See the vivid portrait that Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert paint with the opening of Everything Everywhere All At Once, of how language barriers can be used to intentionally and unintentionally wound others, of how first generation migrants strafe that liminal space between work and home, of how code-switching becomes a means of survival. Some might argue (and have) that narratives of intergenerational trauma and conflict have become trite, that the overbearing matriarch of Asian origin clashing against the modern, youthful world is overplayed. But these stories are still happening, and as time passes our artists will turn their attention from the journeys of second-generation migrants to their children, and theirs after that. Let's not be too critical of a slice of representation that's still in its infancy. We can have those other stories too; it's good to normalise them. Not everything has to be situated at the point of multicultural crisis, but in the same vein, we don't have to tear down one pillar to raise another.
There are other minute details of this milieu which may seem insignificant but will resonate with those in the audience who recognise them. The tangled cacophony of overlapping Cantonese, Mandarin, and English that Evelyn wields to navigate another day in the life. How she crudely masks a semblance of care with insults in order to bridge the generational gap that keeps her daughter Joy at an arm's (and then some) length. And then there are other, more universal struggles that are glimpsed, like how she zooms from one situation to another with barely a glance or nod of recognition towards her husband or daughter (so distracted even divorce papers merit a mere half-glance), a toxic blend of unrealistically high expectations and disappointment that hints at the catalyst for the rest of the film's complications, in both her own world and in the Alpha Prime. And that's just the first ten minutes.
In Michelle Yeoh, the Daniels saw the perfect actor to centre the narrative. While early drafts had none other than Jackie Chan as the protagonist, he's been the bumbling goofball before. Yeoh's always had the perfect poise, an international action star and beauty icon for decades. Placing a former Bond girl in a run-down laundromat was an inspired choice, drawing on all the wasted potential that bursts at the edges of the multiverse. One of Evelyn's alternate timelines has her living the Yeoh-esque celebrity archetype, a renowned film star who spurred her husband for a world of glitz and glamour. "He (Waymond) needs to know how good my life could have been," she blurts out in almost desperation, coming to the realisation of all she has missed out on. To see Yeoh finally given the opportunity to demonstrate such range is fulfilling in itself; to see her melt into the role and give depth to the character, have her live out every possible life and outlandish existence she could ever imagine or aspire to and still choose to return to that laundromat, makes it all the more meaningful.
In a more subtle meta-twist, Ke Huy Quan's turn as the unassuming husband, a side character in Evelyn's life, resembles his own career, a Spielbergian blockbuster high and then years of Hollywood neglect. Witnessing Waymond snap into action and take centre stage doubles as Quan's own return to the big screen, occupying that Jackie Chan slot himself in an spirited rendition of the daggy dad. Watch how costuming and props combine to accentuate this in his early action sequences, wielding a bumbag as if it were a deadly weapon (it's meant to resemble the Bruce Lee nunchuck). What better object to represent the Waymond worldview? He fights with kindness (and disarms with cookies), cares little of what others think of his appearance and naivety, and manages to find the glee in the everyday, whether it be dimension hopping or laundromat meniality. Evelyn's symbolic acceptance of the Waymond way in opening up her third eye, googly-style, is a bizarre promotional shot, but placed within context perfectly encapsulates the film's blend of silly sentimentality. Eat your heart out, Doctor Strange. It was the Daniels' masterstroke to lure us in with the grit of Alpha Waymond (quite literally an alpha male), only to swerve sharply and promote a different brand of masculinity. Quan switches almost effortlessly between the two, and sometimes crouches on their very edge; the chapstick moment is but one example. He gives life to the narrative, grounding it firmly into something to return to.
