Movie Review: The Thursday Murder Club (2025) - Comfort, Class, and a Dash of Murder

When The Thursday Murder Club finally hit the screen in 2025, it arrived with high expectations and a cast so distinguished it could make even the most sceptical filmgoer lean forward. Based on Richard Osman’s bestselling debut, the film had all the makings of a British classic — a witty whodunit with heart, humour, and just enough melancholy to make you think twice about the passing of time. What we got instead was a charming, occasionally uneven, but thoroughly enjoyable adaptation that shines brightest when it lets its veteran cast do what they do best: steal every scene with quiet mastery.

Chris Columbus’s adaptation feels like Sunday-evening comfort television blown up for the big screen. The screenplay by Katy Brand and Suzanne Heathcote streamlines Osman’s sprawling novel, which juggled multiple murders, intersecting backstories, and diary-style narration. Gone are the constant switches in perspective that made the book so layered. Instead, the film opts for a cleaner, more linear narrative. It’s a sensible choice for cinema, though it comes at a cost: some of the book’s delicious complexity and introspection inevitably vanish.

The novel’s wry humour and slow-burn intrigue have been distilled into something brisker and lighter. The mystery itself — while engaging — feels secondary to the interplay among the residents of Coopers Chase. That’s not a criticism so much as an observation: the film knows its true strength lies in its ensemble. Where the book made you ponder clues, the film invites you to savour moments — a shared glance, a withheld confession, a knowing smirk over tea.

The biggest changes come in the handling of subplots. Bogdan’s storyline, for example, takes a sharp turn away from the morally ambiguous arc Osman wrote, giving the film a tidier but less interesting ending. The real estate and developer threads are trimmed, and several side characters disappear entirely. These changes make the story more focused, though longtime fans of the book may miss its messier human edges.

Visually, The Thursday Murder Club is pure comfort viewing. The set design of Coopers Chase — the fictional retirement village at the heart of the story — is so meticulously rendered it feels like a character in itself. Everything from the colour palette to the lighting choices seems designed to evoke warmth and routine. There’s a softness to every frame: polished wood, overstuffed chairs, sunlight filtered through lace curtains.

Columbus captures that balance between comfort and melancholy — the awareness that time is running out, but that life, even in its quieter moments, still demands to be lived. Symbolically, the film leans into the tension between age and agency. These are characters who refuse to fade politely into the background; every mystery they tackle is a defiance of invisibility.

The film’s heartbeat lies in its ensemble, and it’s a remarkable one. Helen Mirren’s Elizabeth exudes control and cunning; you can almost see her past life flickering behind her eyes. Pierce Brosnan brings warmth and charm to Ron, the ex-union man with lingering regrets. Ben Kingsley plays Ibrahim with clinical precision and quiet dignity, while Celia Imrie’s Joyce injects curiosity and humour into every scene she touches.

Supporting them are Naomi Ackie and Daniel Mays as the younger detectives, navigating the awkward dance of respecting — and being outwitted by — their elders. Henry Lloyd-Hughes and Jonathan Pryce round out the cast, lending emotional weight and generational contrast.

And then there’s that unforgettable moment when DI Chris Hudson raises his voice at Elizabeth. Watching someone shout at Helen Mirren — even in character — is disorienting. You can almost feel the ripple of tension through the set. To project anger opposite someone with Mirren’s command must have been nerve-racking. Yet it’s precisely that clash of energy — youthful frustration meeting seasoned composure — that gives the film one of its most electric scenes.

For younger audiences, this may simply play as a sharp exchange. For anyone aware of what these performers have achieved, it feels like a masterclass — an unspoken duel of experience, respect, and control.

While the mystery provides the scaffolding, The Thursday Murder Club is really about memory, connection, and the fight against erasure. Every character carries the weight of the past — regrets, unfinished conversations, silent losses. The film celebrates the wisdom that comes from a life fully lived and suggests that justice, like friendship, isn’t reserved for the young.

There’s also something delightfully subversive about how it treats ageing. These retirees aren’t portrayed as frail or irrelevant; they’re clever, mischievous, and quietly formidable. Their world might be smaller, but their influence isn’t. Even the film’s lighter moments — racing mobility scooters, cake debates, and tea-fuelled interrogations — speak to the idea that joy itself can be a form of rebellion.

Critically, the response has been warmly mixed — praise for the performances, mild disappointment with the mystery. And that feels fair. This isn’t a reinvention of the murder-mystery genre; it’s a comforting stroll through familiar terrain, elevated by extraordinary actors. Columbus’s direction keeps everything polished, if occasionally too safe.

Behind the scenes, it’s said that production wasn’t without hiccups — weather delays, set challenges, and the pressure of adapting a beloved book all played their part. But what’s remarkable is how cohesive the final film feels. Even when it wanders, it never loses its tone: witty, gentle, and quietly moving.

The Thursday Murder Club doesn’t match the intricate brilliance of Osman’s novel, but it captures its spirit — the humour, the empathy, the insistence that life’s second act can still be filled with purpose. Its mysteries might not shock, but its performances mesmerise.

This isn’t a film for those seeking adrenaline. It’s a film for those who understand the beauty of conversation, the thrill of deduction, and the quiet defiance of staying curious no matter your age.

Younger audiences might watch it and think, “Nice cast.” Older audiences — or anyone who knows what these actors have built across decades — will recognise something deeper: a gathering of masters at work, playing a game they’ve already won.