In a world where reboots and sequels often feel like recycled nostalgia, Grace and Frankie: New Beginnings arrives like a breath of fresh, salty ocean air from the Malibu coast. Set for a splashy premiere in early 2026 on Netflix, this long-awaited film adaptation picks up the threads of one of television’s most beloved comedy-dramas, transforming the small-screen saga into a cinematic celebration of late-life reinvention. Created once again by the dynamic duo of Marta Kauffman and Howard J. Morris—the masterminds behind the original series—and helmed by the sharp-eyed direction of Ken Whittingham, the movie reunites Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin as the indomitable Grace Hanson and Frankie Bergstein. It’s a return that’s been whispered about in fan forums and Hollywood green rooms for years, ever since the series bowed out in 2022 after seven gloriously chaotic seasons. But as Fonda herself teased in a recent Variety interview, “Grace and Frankie don’t fade away—they just get louder.” With an unexpected family bombshell thrusting the titular pals back into the entrepreneurial fray, New Beginnings promises the same cocktail of wit, warmth, and wild antics that made the original a cultural touchstone, now distilled into a feature-length fizz.

The original Grace and Frankie series, which dropped its first 13 episodes on Netflix in 2015, was a revelation from the jump. Conceived by Kauffman—fresh off her Friends legacy of coffee-shop confessions and quirky camaraderie—and Morris, a veteran of heartfelt ensemble comedies, it dared to center two women over 70 in a landscape dominated by millennial angst and superhero spandex. The premise? A deliciously absurd setup: Grace, the polished cosmetics queen played with icy precision by Fonda, and Frankie, the free-spirited artist embodied by Tomlin’s irrepressible charm, discover that their husbands of decades—successful San Diego lawyers Robert and Sol—have been secretly in love with each other for 20 years. Cue the double divorce, a shared beach house exile, and an unlikely friendship forged in the fires of frozen yogurt runs and existential martinis. What could have been a one-note gimmick blossomed into 94 episodes of razor-sharp dialogue, tackling everything from menopause mishaps to same-sex wedding woes with unflinching honesty and heaps of heart. It became Netflix’s longest-running original series, earning 13 Emmy nods and a devoted fanbase that spanned generations.

New Beginnings doesn’t just nod to that legacy; it catapults it forward with the vigor of a business plan sketched on a cocktail napkin. The plot kicks off four years after the series finale, where Grace and Frankie, now in their mid-80s but no less formidable, have settled into a rhythm of semi-retirement: Grace tinkering with eco-friendly lipstick prototypes, Frankie leading virtual yoga classes for aging hippies. Their Rise Up Corporation—the vibrator empire born from Season 3’s entrepreneurial epiphany—has gone dormant, a relic of their wilder days. But enter the “unexpected family surprise”: a long-lost grandchild, the product of Grace’s daughter Mallory’s impulsive ’90s fling, shows up on their doorstep with a duffel bag, a business degree, and a pitch that could resurrect Rise Up. This wide-eyed millennial entrepreneur, played by newcomer Zoe Chao in a breakout role blending earnest idealism with Gen-Z snark, proposes a rebrand: sustainable sex toys for the silver set, complete with app integrations for “discreet deliveries” and VR tutorials led by Frankie herself. It’s a plot twist that yanks Grace and Frankie from their Adirondack chairs and back into the boardroom, where ageism in Silicon Valley meets their unyielding moxie.

What ensues is pure Grace and Frankie alchemy: laughter laced with poignant truths about legacy, loss, and the absurdity of starting over when you’ve already looped the track a few times. Grace, ever the pragmatist, clashes with the kid’s “woke capitalism” vibes—debating bamboo packaging versus recycled plastic over kale smoothies—while Frankie dives headfirst into tie-dye prototypes and hallucinogenic focus groups. The business reboot spirals into chaos: a viral TikTok scandal involving a prototype that “vibrates too enthusiastically,” a hostile takeover bid from a faceless tech bro conglomerate, and a heartfelt detour into reconciling with estranged ex-husbands Robert and Sol, now grandparents themselves in a cozy San Francisco bungalow. Amid the mishaps, the film weaves in flashbacks to the series’ glory days—quick-cut montages of beach-house brunches and ill-fated phone-sex startups—that serve as both Easter eggs for diehards and on-ramps for newcomers. Kauffman and Morris, drawing from their post-Grace and Frankie ventures (Kauffman’s recent forays into dramatic adaptations like Forever on Amazon), infuse the script with a matured edge: themes of climate anxiety for boomers, the loneliness of empty nests in the digital age, and the quiet terror of irrelevance. Yet, it’s the mischief that keeps it buoyant—think Frankie accidentally live-streaming a business pitch while high on CBD gummies, or Grace seducing a venture capitalist with a martini-fueled monologue on “the economics of ecstasy.”