Everything Everywhere All At Once's style is punchy and direct, a no-holds-barred approach to its brand of absurdist humour. What other film would unironically list 'proud father' as a skill for one of its characters? The same weight and earnesty is afforded to each line of dialogue in its Matrix-esque set-up, from "She's off the grid!" to "She's gone home to finish the taxes!" The action is given its snappiness through edits that enlarge each blow for impact: widening and shrinking the aspect ratio to signal shifts in timelines, dolly zooms to push in and exaggerate, visual puns and match cuts to link the worlds together (see Evelyn being 'pulled away' from his argument with Waymond, or the pizza spinner superimposed over her riot shield heroics). One of its biggest laughs sees the film literally pause in a record-scratch moment as Jobu Tupaki expresses her disbelief that queerness, not mass murder, is Evelyn's most pressing initial concern amidst all the chaos. But more than simply layering callback upon callback (the pinky becomes the cookie becomes the symbolic kindness of Waymond), the jokes are natural extensions of the script's philosophy, of the messy, zany possibilities of the multiverse once we (and Evelyn) realise the ramifications of reaching rock bottom and the potential that lies within. Every one of us know that yearning for lives unlived, opportunities missed, choices not taken; it is, pun intended, a universal concern. The Daniels merge that into their filmmaking, pushing the narrative alongside these sequences. I appreciated hearing the kung fu Evelyn's steps timed to Clair de Lune, and then later could barely hold it together when it returned in the climatic montage via sausage fingers to bring Evelyn's epiphany full circle.
The story flirts with the avant-garde in its sub-climax which strips away all of the multiverse gimmickry to place mother and daughter atop a metaphorical cliff, conversing as rocks. Joy, whose arc has been smattered with imagery of depression and suicide ideation, elects to jump off and into the everything bagel, and Evelyn finally allows her the agency to do so. But the crux of the issue highlights choice as a key motif; even as Joy sits on the precipice of self-destruction, she still yearns for her mother's acceptance. In turn, Evelyn must come to terms with who her daughter is alongside all of the other apparent 'disappointments' of this universe, to find fulfilment in the laundromat and doing taxes. It was never really about Gong Gong but her own misgivings of a wayward path, which subverts what would be a conventionally uplifting moment because she's wielding her daughter's personal life for her own self-actualisation. Some have derided the script for its bite-sized exploration of nihilism and its end goals. Admittedly, the depth of the storytelling here isn't cavernous; for its 142-minute length, I would have liked it to have fleshed out Joy's angst further to give her decision to stay more weight at the expense of perhaps one of the timelines. Nevertheless, Evelyn's choice to stick by her family, and subsequently the Daniels' choice to situate the climax in a parking lot, resonates. The film's value in an ever-evolving cultural landscape might lie predominantly in how hard it is to define. We find worth in its uniqueness. Is it a kung fu action romp, or a domestic drama about the struggles of marital life? Is it an absurdist comedy about the meaning of life, or simply an allegory for a mother pushing her child too far? Yes, it's all of these, and more. All at once.
There are other minute details of this milieu which may seem insignificant but will resonate with those in the audience who recognise them. The tangled cacophony of overlapping Cantonese, Mandarin, and English that Evelyn wields to navigate another day in the life. How she crudely masks a semblance of care with insults in order to bridge the generational gap that keeps her daughter Joy at an arm's (and then some) length. And then there are other, more universal struggles that are glimpsed, like how she zooms from one situation to another with barely a glance or nod of recognition towards her husband or daughter (so distracted even divorce papers merit a mere half-glance), a toxic blend of unrealistically high expectations and disappointment that hints at the catalyst for the rest of the film's complications, in both her own world and in the Alpha Prime. And that's just the first ten minutes.
In Michelle Yeoh, the Daniels saw the perfect actor to centre the narrative. While early drafts had none other than Jackie Chan as the protagonist, he's been the bumbling goofball before. Yeoh's always had the perfect poise, an international action star and beauty icon for decades. Placing a former Bond girl in a run-down laundromat was an inspired choice, drawing on all the wasted potential that bursts at the edges of the multiverse. One of Evelyn's alternate timelines has her living the Yeoh-esque celebrity archetype, a renowned film star who spurred her husband for a world of glitz and glamour. "He (Waymond) needs to know how good my life could have been," she blurts out in almost desperation, coming to the realisation of all she has missed out on. To see Yeoh finally given the opportunity to demonstrate such range is fulfilling in itself; to see her melt into the role and give depth to the character, have her live out every possible life and outlandish existence she could ever imagine or aspire to and still choose to return to that laundromat, makes it all the more meaningful.
