Part One: Everything

When I first saw Everything Everywhere All At Once (EEAAO), I was feeling despondent. At my day job, my role was to improve the learning environment and by extension, the future for kids who had once been like me. Unfortunately, it was more difficult than one might realise for a walking checkbox exercise like myself: neurodivergent, Asian, queer, second- generation, Other, etc… I could go on. What’s more, this placement was in the very same school where I had tried and failed to overcome my differences, differences I had only begun to understand when I left. Walking past the gym where someone had done a racist impression of
me sucked. Sitting on the field where I had come last in cross country year on year brought phantom pangs to my chest.

Five years on, I wasn’t living the future my parents worked so hard to achieve for me, while others from my cohort were doing better, brighter things. This was a fact that paralysed me all the way from my millennial birth all the way into 2022. My screenplay, about my experience as a second-generation Asian immigrant, had drawn some interest, including a scheme by a major studio for ‘authentic’ diverse voices, but had not progressed further.

My friend suggested we all go to see EEAAO at a cinema I’d never been to before. I reluctantly agreed: it was a school night, and I’d have to be back home early. EEAAO was a film I knew nothing about going in. All I knew about it was it was from my favourite studio, A24, and it had a cool poster, so I expected it to be good. But little did I know that my expectations would be exceeded, then seasoned with everything, sucked into a bagel and slapped across the face with hot dog hands. I had no idea that those two hours would be the most seen I had felt in my life.

Part Two: Everywhere

On the surface level, this is a story that seems unrelatable to the mainstream. An American Chinese diaspora family struggling with their business is something that is so extremely specific to a small, but mighty population. 

I myself cannot lay claim to most of the nuances of this story. I am Asian, yes, but I am not Chinese. My parents never owned a business. We were naturalised as British citizens, not American citizens. Yet, I would find myself leaning over to my partner every 5 minutes saying ‘That’s my mum!’ or ‘That’s me!’ or ‘That’s my dad!’I found myself enchanted by a simple prop in the first scene: a dinky illuminated box with butterflies. 

It was never addressed, but I recognised it as something from my own Asian childhood. My screenplay might have not found its way off the ground, but I recognised some of the story I wanted to tell beating in beaming colour on an ultra-wide screen.

As the runtime progressed, we traversed through more and more of these relatable moments. I no longer leant over to my partner; I simply shed grateful tears, grasping his hand tight. Evelyn was my mother, working hard to survive while constantly daydreaming about what could have been. The opening scene could have been set inside my own home: an immigrant mother
constantly switching back and forth between English and her own language as she battled with paperwork, got dinner ready, prepared for guests.

As a teenager, I was angry my mother didn’t seem to have enough time for me. But watching that scene as an adult, I could understand it was the best she could do. When you live in a constant state of drowning, it takes everything to keep your head above water. I guess that’s why I saw myself in Joy, Evelyn’s depressive daughter who searches for her love and approval across multiverses in an attempt to quell her suicidal angst. Waymond was a mirror image of my father, a meek man in cargo shorts and a striped polo shirt who tries to inject joy into everyone’s lives.

I could see my family clear as day in these characters. However, I worried about my friends. I was glad that for once we were watching a story that more closely resembled mine than theirs, but would they get bored by it?

When writing a screenplay, it is a general rule that around the tenth page (or minute, as it generally corresponds to) should be a hook that draws in your audience. We all sat with baited breath, waiting for the turn. Then slow, meek Waymond suddenly transformed into an action hero, zipping nimbly through scenes on the CCTV behind his unsuspecting daughter and wife. And when Evelyn proclaims “sometimes I wonder how he would have survived without me…” he snaps back into his humble body in the blink of an eye.

That was the twist, the turn, that drew everyone in. This not only going to be a heartfelt family drama, it was an epic, wacky adventure. Suddenly everyone was on the edge of their seat, and we realised we were in for a wild, wild ride. The film uses quirky and bold concepts to transmute universal truths about familial love, existentialism and depression. Who knew so many tears would be shed at a silent universe made up of nothing but rocks? A close second for audience tears was the Wong Kar-Wai
universe: one where Evelyn gets the riches and fame she’s always dreamed of, but at the cost of eternal pining for the simple life she had at the start.

EEAAO, in its specificity, encompasses so many elements that anyone will have encountered at least once. A lesbian friend found solace in Joy’s struggle having her mother accept her sexuality. My friend found parallels in the story to his Chinese partner’s life. My Filipino-Indian friend found Evelyn’s stubbornness that Racacoonie was a real film mirrored her mother’s insistence that, yes, Chickpoo is a Pokémon.

Everyone in the theatre roared with laughter at a scene where security guards have to jump on buttplugs to channel skills from a different universe. A crowd favourite was a scene where Racacoonie is not simply Evelyn’s false memory of the rodent-led Pixar film, but working under the hat of a ‘successful’ hibachi chef. These ups and downs, snapshots of universes that could have been or could be, represent the lives of every single viewer. No matter who we are or where we come from, we’ve all had that feeling at some point when we wonder: what if?

In the Wong Kar-Wai universe, CEO Waymond is a far cry from the Waymond we meet. He stands in a nicely-fitted suit, hair slicked back, smoking a cigarette. Arguably, he’s made it. Yet he confesses to Evelyn, so taken with her newfound fame: “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”

Part Three: All at Once

It’s no surprise, then, that EEAAO has made history. One of the two that makes up EEAO’s directing duo Daniels, Daniel Scheinert, said he often joked with the production team and cast: “It’s not like we’re making an Oscar-winning film.”

As it turns out, it’s currently the most awarded film of all time. On the day of the Oscars, my friend was streaming it from Belgium alone. I decided to join her, even if it did mean staggering through the next day bleary-eyed and highly caffeinated. We
cheered as it won Best Supporting Actress, Best Film Editing, Best Original Screenplay, Best Director(s), Best Supporting Actor, Best Actress. We laughed at David Byrne and Stephanie Hsu performing the film’s title song with hot dog hands, and I sat confusedly through the in-between segments in Belgian while my friend rapidly translated. 

It was around 3am (4am her time). I could feel my eyes begin to go. But there was one more award left. I had to stay up. They had to win. And so, Everything Everywhere All at Once was given the 2023 Academy Award for Best Picture.

“History has been made,” I texted my friend. “Cinema is changing.”