How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies a brilliant ad for Thai films

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If you have been anywhere on social media over the past month, chances are you have seen raving reviews about the movie “How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies” – or Lahn Mah (“Grandma’s Grandson”) in Thai.

Pat Boonnitipat’s feature film debut follows M, a gamer and university dropout that decided to take care of his grandmother, Ah Mah, in hopes of securing the inheritance as inspired by his cousin Mui who landed an inheritance after taking care of Ah Gong. His journey as her primary caregiver faces suspicion from his mother and uncles, who are also vying for the same fortune.

It is easy to see why the movie’s popularity has swept across South East Asia, breaking box office records as it goes along. Its success lies not in stunning visual effects, compelling plot devices, or breathtaking background music (although the piano really does tug on your heartstrings), but pure and simple relatable storytelling. For Thai-Chinese viewers who grew up with having the same cluttered plates around grandma’s home, eating big family dinners during Chinese New Year, or waking up early to attend the Qingming Festival once a year, this movie resonates very soundly.

But one does not need to hail from a Chinese background to appreciate the film, as seen through viral tiktok users’ puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks leaving the theatre shows across many countries. While the movie may explore Thai-Chinese family dynamics that most Thais are so familar with, the values and lessons are universal. 

Take filial piety, for example. While usually pitted as an “Eastern value”, love of a parent or grandparent cannot be cleanly categorised as east or west. All of us, no matter where we come from, may have once been sung lullabies to sleep by a loved one. And perhaps, upon reflection, all of us may not help but realise that we’ve got more of M’s initial indifference in ourselves when it comes to taking care of our elders.

The movie may not have fully explored the unembellished realities of palliative care at the end of life, and the taxing toll caring takes on the carer, both physically and emotionally. But it did touch upon it, enough to make the audience realise that being a carer is not as easy an effort as Mui initially makes it out to be. Rather, caring is a tremendous act of love, of sacrificing your time to make Ah Mah as happy and comfortable as possible—because not even gaining Ah Mah’s dingy flat after her death is worth the effort.

And it is not only filial love that the movie explores; love goes both ways. Despite being so seemingly tough on the outside, Ah Mah still irrevocably loves her children, despite seeing right through them as vultures circling for the deeds to her house even when she is still alive and kicking. This kind of unconditional, redeeming love of a parent spans across generations and borders. And the return of such unconditional love by M at the movie’s inevitable tragic end is a joyous gift for the audience to witness.

Or take Lahn Mah’s commentary on myriad social issues–too much to fully comment on in one review. Economic inequality, for instance, is acutely seen in the medical welfare system through long line of shoes queuing in the public hospital. Or gender inquality that remains throughout Chinese generations is explored in raw, poignant and witty scenes (As Ah Mah’s daughter remarkably quips, “Sons inherit the house, daughters inherit the cancer”).

But what is perhaps the most impressive effort by Director Boonnitipat and screenwriter Thodsapon Thiptinnakorn is their exploration of the theme of loneliness interwoven throughout the story. Indeed, we often fail to appreciate how isolating loneliness can be. The World Health Organization has declared loneliness as a “global health concern” with serious impacts on our health and our society. It is an epidemic, affecting 20 to 34 percent of older people in China, Europe, Latin America, and the US. But the numbers do not convey as well as Lahn Mah does, when Ah Mah waits in her best dress for all her children to come see her, only for none to show up; when she describes loneliness as just “how things are”; or when she gets suspicious when her sons or daughter turn up to visit her–because they usually don’t.

As Thailand steps further and further into an aging society, this movie serves as another reminder to take care of our elderly. Because no one should be alone trying to finish all the leftovers after Chinese New Years, or Thanksgiving, or on any other holiday.

It is true that the movie plays on overused tropes of filial piety, generational gaps, and duty to family. Yet it still manages to jerk many a tear from the audience, because it reminds us why tropes are popular in the first place – because they are based on universal, enduring values of love amidst loneliness that we can all relate to. In the end, Lahn Mah is a precious and profound reminder to hold our grandmothers and loved ones a little closer before they are gone. This reminder is in itself worth the world–and it is what makes the movie worth a watch

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