The Mandalorian And Grogu Review: Star Wars Has Never Felt Duller Or More Mundane

"Star Wars" is for everyone. I don't mean that in some hackneyed, empty-platitude sort of way — although the sentiment behind that phrase certainly rings true. No, I mean it literally. Every generation has a series of movies or shows in the galaxy far, far away to call their own. The original trilogy will always be the holy grail, and deservedly so. But the prequels have somehow pulled off a comeback for the ages in the eyes of a significant portion of fans ... even if my fellow Millennials are inexplicably misguided in this pursuit. And, like it or not, the divisive sequels are similarly destined for wholesale revisionism someday among the kids growing up with them; if not now, then at least the likes of "Rogue One" and "Andor" can placate the most strident Disney haters in the meantime.

But what if someone made a "Star Wars" movie that wasn't really for anyone in particular? Ultimately, "The Mandalorian and Grogu" will go down in franchise history as the answer to that awkward little trivia question — an unfortunate (if not entirely unpredictable) outcome for anyone who's been following along. After all, the writing has been on the wall ever since the calamitous response to "The Rise of Skywalker" put an abrupt halt to Lucasfilm's post-Skywalker Saga plans nearly seven years ago. To gun-shy studio suits scared off by online discourse and merciless memes, the only way forward was apparently a safe, back-to-basics, and entirely inoffensive effort that couldn't possibly cause a stir.

Well, mission accomplished. In its desperate attempt to satisfy everyone, "The Mandalorian and Grogu" neglects to tell a meaningful tale worth anyone's time. Instead of the pulpy, thrill-a-minute adventure that was promised, "Star Wars" has never felt duller or more mundane. This ain't the way, folks.

After an opening title card lays out the premise of Pedro Pascal's Mandalorian bounty hunter Din Djarin hunting down Imperial fugitives at large, it's not long before New Republic contact Colonel Ward (Sigourney Weaver) tasks him with a new mission: find and arrest the mysterious Commander Coin, though not before tangling with the Hutt family of gangsters to recover the missing Rotta (voiced very distractingly by Jeremy Allen White). This takes him and young ward Grogu across the galaxy on a series of fetch-quests involving crime lords, gladiatorial arenas, and monsters. Seriously, that's the extent of the "story."

Now, that wouldn't be such a detriment to "The Mandalorian and Grogu" if only the creative team actually bothered to surround its two main leads with anything remotely interesting to bounce off against. Then again, that's a tall task when one's encased in a helmet that never allows us to relate with him, while the other is mute Muppet with even less interiority than Baby Groot. Instead, the two embark on a video-gamey journey motivated not by anything personal or character-driven, but purely because the plot makes them.

Damningly enough, it seems this was entirely by design. Director/co-writer Jon Favreau, as loyal and reliable a company man as it gets, works from a script by Lucasfilm CCO Dave Filoni and "The Book of Boba Fett" scribe Noah Kloor where what you see is simply all you get. This collaboration never once aspires to aim for anything more challenging or cinematic, instead coasting on endless interludes of Grogu being cutesy or Mando fighting off hordes of overmatched Stormtroopers and creepy critters while being the baddest badass to ever badass. Hoping for more than that? Us, too.

Surely whatever "The Mandalorian and Grogu" lacks in character and theme and fundamental conflict at least balances out with all the classic "Star Wars" action, emotion, and heart we've come to expect ... right? What's most off-putting about this entry is how little any of it actually feels like "Star Wars." No matter how much this tiny corner of the galaxy is populated by "Rebels" characters like Zeb Orrelios (a fully-CGI eyesore voiced by Steven Blum), recognizable aliens like the baby-talking Anzellans from "The Rise of Skywalker," or the surprisingly-integral Rotta, there's no getting around that lack of intangible magic this time around. Say what you will about your least favorite "Episode" movies, but at least they were always events.

Instead, for arguably the first time ever, a "Star Wars" movie fails to actually earn that big-screen status symbol. What else would you call three or four poorly-paced episodes of "The Mandalorian" stretched out to fill a feature-length runtime? And I do mean stretched, as the plodding 132-minute runtime full of fits and stops will test the patience of both children and parents alike. The only moments that ever truly justify its widely-publicized IMAX release are the snowy opening sequence with Imperial AT-ATs (which truly emphasize the scale of the action) and the final act (which devolves into relentless action utterly divorced of anything we've spent the last two-plus hours investing in). Most everything in-between would seem right at home with a "Disney+ Original" logo slapped on the bottom-right corner of the frame.

The Maker knows we've suffered through shoddy franchise installments before — but never have we had one as low-energy, aimless, and downright ordinary as this. 

If there's any substantial message that "The Mandalorian and Grogu" will force viewers to ponder, it's an inadvertent one: Who is this supposed to be for? There have been unnecessary origin stories, behind-the-scenes messes, and unmitigated creative disasters — sometimes all in the same production! But even during the lowest of lows, at least we could always track exactly why any given film was made and to whom it was meant to appeal. 

But here, any sense of purpose or cohesion or basic narrative drive crumbles under the weight of an identity crisis as glaring as any we've seen since the likes of "Solo: A Star Wars Story." If there isn't tension, stakes, or pulse-pounding action to keep us engaged (and a brief glance at my smartwatch's health tracker confirmed a steady flatline for the entirety of the film), then what's the point of any of this?

It's a disservice to the hard work and sky-high potential behind so much of this property. Take overshadowed Mando stand-ins Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder, both of whom are at least namechecked at the top of the end credits. (Pedro Pascal, meanwhile, looks and sounds as checked out as he ever as.) Credit also goes to Academy Award-winning composer Ludwig Göransson, who has a John Williams-like knack for elevating whatever's on screen at any moment with a tremendous score that ranges from synth to orchestral and back again. Otherwise, viewers have very little else to hold onto.

Is this really what "Star Wars" has become? Maybe that misbegotten Budweiser Super Bowl "trailer" was actually the film's most honest and accurate piece of marketing all along: a shallow, shamelessly corporate commercial to move some merch. There have been worse movies before and there will inevitably be worse ones to come. This sure feels like the most boring, though — one whose philosophy seems to be that you can't swing and miss if you never bother taking the bat off your shoulders. That might be its greatest sin of all.

/Film Rating: 4 out of 10

"Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu" arrives in theaters May 22, 2026.