Chelsea Alexandra
Tradition is a powerful anchor. It roots us, it can define us, and can tie us to the generations before. But for queer people, those same traditions can feel like a double-edge sword, a lifeline but also a cage. There is this push and pull of navigating a space that has shaped your identity, yet resists acknowledging the fullness of it. In Sunday Sauce, that clash is brought to the dinner table. Premiering at the Oscar-qualifying HollyShorts Film Festival in 2025, Sunday Sauce also serves as a proof of concept for a planned feature adaptation.
Set over what might be the most tense Italian Sunday dinner, Sunday Sauce follows Gino (Matthew Risch), a middle-aged man torn between the rigid expectations of his Catholic Italian-American family and his own growing desires. The film opens with Gino on the toilet, furtively pleasuring himself while chatting on Grindr with a user named “TWUNK.” Moments later, he rejoins his family in the kitchen and his mother, Nancy (Cathy Moriarty), who is on a mission to set up her granddaughter with a “nice Italian boy”. She decides to invite the potential suitor and his Italian mother over for Sunday dinner. When Gino’s mother makes the introductions, he’s blindsided to discover that the so-called “nice Italian boy,” Marco (Matt Campanella), is none other than the man he’d been chatting with on the dating app.
Sunday Sauce fuses tradition and queer identity by placing them in direct, almost combustible proximity. On one side, you have the ritualized intimacy of a traditional Italian-American Sunday dinner, steeped in Catholic values. Then, on the other side, you have Gino’s closeted queerness, which exists in a space his family’s traditions neither acknowledge nor accept. Instead of treating these forces as separate storylines, the film brings them together in the same room—literally. Campanella, who also directs the short, leans into this tension, using humor, body horror, and bursts of vulnerability. The pasta bowls and prayer hands share space with unspoken tensions and glances that reveal more than words ever could.
While the film is unapologetically rooted in queer identity, its themes are universal: the weight of tradition, the fear of being truly seen. It captures the tension between the selves we present to the world and the selves we keep hidden, especially within the confines of family. Sunday Sauce is, at its heart, a love letter to complicated families and the inevitable reckoning that comes when truth bubbles to the surface.
Moriarty is magnetic as Nancy, the family’s sharp-tongued matriarch. She launches zingers left and right. Moriarty blends sharp comedic timing with a surprising vulnerability. It is just a small reminder of her undeniable screen presence. Her turn here is padded by a strong supporting cast, including Campanella himself and his real-life scene-stealing Nona, whose debut as the razor-tongued Antonella is unforgettable.
Sunday Sauce revels in its excess, especially in its indulgent depictions of food and consumption. It’s an indulgence that is entirely intentional. Campanella leans into extreme close-ups of faces and of lobster being devoured like corn on the cob. There is an unsettling, anxious feeling, while also being quite humorous to watch. Balance is shown throughout the film by Campanella through these intentional shots and with his writing. His screenplay balances the outrageous with the sincere, delivering a story that’s frequently hilarious, occasionally unsettling, and ultimately heartfelt.
Sunday Sauce serves up a meal far heartier than its brief runtime would suggest. It’s a simmering blend of family drama, sharp comedic moments, and even a small dash of body horror. The result is a flavorful mix that’s equal parts warmth and that uniquely familiar stress only family can provide.
