If there’s a damning indictment of the state of American late-stage capitalism, it’s within the first two minutes of Girl Scout Cookies documentary Cookie Queens. Twelve-year-old Olive is briefing her bored and confused fellow troop members on the ways of cookie selling. The hero of this scene is an adorable curly-haired moppet who, when quizzed to name every flavor, just stares at Olive and, with all the derision that her grade-school visage can imply, stomps off into the woods. She is seemingly pushed back into shot by the time the topic shifts to upselling, but if your sense of humor is sardonic enough, then the tone is set. Then again, Cookie Queens probably isn’t the film for you.
Of course, the South by Southwest award-winning documentary by Alysa Nahmias isn’t going to really get into the political ethics of turning small children into entrepreneurs before they can even spell the word. Instead, it’s a suitably heartwarming story of girls reaching for their dreams. Or rather, stories. There’s Olive from Charlotte, North Carolina; Shannon Elizabeth in El Paso; Nikki in Chino, California; and the truly delightful Ara down the coast in San Diego.
Each has their own motivations, like how Shannon Elizabeth – the sole Girl Scout from a clearly blue-collar family – wants to go to Cookie Camp, or how Olive is dedicated to breaking her own record of 8,000 boxes sold in that six-week sprint of Cookie Season. There are multiple moments where it’s hard to tell whether the director thinks this is all cute or cringe. Take Olive’s father engaging in passive-aggressive criticism of his young daughter’s attempts to record a promotional video, or the look of adolescent agony on her face when one of her troop mates says her sole motivation is to outsell the record-setter (no wonder her sales pitches start to acquire the steely-eyed determination of a young Tracy Flick). But Nahmias blasts past these moments with more charming precociousness set to pizzicato strings.
Of course, any criticism of Cookie Queens or the institution of Girl Scout Cookies is going to be seen in many quarters as mere curmudgeonliness. Nahmias occasionally lets the characters organically raise ethical questions, like how the girls only clear $1.10 for their troop out of every $6 box sold. Yet she keeps turning away from the clear conclusion that this is often nothing to do with childhood. Every moment of these kids’ lives seems to be leading to something, whether it’s attending prom class or studying martial arts, and all the while their parents seemingly abrogate all responsibility. When Olive’s parents bemoan that “the playing years” are fading fast, it’s tough not to think, “well, aren’t you the adults in this equation?”
Yes, one’s sympathies inevitably lie with Shannon Elizabeth’s parents as they lay out a mortgage payment to pre-purchase all those cases that will help fulfill their baby girl’s dreams. But there’s a billion-dollar business behind the curtain that’s barely even mentioned. This ain’t the days of the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma running a pre-Christmas fundraising bake sale in 1917, and never once does the film question if female empowerment is being used to hawk corn syrup.
The kids are cute, though, especially Ara. Armed only with that mix of oblivious forthrightness and determined politeness that is the signature of youth, and constantly accompanied by her best friend, Ellie the stuffed elephant, her self-set goal of selling 55 boxes seems secondary to her determination to pull her cart all by herself. There’s a charming subplot about how she navigates her diabetes, leading to a moment that would melt the hardest of hearts. If she turned up at your door with her little red wagon, you’d forget the whole Keebler connection and buy a pack of Thin Mints. Goddammit, that’s how they get you.
Cookie Queens
2026, G, 91 min. Directed by Alysa Nahmias.
This article appears in August 7 • 2026.
