The Mandalorian and Grogu Review

Grogu, with the most serious expression imaginable, is once again learning to press buttons on the remote. The detail might have seemed amusing if Disney weren't selling this gag to the audience for the second time. The origins of the film The Mandalorian and Grogu become crystal clear from the very first minutes of its runtime: before us lies a classic Frankenstein's monster, hastily stitched together from rejected episodes of the fourth season of the eponymous series. Director Jon Favreau, who once launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe and later switched to remakes like The Jungle Book and The Lion King, doesn't even try to mask this project's television roots.

To fully grasp the scale of what's happening, one must look at the historical background of the franchise. The last time Star Wars consistently satisfied audiences on the big screen was in 2005. After Disney bought the rights from George Lucas, a period of radical instability began. They rolled out The Force Awakens—an extremely safe, sterile remake of A New Hope, devoid of the freshness of the 1977 original, but carried by an aggressive advertising campaign. Then came Rogue One with its cold atmosphere, which never quite managed to endear its characters to the public. The Last Jedi showcased outstanding visuals but handled the iconic legacy so carelessly that it provoked a massive fan revolt. The final chord was the notorious The Rise of Skywalker with its suddenly resurrected Palpatine and absurd plot twists, turning the project into one of the worst releases of the year.

Against the backdrop of this cinematic ashes, the first season of The Mandalorian in 2019 worked as a lifeline. The stern mercenary in a closed helmet and the endearing puppet sidekick united picky fans and family audiences, demonstrating an unprecedentedly high technical level for a streaming production. But then came a wave of extremely weak spin-offs: from the unnecessary The Book of Boba Fett to the catastrophic The Acolyte. The Mandalorian itself got bogged down in this quagmire narratively and failed its third season. Ultimately, studio bosses decided not to throw the fourth season's developments in the bin but to reformat them into a feature-length release, following the path of Moana 2 released a couple of years earlier—a similarly strained compilation of unproduced episodes. And what stings most is that the studio has already shown it can still do this universe justice — the second season of Andor is comfortably the best thing happening in Star Wars right now — yet none of that brilliance ever seems to rub off on the tentpole projects.

The film's setup unsuccessfully tries to imitate briskness. The Mandalorian and Grogu get involved in a local gangster showdown, saving a young Hutt from Imperial warlords. The remnants of the old regime cannot come to terms with the Empire's fall and continue to nostalgize over Darth Vader. The action of the first half is accompanied by changing locations, and the dialogues even touch upon the theme of the conflict between fathers and children—an excellent dramaturgical basis for developing secondary characters.

The script ruthlessly cuts this thread exactly one minute later. The Hutt relatives appear as completely empty, cardboard antagonists, devoid of charisma and real threat. But the degradation of the main characters looks even sadder. The famous chemistry between the Mandalorian and Grogu has evaporated without a trace. This is no longer the complex, evolving bond between a closed-off armored warrior and a defenseless baby Yoda, whose core was once genuine care. Now Din and Grogu communicate and act like tired, burned-out mercenary colleagues. And that is the real tragedy here, because a hardened protector and a small, helpless kid can absolutely shatter you when the writing actually cares — anyone who has lived through The Last of Us knows exactly the kind of bond I mean.

Pedro Pascal is present in the project only nominally. The Mandalorian creed still doesn't allow Din to take off his bulky helmet, so choreographers and stuntmen naturally take the lead in action scenes. In 2019, when Pascal wasn't yet an international superstar, his character's reclusiveness was intriguing. Now he just monotonously mumbles his lines with absolutely no emotion. No inner turmoil or thoughts like "maybe forget this helmet and strict rules"—character development was simply abandoned.

The plot's functionality hits yet another low with the appearance of Sigourney Weaver. The esteemed actress, who hands out a quest related to the Hutt cartels to the protagonists, appears on screen with an utterly blank look. Zero emotional return, a glassy stare, and purely mechanical recitation of lines—the level of engagement is close to Razzie nominations. Against this backdrop, the Mandalorian's inexplicably appearing co-pilot constantly flits about, whose presence in the story is justified by not a single plot twist.

Somewhere in the middle of the runtime, the narrative slams into a wall. The film abruptly brakes, dialogues completely disappear, and the movie delivers a fifteen-minute segment of absolute silence. No conflict development—Grogu simply wanders through locations, doing small mundane tasks.

The industry currently sees many questionable projects. Last year's Snow White with Rachel Zegler or the new Tron may suffer from mediocre scripts, but they at least retain a clear three-act structure. Honestly, even Tron: Ares — a film critics wrote off as a gorgeous shell wrapped around a hollow plot — at least knew where its story began and where it ended. The Mandalorian and Grogu lacks even this basic framework.

During the promo campaign, Favreau smugly stated: "We want to feed this not only to Star Wars fans, but to the whole world." He also seriously discussed the influence of Blade Runner and Apocalypse Now on the film's visuals. Hearing these statements while looking at the screen is physically painful. The picture suffers from the same disease as last year's full-length remake Lilo & Stitch, which was initially assembled for streaming — and trust me, I sat through that remake too, and it left me every bit as cold.

The image is permanently drowning in soapiness, the color correction produces a continuous gray veil, and the static camerawork kills any dynamics in the battle scenes. Disney's Star Wars could generate questions about the script, but they always took your breath away with their scale. In The Mandalorian and Grogu, space adventures have shrunk to inexpressive forests and swamps, looking as if they were filmed on a tight budget in the studio's backyard. The various monsters and new biomes merge into a single cheap texture.

On Rotten Tomatoes, the project is stuck at 62% from critics, separating it from outright garbage status by just a few points. At the same time, 87% audience rating looks like a real anomaly for a compilation of series filler. Especially when you're watching a completely useless co-pilot for the umpteenth time pointlessly circling a soapy swamp while Grogu repeatedly reaches his green fingers towards the remote control. I looked at these ratings, rubbed my tired eyes after an hour and a half of dull imagery, and suddenly caught myself thinking one thing. That very silent fifteen-minute scene where Grogu simply wanders around the screen poking through household junk was actually the authors' most merciful decision. At least under it, it's comfortable to fall asleep.