The Old Man & the Gun

I watched The Old Man & the Gun on a Tuesday afternoon when the radiator in my apartment was clanking like a percussionist with no rhythm, and somehow, that mechanical racket felt entirely appropriate. This is a film about the friction between the passage of time and the refusal to stop doing what you love, even if what you love is walking into banks and politely asking for the contents of the vault.

Released in 2018, David Lowery’s film feels like a beautiful anomaly. In an era where the box office is dominated by $200 million spectacles and "multiverse" logic, this is a whisper of a movie. It’s a low-stakes, high-charm character study that serves as the official retirement party for Robert Redford. It’s not a loud film, which is probably why it slipped through the cracks for many, but it is a deeply intentional one. It captures that specific "sunset" feeling of the late 2010s—a period where we started realizing the legends of the 60s and 70s wouldn't be around forever.

The Smile That Robbed America

The film centers on Forrest Tucker, a real-life career criminal who escaped prison eighteen times and spent his twilight years robbing banks with the "Over-the-Hill Gang." Robert Redford plays Tucker with a twinkle so bright it’s practically a superpower. He isn't playing a gritty criminal; he’s playing a man who is simply having the time of his life. There’s a scene where he meets Jewel (Sissy Spacek) on the side of a highway after his car breaks down, and the chemistry between them is so effortless it makes most modern rom-coms look like they’re trying too hard.

Sissy Spacek (who I’ll always associate with the terrifying Carrie or the gritty Coal Miner's Daughter) provides the film’s soul. She’s the anchor that keeps the movie from drifting off into pure nostalgia. She knows what Forrest does, and she loves him anyway, creating a dynamic that feels grounded and mature. On the other side of the law, we have Casey Affleck as John Hunt, the detective tasked with catching the gang. Affleck plays this role like he’s perpetually trying to remember where he parked his car, bringing a weary, slumped-shoulder energy that perfectly contrasts with Redford’s upright vitality.

A 70s Soul in a 2018 Body

What makes this film work for me is David Lowery’s direction. Lowery—who gave us the wildly different A Ghost Story and later The Green Knight—chose to shoot this on 16mm film. For the casual viewer, that might just mean it looks "grainy," but for a cinephile, it’s a tactile joy. It gives the 1980s setting a warm, hazy glow that feels like a memory. In the age of digital perfection and seamless CGI, this movie looks like a beautiful, thumbed-through paperback found in a used bookstore.

The supporting cast is equally inspired. Seeing Danny Glover (the Lethal Weapon legend) and singer-songwriter Tom Waits as Forrest's partners-in-crime is a stroke of genius. Tom Waits delivers a monologue about why he hates Christmas that is so quintessentially him that I’m convinced Lowery just let the camera roll and stayed out of the way. It’s these small, character-focused moments that contemporary cinema often sacrifices for plot momentum, and I found myself cherishing every one of them.

Why This One Slipped Away

Despite the pedigree, The Old Man & the Gun only pulled in about $11 million at the box office. It was a "platform release" success but didn't have the marketing muscle to compete with the franchise fatigue beginning to set in that year. It’s a "small" drama in a "big" movie world. Furthermore, it avoids the typical tropes of the heist genre—there are no shootouts, no high-speed chases, and no betrayal. It’s basically a cinematic hug that also happens to involve grand larceny.

One of my favorite bits of trivia involves a montage where we see Forrest's previous escapes. Lowery actually used a clip from the 1966 film The Chase to show a young Forrest. That’s Robert Redford playing his own younger self, decades before de-aging technology became a standard industry tool. It’s a meta-moment that acknowledges Redford’s entire career, making the film feel like a sequel to every "charming rogue" character he ever played, from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to The Sting.

Lowery also reportedly had to fight to keep the title. The studio wanted something punchier, but The Old Man & the Gun perfectly summarizes the simple, mythological conflict at the heart of the story. It’s a movie about the craft of living, whether that’s Jewel tending to her farm or Forrest leaning over a counter and whispering a demand.

The film is a masterclass in tone, maintaining a gentle, elegiac pace that never feels slow. It acknowledges that the world is changing—Hunt’s kids are obsessed with the news, and the technology of police work is advancing—but Forrest remains a relic of a more polite, adventurous era. It’s a fitting end for Robert Redford, a man who spent his career being the person we most wanted to see on screen.

Forrest Tucker famously said he didn't rob banks to make a living, but to make a life. This movie feels the same way. It wasn't made to break box office records or launch a cinematic universe; it was made to celebrate the act of storytelling itself. Watching it feels like sitting on a porch at dusk, listening to an old friend tell one last great story before the sun finally goes down.