Everything Everywhere All at Once

Imagine a movie that’s part kung fu flick, part interdimensional soap opera, part cosmic slapstick, and entirely drenched in a style that screams, “Look at me! I’m artsy and daring!” That’s Everything Everywhere All at Once, a film that throws every genre imaginable into a blender, only to produce a two-hour spectacle that feels a bit like riding a roller coaster… while reading three novels… while listening to free jazz. In theory, it’s ambitious. In reality, it’s exhausting. Sure, I’m all for exploring existential crises through science fiction, but this one has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

The plot centres on Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh), a weary laundromat owner facing mounting life challenges: a rocky marriage, a strained relationship with her daughter Joy, and a tax audit that could unravel everything. But before she can make it through a single day, Evelyn is thrust into a sprawling multiverse where she learns she’s the unlikely saviour of all existence. A different version of her husband, Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), arrives from a parallel dimension to inform her that an evil entity threatens to consume every universe—and only she has the skills to stop it. Each alternate reality reveals a new version of Evelyn, all with unique skills she must use to fight off cosmic forces while also coming to terms with her own relationships.
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Somewhere in the chaos, Everything Everywhere dangles relatable themes about family, marriage, and immigrant struggles—but just as you start to feel a connection, BAM! You’re hit with more wild edits, or, worse, a visual gag designed to push the “look how daring we are!” button. And there’s no shortage of them: scenes oscillate between kung fu moves, heartfelt monologues, philosophical musings, and… hot dog fingers? Yes, hot dog fingers. The absurdity is relentless, and while it might be some people’s cup of tea, I was relieved when the credits finally rolled.

At its core, Everything Everywhere is the classic story of an immigrant family facing generational trauma—a perfectly respectable theme. But rather than delve deep, the movie slathers on every cinematic trope known to mankind. It’s almost like the filmmakers said, “If we can fit in one more gimmick, surely that will make it art!” The result? A messy, bloated spectacle that oscillates between trying to be a serious sci-fi drama, a goofy comedy, and a cosmic kung fu extravaganza. And for all its attempts to be everything at once, it ends up being a bit too corny and unfocused for its own good.
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Stephanie Hsu tries her best as the villain, but her performance lacks the intensity to ground such a character amid the chaos. While the rest of the cast does well enough, it’s hard to focus on them when the editing chops up every scene into visual confetti. And yes, it’s visually ambitious, but the non-stop barrage of quick cuts and effects ultimately loses its appeal. By the third act, when the movie tries to hit you with its Big Emotional Message™, it lands with more of a whimper than a bang, feeling less like an epiphany and more like a greeting card from the multiverse.