Thelma

The sight of a 93-year-old woman staring down a flickering computer monitor with the intensity of Ethan Hunt disarming a nuclear warhead is the exact kind of cinematic subversion I didn't know I needed in 2024. In an era where "geriatric action" usually means Liam Neeson growling through another European city, Thelma arrives with a much sharper, sweeter, and more honest set of dentures. It’s a film that understands the stakes of a stolen $10,000 aren't just about the money—it’s about the dignity of a woman who refuses to be treated like a porcelain doll.

I watched this on my laptop while wearing two mismatched socks—one navy, one grey—because I couldn't be bothered to turn on the light to find a pair, and that minor struggle with domestic entropy felt strangely in tune with the film’s grounded chaos.

Mission: Geriatric

Director Josh Margolin crafts a brilliant debut that functions as a high-octane heist movie, provided your definition of "high-octane" includes a top speed of four miles per hour on a motorized scooter. When June Squibb, playing the titular Thelma Post, gets fleeced by a phone scammer pretending to be her grandson, she doesn’t wait for the police or her hovering daughter (Parker Posey) to intervene. Instead, she "borrows" a heavy-duty scooter from an old friend and sets off across Los Angeles.

The genius here is in the translation of action tropes. A character putting on a hearing aid is filmed with the metallic "shink" of a soldier loading a magazine. A slow walk across a cluttered living room is edited with the tension of a laser-grid heist. Watching June Squibb navigate a confusing computer pop-up is genuinely more suspenseful than the last three CGI-bloated superhero finales I've endured. By treating Thelma’s everyday obstacles with the gravity of a blockbuster, Margolin makes us feel the monumental effort required to simply exist in a world that has outpaced you.

A Farewell to the Shaft

Thelma’s "partner in crime" is Ben, played by the late, great Richard Roundtree in his final film role. Seeing the man who defined 1970s cool in Shaft now playing a soft-spoken resident of an assisted living facility is a masterstroke of casting. He brings a soulful, grounded energy to the "adventure," serving as the cautious sidekick to Thelma’s reckless determination. Their chemistry is the heart of the movie; they share a shorthand that only comes from a lifetime of being told they’re past their prime.

While the film leans into the comedy of aging, it never mocks its subjects. The humor is affectionate, grounded in the reality of post-pandemic life where technology is a labyrinth and "checking in" on elders often feels like surveillance. Fred Hechinger, as Thelma’s actual grandson Danny, represents the other side of this contemporary coin: a young man paralyzed by the same "what now?" anxiety that his grandmother refuses to succumb to. It’s a lovely, reciprocal relationship that anchors the film’s more outlandish moments.

The Craft of the Slow-Motion Chase

From a technical standpoint, Thelma is surprisingly polished for a $5 million indie. The score by Nick Chuba leans heavily into 70s-style thriller vibes, punctuating the action with groovy basslines that remind us these characters were once the cool kids of the disco era. The action choreography, if you can call it that, relies on practical execution. There are no de-aging filters or "The Volume" LED screens here—it’s just June Squibb doing her own stunts (within reason), and the physical reality of her movements gives the film a weight that digital spectacle lacks.

Even the villain, played by Malcolm McDowell, feels like a relic of a different era, a man hiding behind a phone line because the world has forgotten him, too. It’s a clever way to frame the "scamming" culture—not just as a crime, but as a byproduct of a society that isolates the vulnerable. The film manages to be a commentary on our current technological disconnect without ever feeling like a lecture. It’s too busy being a blast to bother with being pedantic.

Thelma is the kind of mid-budget gem that feels increasingly rare in the streaming age. It’s a "legacy sequel" to a life that never actually ended, proving that June Squibb is a leading lady we’ve been unfairly ignoring for decades. It captures the specific, modern anxiety of the digital age but fights back with the analog stubbornness of a generation that remembers how to read a paper map. If this is the new face of the action genre, I’m more than happy to slow down and enjoy the ride.