar-like shamisen. The coins collected are sufficient to buy food and meager supplies for both Kubo and his mother; they live in a cave on a high cliff that overlooks the vast ocean.

Kubo’s mother slips in and out of awareness, suffering from trances that are governed by the rising and setting of the moon. This condition has persisted ever since the perilous ocean journey that brought her and the then-infant Kubo to this land. Worse yet, the boy is missing his left eye, the orb — we’re told — having been plucked out by his grandfather, the evil Moon King (Ralph Fiennes).

During her cognizant moments, Kubo’s mother speaks lovingly of her absent husband, a warrior who lost his life defending his family from the Moon King. And more than anything else, she cautions, Kubo must never, ever linger outside after dark.