There are films that whisper instead of shout — that find their emotional truth not in grand statements but in gestures, silences, and the weight of time. How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies belongs to that rare kind of cinema where tenderness is both a wound and a revelation. Directed by Pat Boonnitipat, this Thai drama quietly dismantles our understanding of love, inheritance, and filial duty.
| Movie Details | |
|---|---|
| Country | Thailand |
| Year | 2024 |
| Genre | Drama, Family, Coming-of-age |
| Runtime | 125 min |
| Director | Pat Boonnitipat |
| Main Actors | Billkin Putthipong, Usha Seamkhum, Tontawan Tantivejakul |
The premise seems deceptively simple: a young man quits his job to care for his terminally ill grandmother, partly motivated by the possibility of inheriting her house. But as days blur into routines of care, the story unfolds with devastating intimacy. The title suggests greed, yet the film’s real currency is emotional — the slow accumulation of regret, affection, and the unspoken things that tie families together.
Visually, the film is luminous and grounded. The camera moves gently, never intruding on the fragile moments it captures: the quiet of a shared meal, the creak of a wooden floor, the humid light of Bangkok afternoons. Each shot feels like a memory already beginning to fade, framed with a painter’s sense of tenderness.
Billkin Putthipong’s performance is astonishing in its honesty. He portrays M, a grandson whose immaturity and self-interest gradually dissolve into something raw and humane. Across from him, Usha Seamkhum, as the grandmother, gives one of the most moving performances in recent Asian cinema — stoic, sharp, and infinitely alive even as her body weakens. Together, they create a relationship that transcends sentimentality; their love is imperfect, often clumsy, but profoundly real.
Pat Boonnitipat’s direction shows a sensitivity to domestic space that recalls the best of Hirokazu Kore-eda — yet his tone is distinctly Thai, infused with a cultural understanding of duty, karma, and family pride. The film never judges its characters; it simply observes how love and guilt coexist, how generosity and self-interest can grow from the same seed.
Music, used sparingly, drifts through the story like the faint echo of time passing. Even in its lighter moments, the film carries a sense of impermanence — that everything we touch, everyone we love, is already leaving us.
How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies is not about money at all, but about what remains when everything material slips away. It’s a meditation on how we measure the value of care, how love can be both transactional and transcendent. By the time the credits roll, what stays is not sadness, but an overwhelming tenderness — the kind that makes you want to call your family, to say what you never said.
Pat Boonnitipat’s debut is a quiet masterpiece: deeply human, culturally rooted, and universally resonant
