The Quiet Courage of Becoming

I watched Eleanor the Great on Netflix tonight on a cold, snowy Chicago night—the kind of evening that invites you to slow down and really sit with a story. It surprised me right away, making me laugh a few times at the beginning, catching me off guard with its quiet humor. But as the film unfolded, the laughter slowly gave way to something heavier. By the end, I was crying real tears. The kind that don’t ask permission. It stirred memories and feelings of my own personal grief, reminding me how loss never fully disappears—it simply changes shape, resurfacing when we least expect it.

Directed by Scarlett Johansson, Eleanor the Great is the kind of film that moves quietly. No big speeches. No forced drama. Just a steady, honest look at aging, grief, friendship, and what it means to still want more from life—even when the world assumes your story is winding down. Eleanor isn’t trying to be extraordinary. She’s simply trying to live, to be seen, to make sense of what remains after loss.

What struck me most was how tender the film is toward its main character. There’s no pity here, no glossing over the loneliness or the sharp edges of getting older. And yet, there’s humor. There’s curiosity. There’s a reminder that growth doesn’t have an expiration date.

Scarlett Johansson’s direction feels restrained in the best way—allowing silences to speak, letting small moments carry real weight. It’s a film about listening, about paying attention, about the quiet courage it takes to keep opening your heart when it would be easier to close it.

Eleanor the Great left me thinking about how many stories we overlook simply because they’re not loud. And how often the most meaningful transformations happen slowly, gently, almost unnoticed—until one day you realize you’re not quite the same person you were before.