The Mandalorian and Grogu — Charming, Spectacular, and Strangely Small

Seven years after The Rise of Skywalker sent Star Wars limping off the big screen with seemingly mortal injuries, the franchise finally returns to theaters withThe Mandalorian and Grogu — and it returns, fittingly, in armor. Jon Favreau's first theatrical Star Wars feature is technically polished, propulsively scored, and built around a central pairing whose charm seems chemically resistant to bad writing. It is also, depending on the scene, either the most fun anyone has had in this galaxy since Rogue One or the most expensive Disney+ episode ever produced.

It is, in other words, a very mixed bag.

A standalone that feels like a layover

The premise is classic Mando: post-Empire, the New Republic is still scraping Imperial warlords off the bottom of its shoe like gum, and Colonel Ward (Sigourney Weaver) drafts Din Djarin and his green ward into the hunt. The MacGuffin is Rotta the Hutt — yes, the same gurgling Huttlet Anakin and Ahsoka babysat in 2008's Clone Wars — now reimagined as a hulking pit-fighter built like a slug-shaped linebacker. Find Rotta, return him to the Hutt Twins, get a lead on a mysterious Imperial called Commander Coin (Jonny Coyne). Off we go.

It's a perfectly serviceable spine, and on a Tuesday night Disney+ binge it would feel right at home. On a movie screen, the slimness shows. There's a reason critics keep describing the film as a couple of TV episodes stapled together: the structure really is episodic, the stakes really are modest, and there's no escalating climax so much as a final-act sequence that crests, resolves, and politely lets the credits roll. For a franchise that once made a galaxy turn on a Death Star trench run, "Mando does a favor for a crime family" is a curious choice for the first theatrical outing in seven years.

The good: the Way still works

That said — and this is where the 88-percent audience score comes from — when The Mandalorian and Grogu leans into what the show always did well, it's a genuine delight. Pedro Pascal's clipped, weary cadence under the helmet remains one of the most underrated performances in modern blockbuster filmmaking. Grogu's wordless reaction work continues to do more emotional heavy lifting than most A-list co-stars manage with a monologue. The two of them in the cockpit of a new Razor Crest (a gift from the New Republic, which is either a gesture of gratitude or product placement, depending on your cynicism) is the kind of comfort food this franchise should still know how to cook.

Favreau and his stunt team also stage a handful of genuinely thrilling set pieces. An arena fight involving a Rancor-adjacent creature has real weight to it. A late sequence in which Mando and Grogu bring down an AT-AT by sending it tumbling down a mountainside is the kind of practical-feeling spectacle that earns its IMAX surcharge. And Ludwig Göransson's score is, as always, magnificent — by now he's not so much imitating John Williams as quietly arguing that he might be the successor. Stay through the credits for a beautifully arranged closing version of the main theme.

The supporting bench is also stocked with small pleasures: a brief, weirdly delightful Martin Scorsese cameo as a jittery food-stand operator named Hugo Durant; the return of Steve Blum's Zeb Orrelios from Rebels; another appearance from the chittering Anzellan mechanic Babu Frik, who steals every frame he occupies.

The bad: a movie that forgets to want anything

The problems start with the antagonists. Star Wars has Vader. It has Maul. It has Thrawn, Palpatine, Kylo Ren — a roster of villains so iconic they generate Halloween costumes by reflex. The Mandalorian and Grogu has two Hutts who mostly sit, and an Imperial warlord whose primary character trait is "we don't know what he looks like." Jeremy Allen White's vocal work as Rotta is fine, but the character has no internal life; Coyne's Commander Coin is a name and a hat. The result is a movie that punches a lot of things without ever feeling like it's fighting anyone.

Sigourney Weaver, meanwhile, is the kind of casting coup that should anchor a film and instead just glances off it. Colonel Ward is a former Rebellion fighter pilot, theoretically rich with backstory, and Weaver gives the role a steely warmth that suggests a more interesting movie is happening just offscreen. Fans have already begun spinning theories that Ward is secretly an Imperial double agent — which says more about how thinly drawn she is than about any actual narrative breadcrumbs.

And then there's the broader issue, which is harder to shake the longer you sit with it: nothing here matters. The film studiously avoids touching the larger Star Wars mythology in any meaningful way, presumably to keep things new-viewer-friendly. The cost of that decision is a story with no urgency, no surprises, and no real consequences for any character we care about. Mando is in roughly the same place at the end as the beginning. Grogu is slightly more capable. The galaxy is unchanged. It is, structurally, an episode of television in a theatrical wrapper — and Disney+ subscribers, notably, don't even get a discount on the ticket.

So who is this for?

Honestly? Kids and committed fans, and it knows it. The CinemaScore A- and that thunderous audience response are not lying — there's real pleasure in seeing these characters big and loud, in hearing Göransson's brass swell on a theater speaker, in watching an AT-AT topple in slow motion. If you're nine years old, or if you simply want to spend two hours in the company of a quiet helmeted dad and his telekinetic toddler, this delivers exactly that.

If you're hoping for the kind of mythic, stakes-laden Star Wars movie that defined the franchise's better theatrical outings — if you wanted a reason for this story to exist on the big screen rather than your TV — you'll likely walk out feeling the same vague dissatisfaction that the 62-percent Tomatometer reflects. It's not a bad movie. It's a small movie pretending it's a big one, and you can see the seams.

Verdict

The Mandalorian and Grogu is a fine, frequently charming, occasionally thrilling continuation of a beloved TV show. It's also a slightly disappointing return for theatrical Star Wars — a film so determined not to alienate anyone that it forgets to commit to anything. Pascal, Grogu, and Göransson are doing the Lord's work. The script is doing the bare minimum.