Retirement communities in stories often feel like places where time has slowed to a crawl. People play cards. The corridors are quiet. Every now and then, someone makes a joke about early dinners. Cooper’s Chase is nothing like that. It sits on the bones of a former convent, girdled by green fields that seem to roll on forever. There is movement everywhere you look. Laughter carries down the halls. The apartments look less like flats for seniors and more like suites you would find in a boutique hotel. You can picture the food being good just by the way the residents talk about it. There is a hospice wing too, and whenever someone mentions it voices drop, just a little, as if wild joy and grief have agreed on a polite truce. For a while it is as close to perfect as life allows. Then people start dying.
If you read Richard Osman’s first novel, you will recognize the place right away. The Thursday Murder Club arrived in 2020 like a party guest who knows all the stories and is not afraid to tell them. It sold and sold and then sold some more, and by the time readers took a breath there were three follow ups on the shelves. Another installment is on the way. Osman has spent years in television as a producer and quiz show host, and he clearly loves the grammar of crime fiction. You can feel how he fell for this idea. He visited an upscale retirement village and wondered what might be happening in all those warm rooms. What if four retired friends met every week in a quiet spot and tried to solve old cases that the police had shelved. What if they were better at it than anyone expected. That spark became a franchise.
On the page the first case is a knot of greed and secrets. There are crooked developers, business interests that look clean until you shine a light at them, and suspects who keep slipping out of sight. Red herrings swim through the plot like they own the place. It is a funny book that plays fair. It respects the reader. It treats older characters not as punch lines but as people who have lived a lot and learned how to see.
Now the story has moved from paper to screen. Katy Brand and Suzanne Heathcote did the adaptation, and Chris Columbus directed and produced. Columbus has been at this a long time. He started with Adventures in Babysitting in the late eighties and went on to make Home Alone, Mrs Doubtfire, and two films in the Harry Potter series. He knows how to build a crowd pleaser. He knows when to get out of the way and let actors enjoy themselves. It makes sense that he was drawn to this material.
The cast is the sort of lineup that makes you sit up a little straighter. Helen Mirren brings a silver blade of intelligence to Elizabeth, the beating heart of the club. Pierce Brosnan is Ron, a former trade union firebrand who still walks into rooms like he is ready to organize them. Ben Kingsley plays Ibrahim, a psychiatrist whose calm insight lets him pry loose small truths other people miss. Celia Imrie is Joyce, newly arrived and eager to contribute, even if she is still deciding how much of herself to show. Around them orbit David Tennant, Naomi Ackie, Daniel Mays, and Jonathan Pryce. Richard E Grant drops in for a cameo that manages to be both sly and effective. It is a deep bench. You can feel the confidence.
Before Elizabeth assumed the reins, the club had another founder. D I Penny Gray started it, a retired officer who brought real police discipline to the meetings until life knocked everything sideways. Penny lies in the hospice wing now, and her husband sits by her bed with the sort of patient devotion that can break your heart if you think about it too long. Elizabeth was Penny’s friend, and she refuses to let the club fade out. She moves with purpose. She knows when to delegate and when to pull rank. The script drops hints that Elizabeth climbed very high in MI6 and learned to keep her mouth shut about it. In a place where people assume grandmothers are soft, she lets them underestimate her. Being overlooked can be a choice. Sometimes it is the best disguise in the world.
Ron carries chaos with him the way some people carry umbrellas. He is a natural agitator with a righteous sense of fairness, and he has not slowed down. Ibrahim acts as ballast. He listens hard. He notices when a suspect is listening to you and when they are rehearsing in their head. Joyce is the fresh perspective. She writes lists and bakes and then steps over a line and asks a question that steers the whole group in a new direction. The four of them feel like an odd little orchestra. Each part sounds distinct, and what they play together makes sense.
At first they are nosing around a cold case from the early seventies, staring at a puzzle that should be simple and is anything but. Then Tony Curran turns up dead. He owns Cooper’s Chase and has corners of his personality that do not catch the light. Money sticks to him. Trouble follows. His business partner is Ian Ventham, a man with sharp elbows who is in the middle of a bitter divorce. He is strapped for cash and chasing an idea that will make him solvent again. That idea involves evicting the residents and converting the convent into a glossy spread of luxury apartments. You do not need a detective to predict how well that plan goes over. The community pushes back. Anger swirls. Alliances harden. In the chaos Tony is murdered, and every suspicion the club has been rehearsing suddenly feels very real.
A young officer named Donna De Freitas arrives to give a talk on home security. She is smart and capable and bored right out of her mind. Elizabeth spots it. She understands what it feels like to want more. The police force is a big machine that can grind down new recruits without meaning to. The club needs someone on the inside, someone who can slip into the official channels and get information that would take months to find on their own. Donna says yes. It is not exactly allowed. It is also exactly what needs to happen.
Then there is Bogdan Jankowski, a handyman who can fix anything and who looks like he has been keeping his own counsel for a long time. There is Elizabeth’s husband, played with quiet grace by Jonathan Pryce, whose mind is retreating room by room. That storyline is gentle and sad. It gives Elizabeth a second battle to fight, one that cannot be won with cunning. Ron’s son Tom is a former boxer who has drifted into reality television. He shows up on a shiny show about celebrities trying to skate. Ron rolls his eyes and wants him to aim higher. Out of this mix Columbus and the writers pull something that feels lived in. The characters do not get pinned to one note. They all carry extra weight.