At the helm is Ken Whittingham, a director whose resume reads like a love letter to character-driven comedy. Known for helming multiple episodes of the original series (including the uproarious “The Hinge” from Season 4, where Grace’s dating app escapades go hilariously awry), Whittingham brings his signature visual flair: sweeping drone shots of Malibu sunsets that mirror the duo’s emotional horizons, close-ups on crinkled hands clasped in solidarity, and kinetic montages of business blunders scored to a playlist blending Joni Mitchell with Charli XCX. “Directing these women is like conducting a symphony where the violins occasionally decide to play jazz,” Whittingham joked at a recent AFI panel. His touch ensures the film’s 105-minute runtime flies by, balancing slapstick set pieces—like a factory mishap flooding the beach house with prototype lube—with intimate scenes that linger, such as Grace and Frankie sharing a midnight confessional about their fears of fading into footnotes.

Of course, no Grace and Frankie revival would be complete without its ensemble heart. Returning as the ex-husbands are Sam Waterston and Martin Sheen, both now 84 and 84 respectively, infusing Robert and Sol’s post-coming-out bliss with a tender rumination on long-term love. Waterston, the lanky legal eagle from Law & Order, delivers Sol’s neurotic fussing with renewed pathos, while Sheen—veteran of The West Wing‘s Oval Office gravitas—grounds Robert’s actorly ego in wry self-deprecation. June Diane Raphael, the razor-tongued Brianna Hanson from the series, reprises her role as Grace’s no-BS daughter, now a tech CEO whose boardroom battles with her mom spark fireworks of generational friction. “Brianna’s always been the voice of ‘get over it,’ but now she’s the one begging Grace for seed money,” Raphael shared in a Collider roundtable, hinting at her character’s arc toward vulnerability. Filling out the frame are series alums like Brooklyn Decker as Mallory, the ever-optimistic middle child turned reluctant investor, and Baron Vaughn as the affable tech whiz Mallom—now upgraded to a full-fledged co-conspirator in the business revival.

But the true magic, as always, orbits Fonda and Tomlin, whose real-life friendship—sparked on the set of 1980’s 9 to 5 and solidified over decades of activism and awards-show banter—elevates every frame. Fonda, 88 by the film’s release, channels Grace’s steely elegance with a vulnerability honed from her own life reinventions: from Hollywood ingenue to fitness guru to climate warrior. Her post-Grace and Frankie slate, including the poignant The Whale and her ongoing Fire Drill Fridays protests, lends Grace an authentic edge of urgency. Tomlin, 86, embodies Frankie’s bohemian whirl with the same gleeful anarchy that defined her in Nashville and The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe. Off-screen, the pair’s bond is legendary—Tomlin once quipped, “Jane’s the yin to my yang; she’s the martini to my mushroom tea.” Their chemistry crackles in New Beginnings, from a show-stopping dance sequence at a product launch (choreographed to a remixed “9 to 5”) to a tear-jerking beachside vow renewal of their friendship, pinky-swearing to “outlast the patriarchy and the patents.”

The film’s themes resonate deeper in 2026’s cultural waters, where conversations around aging, female entrepreneurship, and queer family dynamics have evolved but not expired. Kauffman and Morris, who navigated the original series through pay equity controversies (Fonda and Tomlin famously joked about their salaries in 2016, sparking industry-wide discussions) and pandemic production halts, use New Beginnings to nod at progress while prodding at persistent blind spots. The business plotline skewers venture capital’s youth bias—echoing real-world stats where women over 50 receive less than 2% of funding—while Frankie’s eco-angles tie into Fonda’s real activism, with proceeds from the film earmarked for women’s health initiatives. It’s a savvy evolution: the original series broke ground on elder sex positivity (that vibrator arc alone sparked global headlines); the movie expands it to intersectional empowerment, with diverse cameos from the likes of Laverne Cox as a queer inventor and Awkwafina voicing an AI business coach.

Fan reactions, leaked from early test screenings, border on ecstatic. “It’s like catching up with old friends who’ve only gotten wiser and weirder,” one viewer posted on Reddit’s r/GraceAndFrankie. Critics’ early buzz from TIFF whispers praises its “effervescent heart,” with Variety calling it “a tonic for the soul in sequel-saturated times.” Netflix, betting big on legacy IP, slots it for a February 2026 drop—prime awards-season real estate—following a whirlwind promo tour featuring Fonda and Tomlin’s signature joint interviews, complete with martini recipes and protest chants.

At its core, Grace and Frankie: New Beginnings affirms what the series preached: life’s too short for small talk, and reinvention knows no expiration date. As Grace quips in the trailer, “We’ve survived husbands, hip replacements, and hostile takeovers—who says we can’t conquer crowdfunding?” With laughter that lands like a warm hug and mischief that tickles the ribs, this film proves the duo’s story isn’t ending—it’s just expanding the franchise. For fans who’ve binge-watched through breakups and birthdays, it’s a gift: proof that with Grace and Frankie, the fun never retires. It just gets a fabulous new lease on life.