(Almost) Everything And Everyone I Related To In 'Everything, Everywhere, All At Once' (2022)

The most important part of the term “Asian-American” is the hyphen. It signifies a unity of cultures, supposedly co-opting millennia-old traditions into the loud, commercial mess of contemporary civilization. Growing up in the bubble of suburban Seattle, this led to a lot of conflict, both internal and external. My peers and I were right at the center of this ever-evolving culture. We were constantly battling wars on (at least) two fronts: the first, a familiarly clichéd white world that demanded conformity and the second, an ethnic community that treated Westernization as a virus infecting our heritage. Many clung to their roots tightly, while others attempted to cut them off altogether, but the majority maintained a fragile balance that shaped our relationships with ourselves. This fragmented existence is the heart of Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (the Daniels, 2022) and its extraordinary success.

Much of EEAAO’s deep cultural resonance lies in its empathy towards its characters. Much of what has connected and stayed with audiences is an emotional conflict that takes place across three generations of a Chinese-American family. Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh) attempts to do her taxes, reconnect with her daughter Joy (Stephanie Hsu), and please her demanding father Gong Gong (“grandfather” in Mandarin, played by James Hong), while her meek husband Waymond (Ke Huy Quan) tries to serve her divorce papers. Writers Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert build this dynamic around a feeling essential to the Asian-American experience: dissatisfaction. Evelyn is discontent and unfulfilled by her life, struggling with her laundromat and her taxes, wishing for an escape into a different reality. Her greatest sources of stress, however, are her father, who seems to consider her a failure, and her daughter, on whom Evelyn sets the same expectations that her father has on her.

Joy’s relationship with her grandfather is one that rings true for many. They can barely communicate, yet maintain expectations of understanding from one another. Being from two entirely different cultures, living up to these would require an ocean of patience neither of them are equipped with. They don’t really relate to each other as people at all; instead, they are opposing sides of a power structure. These cyclical relationships are evidence of a generational Asian-American tradition. Nobody is ever content in this family – they’re taught not to be. It’s a well-known cliché that immigrant parents impose absurd expectations on their children, but the deft and specificity with which it is handled gives rise to a much more internal conflict within Evelyn. Torn apart by her commitments, her regrets, and her frustration at every aspect of her life, she wishes for an escape. The film generously provides one in the form of the multiverse.

SPOILER WARNING STARTING HERE

Despite its grounded themes, EEAAO is the cinematic embodiment of “more is more.” The film bridges genres with thrilling action sequences, fast-paced comedic dialogue, impressionistic drama, and the occasional puppet raccoon. The editing by Paul Rogers and visual effects led by Benjamin Brewer mimic not only the fragmentary nature of Evelyn’s state of mind, but that of the Asian-American consciousness. It uses a variety of both Eastern and Western references (2001: A Space Odyssey, Anime, Wong Kar-Wai), all in the service of escapism for Evelyn and the audience. The film reaches a point of absurdity at which its symbols of pop culture lose individual symbolic meaning and begin a conversation with the audience directly. As each version of Evelyn works out her own issues, we are invited to interrogate our relationship to these symbols. Many of them feel specifically targeted towards a certain generation. Even the ways characters respond to them – “Ratatouille? I like that movie!” – mirror our own responses to nostalgia and fan service. To the frenetic brain of a Gen-Zer, it feels like scrolling through different terrains of the internet.

Asian-Americans, especially those in creative fields, often are made to feel a responsibility to their native culture. This is a product both of the importance of preserving family honor and of the need to represent one’s entire ethnicity to a white world. Upholding Asian culture often directly conflicts with the demands of Western society, turning this into the primary goal of many Asian-American creatives. In this film, director Dan Kwan had the monumental task of bringing together his cultural symbols and references, which, if represented poorly, would have destroyed the film’s authenticity. Even I, writing this piece, feel this pressure to authentically represent my own community. Growing up with these demands, stretched between our identities, we were constantly conflicted. With no parental figures to impose Western influences, discovery of our cultural icons was primarily fueled by the internet, forming niche subcultures and communities. Some of these were Western interpretations of Asian media; some were the other way around. What EEAAO evokes beautifully is how identity is further fractured as other unique selves are formed, all in different worlds with different personas. The brilliance of the editing is to bring these fragments of identity back together to create one symbolic Evelyn that transcends her environment and understands herself as an individual.

Joy has a very different reaction to this fragmentation of self. Pushed too far by an overbearing version of Evelyn, Alpha Joy (of the Alphaverse) is exposed to all the universes at once and is overwhelmed by the unending chaos of the multiverse. She is endlessly dissatisfied with herself and the world, echoing the troubles of an entire generation of doomscrollers. Her torment burdens her with the weight of millennia-old tradition and helplessness, to a point at which she decides to end her life. The emotional anguish Joy experiences almost convinces Evelyn to join her, but it is the unassuming Waymond that finally provides a solution. His answer is to find meaning in whatever agency one has in the world, however small and insignificant that may seem. Unlike Evelyn, he doesn’t feel like a failure, but rather simply as one outcome of many. He asks her to see herself in the people around her; all of them are flawed, troubled, lost souls, but at least they’re lost together. He asks Evelyn to have hope and be kind, and she in turn uses her powers to impart kindness on those around her. Of course, Waymond hasn’t provided a solution to all their problems – they still go back the next day to work on their marriage and finish their taxes. Even a multidimensional adventure can’t overcome their fundamental flaws and their toxic tendencies. They go back to their lives with new perspectives, trying to understand those around them and work towards a better future together.

EEAAO doesn’t claim to soothe the grievances of a generation, nor can it confront the parents of every Asian-American in the audience. Like any form of therapy, it must be the viewer that takes the lessons they will. I urge any reader that can relate to Joy, Evelyn, Waymond, or even the scrutinous grandfather, to bring your family to this film in its waning days at the box office, and then talk about it. While we don’t have access to all our possible lives, we are able to find solace in each other. Our problems aren’t all the same, but the only way to combat them is to relate and empathize. No work of art, including this film, can alone open anybody’s eyes; you’ll have to do it for yourself.