We Are All Strangers remains gentle and restrained – perhaps even lukewarm – yet its lack of contextual subtlety and sharper critical reflection prevents it from reaching the higher level it might otherwise have achieved.
Recognised Singaporean director Anthony Chen returns to the family arena after The Breaking Ice in his latest work, We Are All Strangers, as the only Sinophone title in this year’s Berlinale competition. It may come as no surprise to see his regular actor, Koh Jia Ler – now 26 – who plays Junyang Lim, a greenhorn who has just completed his two-year mandatory military service, smoking and dating his girlfriend in the movie. The image gently reminds us that the last time audiences saw Koh in Chen’s frame was six years ago, in Wet Season. Chen appears to have waited for Koh to mature before completing this film as the final instalment of his “Growing Up Trilogy.”
The opening sequence presents wrinkled-face Boon Kiat Lim (Andi Lim) cooking his signature dish, Hokkien noodles, which insinuates that this is a story about familial relationships, evoking a conspicuous recall of Ang Lee’s Eat Drink Man Woman. Boon Kiat works at a street stall to support his single family, along with drinks waitress Bee Hwa (Golden Horse award-winner Yeo Yann Yann), who moved to Singapore at eighteen and worked for years to finally obtain permanent residency in this pocket-sized country. As a typical East Asian father, he constantly worries about Junyang’s future, urging him to save money through manual labour. By centring on a quartet facing a series of drastic incidents, the film gradually bonds two pairs of people within a united family who were once strangers to one another.
On the one hand, adolescent hormones drive Junyang to spend a sweet night with Lydia (Regene Lim) in a luxury hotel. When Lydia later finds herself unexpectedly pregnant, the couple, burdened by the responsibility of raising a child, soon marry in a solemn church wedding arranged at the insistence of Lydia’s rigorous mother. On the other hand, the lonesome Boon Kiat reveals his concealed affection for Bee Hwa. After she accepts Boon Kiat’s proposal of marriage, better late than never, Bee Hwa moves into his cramped social housing flat, now shared with the newlyweds.
Chen deftly blends middle-class aspirations with the realities of a rapidly developing society, foregrounding class disparity rooted in Singapore. While the country celebrates its flourishing 60 years of independence and skyscrapers continue to rise, the quality of life for the underprivileged improves only marginally. He incorporates details of contemporary life, such as food delivery platforms, ride-hailing drivers, and internet livestreaming, that quietly shape people’s everyday existence. Compared with Chen’s earlier works, this film feels more directly engaged with the present moment.
However, Chen seems to soften nearly every dramatic conflict that shakes the family. As the focus shifts among the four characters, their emotional reactions feel underdeveloped. The narrative progression takes precedence over psychological subtlety, rendering the turning points more like narrative accelerators than genuine emotional triggers. Although the two-and-a-half-hour story unfolds at a measured pace, the drama rarely deepens into sustained interior tension.
More significantly, the insufficient portrayal of female characters largely undermines the production’s expressive power. Once a promising pianist, Lydia finds that the sudden arrival of motherhood confines her to domestic responsibilities, forcing her to relinquish both her potential admission to American universities and her ambition of becoming a professional musician. Bee Hwa, meanwhile, invests more than she can afford emotionally and materially, from bestowing her hand on Boon Kiat to experimenting with product-selling livestreams, which later drag her into an unforeseen quagmire.
Be that as it may, Yeo’s Bee Hwa embraces a poignant and powerful image of a restrained woman who persistently fights for her rights within limited circumstances. Her versatility is evident in her ability to be both a tactful busser and a quick learner of modern technology to sustain herself. Koh’s mature performance adds emotional complexity, especially when Junyang confronts crises he can scarcely handle on his own. Rather than presenting Lydia as a figure of patriarchal subordination, Regene Lim portrays her as a postpartum mother striving for autonomy and adaptability through nuanced dialogue and action.
Ultimately, We Are All Strangers constructs a family portrait that preserves human dignity even as it repeatedly falters. The childlike young man forced into adulthood, the East Asian women who continually give and sacrifice, and the powerless father figure caught between them together compose a vivid, ordinary depiction of Singapore’s underclass life. The film remains gentle and restrained – perhaps even lukewarm – yet its lack of contextual subtlety and sharper critical reflection prevents it from reaching the higher level it might otherwise have achieved.
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