Family dramas can be a dime a dozen, but Anthony Chen’s We Are All Strangers stands out as a marvelously addictive gem that pulls you in and refuses to let go. Returning to the genre that made his 2013 debut Ilo Ilo a critical darling, Chen—a Singaporean director honed at Britain’s National Film and Television School—delivers a film that’s as warm and approachable as it is richly layered. Drawing inspiration from masters like Edward Yang and Tsai Ming-liang, Chen’s style is less oblique and more direct, meticulously crafting a story that’s both heartfelt and thought-provoking. His filmmaking is forthright, wholehearted, and unapologetically honest, yet it never sacrifices subtlety when it matters most.
Set in the gleaming city-state of Singapore, the film doesn’t shy away from critiquing its society’s obsession with wealth, Western prestige, and conformity. But here’s where it gets controversial: Chen also satirizes the high-stakes risks of entrepreneurialism, particularly when pursued by those with little to lose. At the heart of this story is Junyang (Koh Jia Ler), a lovable but aimless twenty-something who’s just finished his military service and is now adrift. 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—the very thing that keeps food on their table. His girlfriend, Lydia (Regene Lim), a talented pianist with university aspirations, couldn’t be more different. Her stern, religious single mother, hardened by her own husband’s abandonment, disapproves of Junyang entirely. And this is the part most people miss: Chen masterfully weaves parallel romantic crises for both father and son, exploring love, responsibility, and the weight of societal expectations.
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’s resulting pregnancy forces Junyang into an unwanted marriage, while Boon Kiat finds unexpected love with Bee Hwa (Yeo Yann Yann), a wise and kind-hearted “beer auntie” from his local bar. As filmmaker Mark Cousins once said, a wedding scene can make or break a film—and Chen gives us two, one for each generation. But the real drama begins when the two couples, plus a baby, are forced to share the tiny flat, a stark contrast to the glitz of Marina Bay Sands and 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 it’s built on shaky foundations. He celebrates a supposed sale to a smooth-talking buyer whose deposit never materializes, and in a bizarre moment of clarity, he discovers the water doesn’t even work in a show apartment bathroom. Similarly, the promise of easy money through social media medicine sales proves just as illusory. Chen’s storytelling is addictively bold, with a novelistic energy that keeps you hooked and a deep sympathy for every character, no matter how flawed.
Here’s the question that lingers: Does chasing societal success always lead to happiness, or does it only expose the cracks in our aspirations? Chen doesn’t provide easy answers, but he invites us to ponder them long after the credits roll. This isn’t just a family drama—it’s a mirror to our own desires, flaws, and the connections that ultimately define us. What do you think? Is Junyang’s pursuit of a Westernized dream relatable, or a cautionary tale? Let’s discuss in the comments!
