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8.7/10
FilmFascination Rating
“Crying my eyes out” — that’s honestly the only way I could describe myself after watching How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies. And I’m sure I’m not alone. This film isn’t just sad; it’s deeply moving. It quietly creeps into your heart and leaves it full of grief, love, guilt, and everything in between. The beauty of this story lies in how universal it feels. When they say it’s “inspired by the true stories found in every family,” it sounds like a marketing hook until you realize, oh wait, it’s actually true.
It’s been a long while since I’ve seen such a powerful directorial debut. The last one that struck this kind of emotional chord was Celine Song’s Past Lives. And thankfully, this time social media has played the good guy giving the film the traction it absolutely deserves. Clips of people sobbing in theatres have flooded platforms, the “before and after” trend is blowing up, and some cinemas are even handing out tissues at the door—a much-needed gesture, trust me.
The story centers on M, a college dropout clinging to the idea of becoming a millionaire through gaming—an idea that even he seems to know is falling apart. When his grandfather passes away, most of the inheritance surprisingly goes to Mui, M’s cousin and the grandfather’s caretaker. That alone makes M raise an eyebrow. But things take a turn when his grandmother, Amah, is diagnosed with cancer, and Mui offers to “teach” him how to become become her “number one” in the list of inheritance.
Yes, it sounds greedy, even grotesque at first. It’s like watching vultures circle above a dying woman, waiting for the moment she’s gone. But what unfolds is not a dark satire or a moral tale. It’s something much more layered—a raw, bittersweet portrait of family, mortality, and unexpected love.
You can predict from the start that M will change. It’s the most obvious thing. But what you can’t predict is how the film pulls that change out of him—gently, painfully, and authentically. M starts off as selfish, immature, and almost irredeemable. And yet, over time, he softens. Not in a fake, movie-like way, but in the small, hesitant steps we all take when we begin to truly care. What’s more interesting, though, is how our perspective changes too. We don’t just watch him transform, we slowly begin to root for him. There is something about Putthipong Assaratanakul as M that makes us despise him one moment and become empathetic towards him the other.
But the real heart of the film is Amah played with great detail Usha Seamkhum. She is so good that it makes us wonder where she has been all this time. It is hard to believe this is her acting debut. She’s nothing like the stereotypical sweet grandma we often see on screen. She’s practical, stern, devout, and sharp-tongued—mostly because she wants good for others. She isn’t the one who offers hugs and warm cookies; she’s the one who tells you uncomfortable truths to your face. When she’s told she has cancer, she remains the calmest person in the room. And somehow, that makes her all the more powerful.
One of the film’s most gut-wrenching scenes unfolds when Amah visits her wealthy brother’s lavish home—an estate so over-the-top, it almost doesn’t feel they are actually related. She goes there with hope and a simple request: to borrow money for her own burial plot. The scene begins with laughter and karaoke, only to end in humiliation as she’s thrown out. The heartbreak in that moment isn’t loud. It’s quiet, restrained but it cuts deep. That’s when we realize Amah is carrying much more than we ever knew.
The film also does a wonderful job of portraying family in all its messy, unfiltered reality. There’s the rich son who’s clearly angling for the family house. The struggling son who can’t seem to kick his gambling habit. And M’s mother—the quiet, hardworking daughter who doesn’t want much, except time with her mother before it’s too late. No character is perfect, but none of them are evil either (even though it seems like it at first). That’s what makes it so relatable, it feels like real life.
Visually, the film is stunning in the most grounded way possible. It doesn’t show off—it remembers. From wide shots of modest Thai neighborhoods to intimate frames inside Amah’s tiny apartment, the cinematography carries an emotional weight. There’s something unforgettable about the image of Amah and M sleeping on the same bed under a mosquito net, or her quietly waiting on a bench outside her house for a family lunch. The details are so beautifully mundane that by the end, you feel like a part of that house.
The writing never panders. It’s emotional, yes, but never manipulative. Take the moment when they share the thought, “Sons inherit money. Daughters inherit cancer.” It’s not self-pity—it’s resignation. It’s a woman who’s learned to accept the quiet cruelties of life with grace. And still, she doesn’t harden. She keeps giving. That’s the soul of the film.
How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies is devastating, yes. But it’s also warm, tender, and deeply human. It celebrates the unnoticed rhythms of daily life—selling congee, tending to a pomegranate tree, dragging yourself to another long hospital appointment and reminds us that the most profound changes often happen in the most ordinary settings. It never feels preachy or overly sentimental.
Sometimes, a movie doesn’t need a complex plot or fancy metaphors. Sometimes, all it needs is a story that’s honest enough to make us feel. And this one does just that.
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