This might not be the most realistic depiction of young love ever committed to film (an understatement), but there’s something about its unabashed earnestness that just works, clichés and montages and all. Is it a bit much? Yes, sometimes it is, and that’s perhaps the key to its authenticity. There’s nothing about this film that isn’t earnest and open-hearted, from its frank performances to its whimsical visual storytelling to its endless montages. It’s that part of the brain, for better and for worse, that’s at work in Everything, Everything, the Stella Meghie-directed adaptation of Nicola Yoon’s bestselling young adult novel. It remembers, so vividly, what it was like to be a gorgeous young idiot. An old fogey can look back at the T-shirts and the albums and the notes passed in class with the appropriate distance and think, “God, was I ever stupid.” The distance grants a little wisdom, but even from that distance, there’s a reptilian part of the human brain that remembers the heartbreak, and the swooning, and the feeling that each disaster was basically, like, the end of the world. There’s an undeniable purity to being a teenager.
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