How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies is a tender and heartfelt film depicting a Thai family’s reaction upon learning of their grandmother’s imminent death. The film takes a different turn from The Farewell, instead focusing on M’s relationship with his grandmother, Menju. Initially scheming to be financially repaid for his care after Menju’s passing, M gradually finds himself negotiating between the sincere moments he shares with his grandmother and the cynical behaviours and attitudes of his family members.
The premise is immediately intriguing as it presents the contested juxtaposition between kinship and economy—should the “right” way to perform care be through financial provision, or through attention and emotional labour? Moreover, is it moral to provide care with the expectation of economic incentives, and does the act of caregiving matter more than the reasons behind it?
In the absence of institutionalised medical support for the elderly, multiple generations are forced to bear the physical and emotional burden of caregiving. Women’s emotional labour has historically been rendered invisible, while men and their financial capital are given the upper hand. This is epitomised through M’s successful uncle, who appears to dominate his siblings’ decisions and attitudes. His financial ability even grants him the power to displace his mother from her livelihood for the sake of convenience, as he persuades her to abandon her congee shop and community to move into his mansion. The undue emphasis placed on financial liability as a determinant of kinship relations should not be overlooked, further dismantling the illusion of a clear-cut binary between kinship and economy.
It would be too easy to position M’s wealthy uncle and his caring mother as direct opposites—criticising the former as ruthless and portraying the latter as a victim of generational misogyny. However, the film shines by centring Menju, the dying grandmother who is often infantilised, yet fully aware of the complex entanglement of kinship and economy. Despite choosing to leave her house to her flamboyant and unstable son, she tells M’s mother that she wants to live with her the most—a direct contrast to M’s wealthy uncle’s decision to place her in a care home. Even the uncle, upon discovering that Menju had long given up eating beef as a plea to the gods for his health, eventually reconciles with her, learning to cherish their final days together. Kinship and economy are rarely “settled” in explicit terms; real-life conflicts are seldom dramatic and well-articulated but instead unfold through whispered words and subtle actions.
Nothing amplifies the contested and negotiated boundaries of kinship and economy quite like death. Every character struggles with their own internal conflicts, from the eccentric cousin who has not dreamt of her late grandfather since his passing to Menju’s recognition that it is best if her unstable son does not visit—because that would mean he is doing well. Questions of inheritance, mourning practices, and discussions on filial piety place the binary of kinship and economy under the spotlight, demonstrating the inherent impossibility of disentangling one from the other. Economic and kinship incentives are inextricably linked. Grief is a practice that can never be done “correctly” and, therefore, can never truly be done “wrong”.
At the end of the film, M uses his inheritance to buy his grandmother a large plot of land—an act that not only defies familial hierarchies but also realises kinship relations in economic terms. Like the flowers that are intentionally not scattered across the field, the irreconcilable nature of kin relations and economic ability lingers over every family.
“Lahn Mah cast and director at Open House event” by THHeadline is licensed under CC BY 3.0.