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All the Long Nights: The Anti-Romance We Need
“Doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman, or even if you don’t get along—people can still help each other out, right?”
“Well, yeah! I mean, doctors and patients aren’t always the same gender either.”
I rewatched All the Long Nights over the long weekend, and honestly, it hit differently the second time. The film follows Misa Fujisawa and Takatoshi Yamazoe, two coworkers struggling with mental health issues—her with severe PMS, him with panic attacks. They start off annoying the hell out of each other at work, but slowly learn to understand and support one another.
Here’s the thing: most mainstream movies would’ve turned this into a rom-com with manufactured drama and a love story. But this film? It goes nowhere near that territory. Misa and Yamazoe barely even qualify as friends—they’re more like two people dealing with similar pain who help each other when they can. And there’s definitely no miraculous recovery or overly positive ending where everything’s suddenly fine.
So I wouldn’t call this a tearjerker, but it made me feel something deeper. It’s all those tiny, wordless moments of kindness between people—the small gestures that warm you up inside. And here’s what’s beautiful: that warmth doesn’t come from one special person or fit neatly into some relationship box like “romance” or “friendship.”
It’s not about anyone saving anyone. It’s about how a compassionate, accepting environment can heal you. How even in endless darkness, you can hold onto hope and believe a new dawn will eventually come.
The dialogue is sparse, the pacing is slow, but the cinematography is gorgeous—all that light and shadow work is chef’s kiss. For me, this is the perfect film to watch when you need to quiet your mind and just… breathe.
“Well, yeah! I mean, doctors and patients aren’t always the same gender either.”
I rewatched All the Long Nights over the long weekend, and honestly, it hit differently the second time. The film follows Misa Fujisawa and Takatoshi Yamazoe, two coworkers struggling with mental health issues—her with severe PMS, him with panic attacks. They start off annoying the hell out of each other at work, but slowly learn to understand and support one another.
Here’s the thing: most mainstream movies would’ve turned this into a rom-com with manufactured drama and a love story. But this film? It goes nowhere near that territory. Misa and Yamazoe barely even qualify as friends—they’re more like two people dealing with similar pain who help each other when they can. And there’s definitely no miraculous recovery or overly positive ending where everything’s suddenly fine.
So I wouldn’t call this a tearjerker, but it made me feel something deeper. It’s all those tiny, wordless moments of kindness between people—the small gestures that warm you up inside. And here’s what’s beautiful: that warmth doesn’t come from one special person or fit neatly into some relationship box like “romance” or “friendship.”
It’s not about anyone saving anyone. It’s about how a compassionate, accepting environment can heal you. How even in endless darkness, you can hold onto hope and believe a new dawn will eventually come.
The dialogue is sparse, the pacing is slow, but the cinematography is gorgeous—all that light and shadow work is chef’s kiss. For me, this is the perfect film to watch when you need to quiet your mind and just… breathe.
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