Visually the film does not try to knock you over with flamboyant style. It is not looking for cool. The palette is comfortable. The camera observes rather than performs. That restraint turns out to be an advantage. Older people in movies are so often patronized or softened until nothing is left but a sentimental glow. You wait for the cloying jokes about aches and pains. You wait for the moment when the plot pauses to ask you to marvel at the spry elders doing improbable things. That moment never really comes. What arrives instead is a steady respect. Elizabeth and Ron and Ibrahim and Joyce are never treated like novelties. They are sharp. They are stubborn. They make bad calls sometimes and then adjust. They are willing to take a risk when it counts. If anything, the film reminds you that age can be a cloak. When people assume you are harmless it is easier to walk right into their secrets.
The mystery plays fair in a cozy sort of way. Clues are scattered where you can find them if you are paying attention. There are surprises that feel earned. The writers enjoy placing a trail of crumbs and then watching you skid off after some shine in the other direction. That early case from 1973 still matters, but it matters in ways that complicate everything else. The death of Tony Curran locks all the threads together. Greed makes people careless. Old grudges resurface. Personal loyalties become pressure points that can break the skin. The club tightens ranks. Donna gets braver. The net closes, then loosens, then closes again.
Chris Columbus directs with a light touch. He has a gift for rhythm. Scenes move. Conversations have shape. You can sense his humor in small details and in the way the camera lets actors finish a thought. He is not trying to make a chilly procedural. He wants to build a place people want to visit again. That instinct tilts the film toward warmth rather than menace. For some viewers that will feel like a handshake instead of a thrill. For others it will be the whole point. Not every crime story needs to splash around in dread to keep you leaning forward.
It helps that the actors look happy to be together. Helen Mirren wears authority like a tailored coat, but she also allows Elizabeth to be delighted when a plan works. Pierce Brosnan gives Ron a rough charm and a quick temper that burns out before it does real damage. Ben Kingsley makes Ibrahim’s stillness interesting and sometimes very funny. Celia Imrie lets Joyce be open without being naive. Watch the way she tracks whoever is talking. She is always calculating what to say next. Around them, David Tennant’s Ian Ventham keeps flashing a salesman smile that never reaches his eyes. Naomi Ackie’s Donna is a study in frustration turning into resourcefulness. Daniel Mays brings texture to the official police presence. Jonathan Pryce softens every room he steps into and then breaks your heart when he cannot find the right words. Richard E Grant pops in just long enough to remind you that a single scene can linger.
The chemistry in the club is the film’s secret engine. They banter, they bicker, they pull one another out of small funks, and by the time they draw up another plan you believe they can do it. The dynamic with Donna adds a pleasant jolt. She has the badge but not the clout. They have the freedom to misbehave. Together they figure out how to leverage both. That balance carries the story through its softer patches.
If you are a fan of the books, you might come to this with a guarded heart. People love what they imagine while reading. They feel protective. On the page you can linger over an aside or reread a line and build the world the way you want it. Movies have to make choices. They have only so much space. Some readers will miss the deeper layers the novels have time to explore. A few character histories are touched only lightly. The visuals are competent rather than striking. A couple of side plots resolve neatly when a little mess would have been interesting. These are fair criticisms. They do not sink the ship.
What the film gets right is the tone of friendship and the prickle of curiosity that drives this story. It lets the club be formidable without turning them into superheroes. It allows humor to spill into serious moments because that is how people really are. It looks squarely at frailty and does not flinch but also refuses to let frailty be the last word. It touches grief and then returns to the living because the living need attention. Penny in the hospice and Elizabeth’s husband losing his way give the story weight. They keep the stakes from being only about money or property lines. They remind you that time is not infinite and we are all trying to make something useful out of the pieces we have.
Still, the movie feels a little like a pilot. That is not meant as a complaint. It has the rhythm of a first chapter, full of introductions and suggestions of where the club might go next. In the era of streaming, that is probably a feature rather than a flaw. Netflix loves stories that promise more and can return with a new case when the audience is ready. If this is chapter one, there are worse ways to begin.
There are smaller pleasures too. The score gives scenes a gentle bounce without getting in the way. The production design sells Cooper’s Chase as a place you might actually want to live. The editing respects moments of silence. There are quiet shots of friends sharing a table that provide as much satisfaction as any big reveal. That is where the fondness lives. In people showing up for one another again and again, even when the cost is not small.
Adaptations are always negotiations. This one keeps the signature spirit of Osman’s creation and dresses it in a comfortable coat. It is not as sharp as it could be. It is not meant to be jagged. It is a caper that trusts charm and craft and the power of being underestimated. Now and then an older character will be told to sit down or be careful. You can tell that the note will be ignored. Thank goodness for that.
If someone at a studio had given notes on this project, they might have asked for more danger or more flash. I am glad that request did not win. It is refreshing to spend time with a mystery that believes competence can be entertaining all by itself. That confidence is what makes the film work. You get your suspects, your motives, your trail of clues, and you get the warm hum of a community that deserves to be saved.
By the end I found myself thinking less about the murders and more about the ritual of Thursdays. The club chooses a table. Someone brings biscuits. They share what they have learned and divide up what remains. It is simple. It is also an answer to loneliness. In another story the point might be that anyone can become a detective. Here the point is that anyone can belong to a group that cares enough to keep asking questions until the truth speaks up. That is a good message for any age.
The Thursday Murder Club on screen is engaging and often very funny. It does not look down on its characters or its audience. It has enough twists to keep the whodunit humming and enough heart to make you hope these people get another adventure. The film may start in a retirement community, but it never once feels retired. It feels alive. It feels like a place you might visit on a Thursday, if only to see what puzzle is waiting in the jigsaw room.