In a more subtle meta-twist, Ke Huy Quan's turn as the unassuming husband, a side character in Evelyn's life, resembles his own career, a Spielbergian blockbuster high and then years of Hollywood neglect. Witnessing Waymond snap into action and take centre stage doubles as Quan's own return to the big screen, occupying that Jackie Chan slot himself in an spirited rendition of the daggy dad. Watch how costuming and props combine to accentuate this in his early action sequences, wielding a bumbag as if it were a deadly weapon (it's meant to resemble the Bruce Lee nunchuck). What better object to represent the Waymond worldview? He fights with kindness (and disarms with cookies), cares little of what others think of his appearance and naivety, and manages to find the glee in the everyday, whether it be dimension hopping or laundromat meniality. Evelyn's symbolic acceptance of the Waymond way in opening up her third eye, googly-style, is a bizarre promotional shot, but placed within context perfectly encapsulates the film's blend of silly sentimentality. Eat your heart out, Doctor Strange. It was the Daniels' masterstroke to lure us in with the grit of Alpha Waymond (quite literally an alpha male), only to swerve sharply and promote a different brand of masculinity. Quan switches almost effortlessly between the two, and sometimes crouches on their very edge; the chapstick moment is but one example. He gives life to the narrative, grounding it firmly into something to return to.
Everything Everywhere All At Once's style is punchy and direct, a no-holds-barred approach to its brand of absurdist humour. What other film would unironically list 'proud father' as a skill for one of its characters? The same weight and earnesty is afforded to each line of dialogue in its Matrix-esque set-up, from "She's off the grid!" to "She's gone home to finish the taxes!" The action is given its snappiness through edits that enlarge each blow for impact: widening and shrinking the aspect ratio to signal shifts in timelines, dolly zooms to push in and exaggerate, visual puns and match cuts to link the worlds together (see Evelyn being 'pulled away' from his argument with Waymond, or the pizza spinner superimposed over her riot shield heroics). One of its biggest laughs sees the film literally pause in a record-scratch moment as Jobu Tupaki expresses her disbelief that queerness, not mass murder, is Evelyn's most pressing initial concern amidst all the chaos. But more than simply layering callback upon callback (the pinky becomes the cookie becomes the symbolic kindness of Waymond), the jokes are natural extensions of the script's philosophy, of the messy, zany possibilities of the multiverse once we (and Evelyn) realise the ramifications of reaching rock bottom and the potential that lies within. Every one of us know that yearning for lives unlived, opportunities missed, choices not taken; it is, pun intended, a universal concern. The Daniels merge that into their filmmaking, pushing the narrative alongside these sequences. I appreciated hearing the kung fu Evelyn's steps timed to Clair de Lune, and then later could barely hold it together when it returned in the climatic montage via sausage fingers to bring Evelyn's epiphany full circle.
The story flirts with the avant-garde in its sub-climax which strips away all of the multiverse gimmickry to place mother and daughter atop a metaphorical cliff, conversing as rocks. Joy, whose arc has been smattered with imagery of depression and suicide ideation, elects to jump off and into the everything bagel, and Evelyn finally allows her the agency to do so. But the crux of the issue highlights choice as a key motif; even as Joy sits on the precipice of self-destruction, she still yearns for her mother's acceptance. In turn, Evelyn must come to terms with who her daughter is alongside all of the other apparent 'disappointments' of this universe, to find fulfilment in the laundromat and doing taxes. It was never really about Gong Gong but her own misgivings of a wayward path, which subverts what would be a conventionally uplifting moment because she's wielding her daughter's personal life for her own self-actualisation. Some have derided the script for its bite-sized exploration of nihilism and its end goals. Admittedly, the depth of the storytelling here isn't cavernous; for its 142-minute length, I would have liked it to have fleshed out Joy's angst further to give her decision to stay more weight at the expense of perhaps one of the timelines. Nevertheless, Evelyn's choice to stick by her family, and subsequently the Daniels' choice to situate the climax in a parking lot, resonates. The film's value in an ever-evolving cultural landscape might lie predominantly in how hard it is to define. We find worth in its uniqueness. Is it a kung fu action romp, or a domestic drama about the struggles of marital life? Is it an absurdist comedy about the meaning of life, or simply an allegory for a mother pushing her child too far? Yes, it's all of these, and more. All at once.