Nonnas (2025), directed by Sophia Bennett, is a cinematic love letter to grandmothers, home-cooked meals, and the unbreakable bonds of family. Set in a bustling Italian-American neighborhood in Brooklyn, the film blends warmth, humor, and a touch of melancholy to deliver a story that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant. With standout performances, lush cinematography, and a script that balances laughter and tears, Nonnas is one of the most touching films of the year.

Plot and Themes: A Generational Tapestry

The film follows three generations of women in the Romano family as they navigate love, loss, and the changing dynamics of tradition. At the center is 85-year-old Lucia Romano (played by the legendary Sophia Loren in a triumphant return to the screen), the matriarch whose kitchen is the heart of the family. Her granddaughter, aspiring chef Mia (Lola Petticrew), dreams of opening a modern Italian fusion restaurant, much to Lucia’s dismay. Meanwhile, Mia’s mother, Gina (Marisa Tomei), struggles to mediate between her mother’s old-world values and her daughter’s contemporary ambitions.

The central conflict—tradition versus innovation—isn’t new, but Nonnas handles it with such authenticity that it feels fresh. Lucia believes that recipes should never change, that food is memory, and that altering a dish is akin to erasing history. Mia, on the other hand, sees cooking as an evolving art form, one that should adapt with the times. Their clashes are both hilarious and heartbreaking, especially as Lucia’s health begins to decline, forcing Mia to confront what truly matters.

Beyond its culinary focus, Nonnas is a meditation on legacy. What do we inherit from our elders? What do we discard, and what do we carry forward? The film suggests that tradition isn’t just about preserving the past but understanding its essence—whether that’s through a recipe, a family story, or a simple gesture of love.

Performances: A Masterclass in Emotional Depth

Sophia Loren’s performance as Lucia is nothing short of extraordinary. At 90 years old, she brings a regal yet vulnerable presence to the role, embodying a woman who is stubborn, fiercely loving, and deeply afraid of being forgotten. Her scenes with Lola Petticrew crackle with tension and tenderness, making their eventual reconciliation all the more powerful.

Petticrew, a rising star, holds her own against the screen legend, delivering a performance that is both fiery and fragile. Her Mia is ambitious but not arrogant, and her journey from defiance to understanding is beautifully nuanced. Marisa Tomei, as the bridge between the two generations, provides both comic relief and emotional weight, particularly in a moving monologue about feeling “too Italian for America, too American for Italy.”

The supporting cast is equally stellar, with standout turns from Bobby Cannavale as Mia’s charming but unreliable father and Isabella Rossellini as Lucia’s sharp-tongued sister. Even smaller roles, like the neighborhood butcher (played by John Turturro in a delightful cameo), add richness to the film’s world.

Direction and Cinematography: A Feast for the Senses

Sophia Bennett, known for her intimate character studies, directs with a delicate touch, allowing scenes to breathe without ever feeling slow. The film’s pacing mirrors the slow simmer of a Sunday gravy—patient, deliberate, and ultimately rewarding.

Cinematographer Darius Khondji bathes the film in golden hues, making every plate of pasta and every wrinkled smile glow with warmth. The close-ups of food—crusty bread, bubbling tomato sauce, delicate pastries—are so vivid they border on sensual. Yet, the film avoids becoming a food porn cliché; every meal serves the story, whether it’s a silent argument played out through overcooked pasta or a reconciliation sealed with a shared cannoli.

Music and Sound: A Symphony of Nostalgia

The score, composed by Alexandre Desplat, is a gorgeous blend of classical Italian melodies and contemporary motifs, mirroring the film’s central conflict. A recurring violin theme, reminiscent of old Neapolitan songs, tugs at the heartstrings without veering into sentimentality.

Sound design also plays a crucial role—the sizzle of garlic in olive oil, the rhythmic chop of a knife, the cacophony of a family dinner—all immerse the viewer in Lucia’s world. When Mia’s modern restaurant features cold, sterile plating with molecular gastronomy tricks, the absence of these familiar sounds feels intentional, highlighting the emotional disconnect.

Cultural Impact and Relevance

In an era where fast food and fast lives dominate, Nonnas is a gentle rebellion. It asks: What happens when the keepers of tradition are gone? Who will remember the recipes, the stories, the way Nonna’s hands shaped the dough just so? The film doesn’t reject modernity but instead advocates for a balance—honoring the past while making room for the new.

It also touches on the immigrant experience, particularly the way food becomes a tether to homeland. Lucia’s insistence on “the right way” to cook isn’t just about taste—it’s about preserving a culture that was hard-won in a new country. This theme resonates far beyond Italian-Americans, speaking to anyone who has felt the pull between assimilation and heritage.

Minor Flaws: A Pinch of Over-Sentimentality

If the film has a weakness, it’s that some moments lean too heavily into nostalgia, particularly in the third act. A deathbed scene, while beautifully acted, flirts with melodrama, and a last-minute reconciliation between Mia and her estranged father feels slightly rushed. Still, these are small missteps in an otherwise impeccably crafted story.

Final Verdict: A Cinematic Hug

Nonnas is the kind of film that lingers—in the smell of garlic lingering on your clothes, in the ache of missing someone who’s gone, in the sudden urge to call your grandmother. It’s funny, poignant, and deeply human, with performances that will stay with you long after the credits roll.

Rating: 9.5/10
Best for: Fans of Big Night, Eat Pray Love, and The Hundred-Foot Journey.
Takeaway: Some recipes should never change—and some films shouldn’t either. Nonnas is a masterpiece of heart and heritage.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go call my Nonna. And maybe eat some lasagna.