Writing Analysis
Everything Everywhere All At Once Begs Us to Love Our Immigrant Mothers
Stop demonizing them
My favorite part of the kung fu multiverse immigrant family dramedy was not when Stephanie Hsu bludgeoned a guy to death with giant dildos, it wasn’t when Jamie Lee Curtis stapled a sheet of notebook paper to her head as an IRS zombie, it wasn’t when Michelle Yeoh kicked various asses, as she is wont to do, and it wasn’t when Ke Huy Quan transformed before our very eyes from a mouse to an eagle without special effects or wardrobe changes.
My favorite moment was when Mama Yang (a.k.a. Evelyn, the protagonist) stood up for herself.
“But wait — you don’t call. You only come see me when you need something. And you got a tattoo when you know I hate tattoos.” (paraphrased from memory)
This is what Evelyn says to the sadistic monster that’s been romping around the many verses like a haphazard conquerer slaying and destroying everything in her path.
The monster is, of course, her daughter. This is an immigrant mother-daughter love story.
Turning Red is about a teenage Chinese-Canadian girl (Meilin) finally embracing all the loud, messy, sometimes angry sides of herself that her mother wants to suppress. The mom lets Meilin win.
The only substantial character arc through six seasons of Glee for Mike Chang Jr. (one of two cast members of East Asian descent) was when he spent an entire episode fighting with his immigrant parents. No, he did not want to go to Harvard, as they demanded; he would instead pursue his passion: dance. They let him win.
Crazy Rich Asians was about how our relatable Chinese-American protagonist, Rachel Chu, has to stick it to her frigid, tyrannical Chinese mother-in-law-to-be in true American fashion. The mother-in-law-to-be, played by Michelle Yeoh, lets her win.
We get it, Hollywood: as a precondition to tell our stories, Asian Americans must abandon our heritage. America and the West at large must always win. We’re allowed to show why Eleanor Young was so protective of her son and their legacy. We’re allowed to hear why Michael Chang Sr. wanted his son to go to Harvard. We get to see how Meilin’s mother is simply treating her the way she was treated by her own mother.
But the West must always win.
I am exaggerating and being dramatic, but that’s what it feels like, to the extent there’s intentional messaging. It could just be all these Asian-Western (people of Asian descent living in the West) writers just wanted to write a happy ending. It could be that gatekeeper producers, agents, and audiences consciously or unconsciously wouldn’t approve of a movie with Asian protagonists who don’t kowtow to the West and disavow some of the more unsavory aspects of their Asian-ness. It could just be a natural product of storytelling mechanics: for every tension, we need a release. For every conflict, we need a resolution.
Intentional or not, the message is still there, ever pervasive.
Evelyn breaks that mold. Shatters it. She doesn’t roll over and relinquish everything to her daughter. She considers it. She honors her daughter’s wish to be let go — at first.
But then she snaps awake. She snatches her daughter. She clings tight. Literally, physically, and then emotionally.
She doesn’t just give up, like Michael Chang Sr. She doesn’t make herself vulnerable only to backtrack and give a Pixar-perfect speech pretending she’s totally fine with her daughter flying off without her, like Meilin’s mother. She doesn’t have some off-screen reconciliation that magically resolves with a flashy token of appreciation, like Eleanor Young.
She stands up for herself:
“No, you cannot just walk away. No, you cannot just wheedle me for forgiveness without acknowledging you’ve hurt me, too.” (very loosely paraphrased)
This was my favorite part of the movie. Four nights after watching it, having read and watched interviews with the cast and directors, having crawled through social media posts, having regurgitated all my thoughts and feelings, having dorked out over all the references to pop culture and Asian culture and all the brilliant acting, this moment — this choice, this courage, this audacity from the mother is what strikes me the most.
Asian-Westerners do not have a monopoly on dysfunctional families. We are not sole stakeholders of intergenerational trauma. We have lives outside our families. Our parents are not the only parents who are imperfect humans.
Yet, even as I am itching to move past Asian immigrant stories that center parent-child relationships, I am so, so incredibly grateful for them. I sob during every single goddamn one of them. I feel an unspeakable relief greater than any pain I might be experiencing at the same time.
I fought with my mother days before watching this movie. I fought with her again and again, leading up to and even after she flew back to South Korea without telling me until she was about to board. She had been staying for a few months and cut her trip short. It is messy. For days I could not dare to write about my personal connection to this movie because even as I am typing these words now, I hear her voice, compounded throughout the years, instructing me not to open up too much about my feelings and inner messiness. (I guess that’s why I’m a writer.)
It is true I was cold and guarded towards her. It is true I kept my distance while she was right next to me. Perhaps I felt pressed in on all sides by the many universes she gave up to be with me in this moment. Perhaps I was exhausted from being bludgeoned over the decades by constant reminders of every path she didn’t take in order to raise me in America. Those reminders did not always come from her. Like Evelyn’s daughter, I went searching, searching for my mother. And even in wanting to get closer I felt alienated. Even in feeling alienated I felt overwhelming closer.
I love her. I love her to death just like I love all these Asian movies and their Asian mothers and their Asian children all struggling to express their love at each other. In typical Asian fashion, you may have perceived my trash-talking to be actual trash-talking when in fact it is a love language: I am rooting for you and believe you can do better; here is some unsolicited advice on how I think you can achieve that.
I have no such words for Everything Everywhere All At Once (except that the first act dragged a bit and some of the dialogue was, understandably, a bit exposition-y). I loved Crazy Rich Asians, Turning Red, and Glee, but Everything Everywhere All At Once was truly perfect — because it let Mom (a stand-in for your desired parent figure: dad, nai nai, auntie, bro) speak up for herself.
It’s true: we are not perfect daughters, blameless sons, innocent children. Though we are the child in this relationship, we are also (almost) adults. We have the power to hurt our parents, and some of us wield this intentionally, maliciously. Did Evelyn’s daughter get a tattoo because she really wanted a tattoo — because she would have got one anyway in a universe in which she got the love she wanted from her mother? — or did she do it simply because her mom hated it?
Have you called your mom recently? Or is resentment, guilt, shame, or your awesome/busy life getting in the way?
When was the last time you visited with the burden of obligation, or with an ulterior motive to get something done? Remember Billie only found out her beloved Nai Nai has cancer in The Farewell because she went home for the first time in forever to do her laundry.
To Daniels: thank you. Thank you for giving Mom a voice. Thank you for not demonizing her. Thank you for imagining a world in which traumatized children can overcome destructive inclinations born out of resentful nihilism with the power of Mom’s love — for her children and for herself.
P.S. Thank you also to this incredible reviewer for so sharing your story and encouraging me to do the same.
