Eleanor the Great

Most people treat Florida as the final boarding gate, but for Eleanor Morgenstein, the Sunshine State was just a decades-long layover. When her best friend passes away, Eleanor decides that at ninety-four, she isn't quite done with the noise, the grime, and the frantic heartbeat of New York City. It’s a "reverse retirement" that feels less like a sunset stroll and more like a tactical insertion into enemy territory. I watched this while my apartment’s radiator was clanking like a percussionist with a grudge, a rhythmic metallic banging that oddly served as the perfect 4D soundtrack for a movie about reclaiming a life in a city that never pauses to check your pulse.

The Squibb Supreme

The undisputed engine of this film is June Squibb. We’ve spent years watching her be the secret weapon in the background of comedies, but here, she is the sun around which everything else orbits. At an age where most actors are receiving "Lifetime Achievement" awards and staying home, Squibb is carrying a 98-minute drama with a sharpness that would make a twenty-year-old nervous. She plays Eleanor not as a "cute" grandma or a tragic figure of decline, but as a woman who is simply, stubbornly there.

Her performance is stripped of the usual "senior citizen" tropes. There’s no exaggerated frailty for sympathy and no over-the-top "edgy" swearing for cheap laughs. Instead, she gives us a masterfully—wait, scratch that—she gives us a deeply grounded portrayal of the sheer logistics of being old in a city designed for the young. Seeing a 94-year-old tackle a flight of subway stairs provides more genuine tension than any CGI sky-beam in a superhero finale. You find yourself leaning forward, physically rooting for her to navigate a turnstile or find a decent bagel. It’s high-stakes cinema of the most human variety.

Scarlett Behind the Lens

There was a lot of skeptical chatter on my social feeds when Scarlett Johansson announced she was stepping into the director’s chair. In an era where every major star eventually wants to call the shots, there’s always the fear of a vanity project. But Johansson (who also produces) shows a surprising amount of restraint here. She isn't trying to prove she's the next Kubrick; she’s trying to tell a story about a woman who feels invisible.

The direction is unfussy and patient. Working from a script by Tory Kamen, Johansson lets the camera linger on the small indignities of modern life—the confusing kiosks, the rushed sidewalks, the way people look through Eleanor rather than at her. It’s a very contemporary look at urban isolation. The score by Dustin O'Halloran (who did such beautiful work on Lion) hums in the background, never telling you exactly how to feel, but providing a melancholy warmth that kept me hooked even when the pacing slowed to a crawl.

The supporting cast is equally dialed-in. Erin Kellyman plays Nina, the younger foil who eventually bridges the generational gap, and she manages to avoid the "manic pixie dream girl" pitfalls. Chiwetel Ejiofor shows up as Roger, bringing that soulful gravity he seems to carry in his pockets. The chemistry between Squibb and Kellyman feels earned; it doesn't blossom overnight, but rather through a series of awkward, honest interactions that reflect how friendships actually work in the 2020s—clumsy, digital, and slightly guarded.

The Quiet Box Office Battle

In our current theatrical landscape, a movie like Eleanor the Great is something of a miracle. With a box office take of just under $4 million, it didn't set the world on fire, but in the post-pandemic "mid-budget" graveyard, that’s actually a respectable showing for a pure drama. It’s a film that knows it’s destined for a long life on streaming platforms, yet it benefits immensely from the theatrical focus. There’s a specific kind of silence that happens in a theater during a film this intimate that you just can't replicate at home while your phone is buzzing with notifications.

The film does occasionally stumble into "indie-movie-itis." There are moments where the quirkiness feels a bit too curated, and the ending might feel a little too tidy for those who prefer their New York stories with a bit more jagged glass. However, Johansson succeeds in making the mundane feel monumental. She captures the way the city has changed—the tech-saturated, high-rent, glass-tower version of NYC—and pits it against a woman who remembers a version of the streets that has long since been paved over.

I walked away from Eleanor the Great feeling a strange sense of relief. In a cinematic era dominated by "legacy sequels" and endless franchise expansions, it’s refreshing to see a "legacy" story that is actually about a human legacy. It’s a small, sturdy film that doesn't overstay its welcome. If you're tired of the spectacle and want to spend ninety minutes with a woman who refuses to be a footnote in her own life, seek this one out. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most radical thing a person can do is move back home and start over, even when they’ve already seen nearly a century’s worth of sunsets.