Written By: Nathan Liu
There’s a saying in storytelling, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” In my opinion, a more appropriate phrase would be “Some truths don’t work as fiction.” There are certain stories that, when presented in a fictional context — like a novel, movie or TV series — come off as “far-fetched” or “unbelievable,” even if they’re exactly how episodes played out. And then there are instances where forcing real events into the confines of a three-act narrative make those events feel tacky and cliché. In my opinion, 2020’s “All My Life” falls into the latter category of truth not working as fiction.
Based on the true story of Solomon (Sol) Chau and Jennifer Carter, the film chronicles a young couple whose plans for a life together are cut short when Sol gets a terminal cancer diagnosis. Determined to give them the wedding they deserve, the pair’s friends raise the money needed and help them tie the knot before Sol’s untimely death. On paper, this is a film I should adore. It’s a story about people coming together and helping the ones they love. It features an Asian man playing the romantic lead opposite a white woman, and more impressively, it never acknowledges or makes jokes about his race at all. In theory, this should work. And yet, while watching the film, I found myself more irritated than moved.
Part of this could be a result of my own family history. Like Sol and Jennifer, my grandparents — Wei Chi and Flora Liu — were a Chinese man and a white woman whose life together was cut short by cancer. So seeing it on screen again was a bit triggering. But that’s just personal baggage. It’s not necessarily legit criticism. What was far more annoying than the subject matter was how this film took a real life tragedy and told it in the most shallow, clichéd manner possible.
If you’ve ever watched a film about two people in love getting torn apart by terminal illness — à la “Love Story” (1970) or “The Fault In Our Stars” (2014) —- you’ve also watched “All My Life.” Like those films, there’s a falling in love montage set to a pop song. There’s a moment when a character screams with frustration inside a car. There’s a subplot involving someone slaving away at a job they hate when, deep down, they should be doing something creative. In this case, Sol works in digital marketing, but wants to be a chef. Hell, Sol even proposes to Jen with a musical number, an Oasis song that was playing in the scene when they first kissed.
Now, in fairness to the filmmakers, some of these details are based on fact. Sol was a chef, and he did propose to Jennifer with a flash mob. So I don’t blame the creators for wanting to include these moments. The problem is that on top of these particular beats being overused in other movies, the creators don’t really add anything to them. As a result, they don’t really have anything to distinguish their film from the pack. For instance, despite being about Sol’s life and death, we know next to nothing about him. We never meet his family or learn his back story, which feels like a big detail to just gloss over in favor of a “falling in love” montage. How did his parents react when they learned their son was dying? What was their relationship with him? What was their relationship with Jennifer? How did they mourn and move on? Seeing these details would have made the film both deeper and more interesting.
If you need proof, look no further than 2017’s “The Big Sick.” Like “All My Life,” “The Big Sick” is based on a true story, focuses on the relationship between an Asian man and a white woman — Kumail Nanjiani and his wife, Emily V. Gordon — and features one of them — Emily — getting very ill. Unlike “All My Life” however, “The Big Sick” shows Kumail interacting with his parents and brother, shows him forming a bond with Emily’s mom and dad and explores all the characters’ back stories. We learn about Kumail’s struggles as an immigrant, Emily’s first marriage and her parents’ difficulties with infidelity. As a result, everyone feels more fleshed out, the stakes feel higher and the drama feels more real. By contrast, when “All My Life”, which is also about a real tragedy, employs the tropes but without any follow-up, the impact is lessened. It doesn’t feel like we’re watching a real relationship. It feels like we’re watching a movie relationship. The truth doesn’t work as fiction because it feels like fiction. And that’s a shame.
The real story of Solomon Chau and Jennifer Carter is genuinely touching. Harry Shum Jr. and Jessica Rothe have great chemistry together. I really believed that they fell in love, and I’d honestly like to see them play a couple again. But in the case of this film, the real story is presented in too cliché a manner to be impactful. Now that’s not to say that this story didn’t deserve to be turned into a film. I think you could have made a very touching documentary out of it. Or if you were insistent upon making it a narrative feature, you could have deepened the impact by expanding upon Sol’s character.
In the end, “All My Life” has the right leads and a powerful true story, but wastes them on tropes and thin characterization. It could have been a genuine classic, but ultimately wound up acting as nothing more than a reminder of how not all stories should be told the same way.
“All My Life” is available to watch on demand.