You are safe to get up and walk out after the opening sequence of Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu. Just drill whatever commemorative popcorn carton you just spent $50 on into the ground; grab your Grogu doll; blast the screen with two middle fingers; and jet.
The best stuff in the movie happens in those few minutes; then the film becomes a monotonous streak of Mando (Pedro Pascal) fighting a variety of creatures, along with many shots of Grogu (Baby Yoda!) eating. Lots and lots of shots of him eating.
Yes, some of the creatures are fun to watch. Yes, Grogu (Baby Yoda!) is cute as fuck—especially when he is eating! But there is no real movie here. Instead, we get a paper-thin plotline with no relatable human characters; it’s more of a Mando-Grogu sizzle reel than a movie. This might’ve been OK at 90 minutes, but at two hours-plus, this winds up feeling like a whole lot of nothing.
That’s too bad, because this is helmed by Jon Favreau, who was instrumental in creating the three-season series, two seasons of which were good to great. When the show started airing, it was a nice antidote for the poison that was The Rise of Skywalker; Star Wars seemed like it might be OK despite the Skywalker saga ending with a disastrous thud. Then came a bunch of so-so TV series, and a middling third season of Mandalorian, stalling the franchise.
Mandalorian and Grogu is not the jumpstart Star Wars needs. Instead, it’s the latest in an endless string of uninspired projects. I can’t believe I am saying this, but I am starting to hate Star Wars. The whole damn thing is starting to annoy me rather than entertain me.
I suppose I should give you an idea of what this movie is about. OK, here goes: The Evil Empire has fallen, and the New Republic is trying to flush out remnants of the regime. Mando is sent on missions by Sigourney Weaver, because there’s no blockbuster franchise she can avoid, to capture bad guys. One of those missions involves ancestors of Jabba the Hutt, so we get CGI Hutts that look lame. Mando fights lots of creatures while Grogu gobbles things.
There you go. I hope I haven’t spoiled anything!
One would think that the normally very reliable Favreau, maker of Iron Man, would create something that doesn’t have a conveyor-belt vibe—but he directed; he created; he produced; and he co-wrote the script. There’s nobody else to really blame other than co-writers Dave Filoni and Noah Kloor, along with the God of your choice.
Jeremy Allen White voices Rotta the Hutt, a Hutt with a heart of gold who, like us, thinks Grogu is super-cuddly. He does nothing to distinguish himself in this film. You can’t even tell it’s him.
Surprisingly, the film’s MVP is the voice of Martin Scorsese, playing an alien food vendor. After dissing Marvel movies for being shit, he shows up in a shit Star Wars movie, yet manages to rise above the sewage and get a few laughs. The film needed more weirdness like his presence.
I really want to like Star Wars again. I really do. Maybe Ryan Gosling will be the jumpstart the franchise needs in next year’s Starfighter. Or maybe I should just give up. After a nice burst of energy at the beginning of their ownership, the Star Wars age piloted by Disney has crashed into the Matterhorn.