Family dramas can be a dime a dozen, but Anthony Chen’s We Are All Strangers stands out as a marvellously addictive gem that pulls you in and refuses to let go. With the same warmth and richness that defined his 2013 debut Ilo Ilo, Chen—a graduate of Britain’s National Film and Television School—returns to the genre he knows best, weaving a story that feels both intimate and universally relatable. While his influences, like Edward Yang and Tsai Ming-liang, linger in the background, Chen’s approach is refreshingly straightforward. He doesn’t rely on ambiguity; instead, he crafts a narrative that’s as wholehearted as it is meticulous, proving that sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones that wear their hearts on their sleeves.
Set in Singapore, the film doesn’t shy away from critiquing the city-state’s obsession with wealth, Western prestige, and conformity. But here’s where it gets controversial: Chen also satirizes the perilous tightrope walk of entrepreneurialism, particularly when attempted by those on the fringes of society. At the center of this tale is Junyang (Koh Jia Ler), a lovable but aimless twentysomething who’s just finished his military service and is now staring down the barrel of adulthood. Living in a cramped flat with his widowed father, Boon Kiat (Andi Lim), Junyang has no interest in joining his dad’s humble noodle stall business—a stark contrast to his ambitious girlfriend, Lydia (Regene Lim), a talented pianist with her eyes on university. Lydia’s mother, a stern, churchgoing woman hardened by her own husband’s abandonment, sees Junyang as a dead-end and disapproves of their relationship. And this is the part most people miss: Chen masterfully parallels the romantic crises of both father and son, showing how love and responsibility collide in unexpected ways.
Junyang and Lydia’s decision to lose their virginity in a lavish one-night stay at Singapore’s iconic Marina Bay Sands hotel—a symbol of the city’s international prestige—sets off a chain of events that changes everything. Lydia becomes pregnant, and her mother insists Junyang marry her, forcing him into a corner. Meanwhile, Boon Kiat finds himself falling for Bee Hwa (Yeo Yann Yann), a wise and kind-hearted “beer auntie” who works at his local watering hole. As filmmaker Mark Cousins once said, ‘If you want your film to succeed, include a wedding scene.’ Chen takes this advice to heart, giving us not one but two weddings—one for the son and one for the father. But the real drama begins when these two couples, along with a newborn baby, are forced to share the same tiny flat, a far cry from the glitz of Marina Bay Sands or the beachfront apartments Junyang now sells as a flashy estate agent (complete with the Westernized name ‘Steve,’ inspired by Steve Jobs).
The irony is palpable: Junyang’s new job promises wealth and status, but the reality is far from glamorous. He celebrates a supposed sale with a smooth-talking buyer, only to get drunk and embarrassingly discover the show apartment’s bathroom doesn’t even work. Similarly, his side hustle selling medicine on social media proves to be another illusion of easy money. Chen’s storytelling is addictively bold, with a novelistic energy that keeps you hooked and a deep sympathy for every character. But here’s the question that lingers: In a society that values prestige over authenticity, can any of these characters truly find happiness? Or are they all just strangers, searching for connection in a world that rewards conformity? Let’s discuss—do you think Junyang and his family can break free from the cycle, or are they doomed to repeat it? Share your thoughts in the comments!
