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[REVIEW] “The Everyday Kindness of Sho Miyake’s All the Long Nights” by Sam Yu Wing Chan

1,660 words

Sho Miyake (director). All The Long Nights, 2024. 119 min.

As all the long nights screen,
the theatre lights gently dim,
and the stars reveal
our quiet orbit that takes us in.

Based on Maiko Seo’s novel of the same name, director Sho Miyake’s All the Long Nights (夜明けのすべて) focuses on two co-workers who gradually find hope and companionship in their new workplace and among the people around them. Although Misa and Takatoshi struggle with their respective conditions, PMS (premenstrual syndrome) and panic disorder, they share a quietly supportive workplace where they are treated with sensitivity. This community helps to heal the wounds of social rejection and, in turn, touches our hearts. As Misa and Takatoshi learn to look out for each other on difficult days, they also become a pair of binoculars through which we discover that the nights have been starry all along, with light emanating from everyone around us, the “supporting characters” in our lives.

Find the Right Place for You

At the beginning of the film, Misa works in a city office whose Japanese corporate culture is imbued with politeness, deference, and hierarchy. Although her PMS-induced mood swings and workplace outbursts are never violent and contrast with her otherwise friendly personality, she finds it difficult to endure the pressure of failing to function as a seamless and perfect part of the system. After another outburst, she is stigmatised as an “unstable worker” and a liability, prompting her to resign.

Five years later, Misa works at Kurita Optics (栗田科学株式会社), a small company in a quiet town that assembles astronomy kits for children.

Throughout the story, we often see Misa buying snacks for her new colleagues at Kurita Optics, partly as apologetic gifts for her occasional outbursts. This gesture not only reveals her friendly disposition but also reflects how Japanese corporate culture has shaped her habit of apologising for failing to be a “normal” member of the collective workforce.

Fortunately, Misa finds a sense of belonging at Kurita Optics, one that is not sustained through obligatory after-work gatherings. Both she and Takatoshi are warmly invited to occasional dinners after work, but if they cannot attend, or simply do not feel like going, they receive only the reassuring response, “Next time, then.” Even when Misa submits her resignation towards the end of the story, their boss, Kurita, sends her off with his best wishes.

Although Takatoshi is initially frustrated at having exchanged his thriving corporate career for this “less impressive” job, he ultimately decides to remain in this cluttered yet welcoming environment. As the surroundings reflect the characters’ states of mind, we see Takatoshi gradually find tranquillity in the suburbs after leaving behind the concrete city buildings that seemed to offer no escape.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” —Oscar Wilde

Significant as Misa and Takatoshi’s problems may be, looking up at the stars that fill the void of the night can change their lives, little by little.

Their colleagues are consistently supportive of them both. When Misa becomes emotionally unstable, or when Takatoshi struggles to find his medicine during a panic attack, everyone swiftly yet naturally begins attending to their needs and patiently soothing their nerves.

When two students come to film a school project about Kurita Optics, we are drawn further into the rhythms of the employees’ daily lives. Besides sharing sweets, they do morning exercises together and carry out their year-end cleaning. They do not harbour grand ambitions for the company, but they are unanimously resolved to perform their small roles well, hoping that their astronomy kits can educate children.

Like the students’ film project, which captures the workers’ daily lives, director Miyake’s camera broadens our gaze to encompass the stories of the supporting characters.

More like a supportive uncle than a boss, Kurita often offers Takatoshi encouragement. As the film reveals, Kurita took Takatoshi in at the request of his former supervisor, Norihiko, who sometimes brings him homemade bento. Behind the kindness of these two men who care for Takatoshi lies their shared experience of grief. They regularly attend group-therapy sessions, where participants speak about deceased loved ones and support one another. Although Kurita and Norihiko continue to mourn their own losses, they choose to care for a young man who also needs help.

Misa’s mother, too, provides her daughter with unwavering love. Although Misa believes that she has failed both as an adult and as a daughter by continuing to trouble her mother with her outbursts, her mother places no pressure on her and reassures Misa that she will always stand by her. Living with PMS can be frustrating and debilitating, but Misa’s mother understands. She regularly sends Misa packages of essential supplies to ease her daughter’s burden. Even five years later, when Misa’s mother is living in a care home, she still tries to keep her daughter warm by giving her a hand-knitted mitten. A mother’s love endures through time, just as starlight travels across the years.

“I don’t think there is a ranking for illnesses,” Misa murmurs as she and Takatoshi discuss their respective struggles. Her words extend beyond the supporting characters to encompass us all. Although we face our own difficulties, director Miyake shows that we remain both willing and able to care for others on their difficult days.

A Little Help
Can Be Contagious

Taking a naturalistic approach to character development, the film shows how Misa and Takatoshi help each other grow and, in turn, become a source of light for others.

Having come from a competitive corporate culture, Takatoshi initially rejects Misa’s offer of sweets and defensively expresses his disdain for workplaces where unambitious employees buy snacks for one another and behave amiably. Gradually, however, he begins to soften as Misa tries to assist him and understand his experience of panic disorder. When he suffers a panic attack at the office, she promptly helps him find his lost medication. Afterwards, she not only walks him home but also voluntarily buys him some necessities so that he can rest, thereby paying forward the love her mother has shown her.

Despite the initial tension arising from their differing views on whether illnesses can be ranked by severity, their relationship gradually begins to thaw. A pivotal moment occurs when Takatoshi accepts Misa’s offer to cut his hair. By pulling open the curtain, even if only slightly, he allows Misa into his world.

A budding friendship emerges as Takatoshi begins to take small steps of his own. He tries to learn more about Misa’s PMS and support her through difficult periods. Like an attentive teammate, Takatoshi notices when Misa is about to have another outburst at work. He gently guides her outside for some fresh air and suggests that they wash the company car to help soothe her distress. In return, Misa gives him a bicycle for commuting so that he can avoid the public transport he finds frightening. Later in the film, Takatoshi rides the same bicycle to deliver the phone she has left at the office. On his way back, as though inheriting her spirit, he buys taiyaki for their colleagues. This is my favourite scene. One star shines more brightly when another needs to rest. What could be more heart-warming than seeing Takatoshi continue their unspoken exchange of sweets?

Helping Another Person Does Not Require Grand Gestures

Another aspect of the film that I love is its refusal to let Misa and Takatoshi fall into the familiar trope of becoming a romantic couple. The story explores how kind-hearted people can help one another across all kinds of relationships. As Misa and Takatoshi’s companionship shows, a man and a woman can bond over similar struggles and simply remain friends who support each other. We are also introduced, albeit briefly, to Takatoshi’s girlfriend, who accompanies him to medical appointments and supports him when he experiences panic attacks at train stations.

The film portrays each character’s acts of kindness without dramatising them. Everything unfolds quietly and naturally, as it does in real life, and nothing feels forced. Helping another person requires little more than a willing and compassionate heart.

At the end of the film, Misa returns to her hometown to care for her mother, but we can still sense the sweetness she has left behind at Kurita Optics as her former colleagues continue with their lives and help one another. Most people in our lives will probably not remain with us forever, but that does not mean they have not guided us through moments when we felt lost, lonely, and hopeless. Bearing the hope I have gathered from the film, I believe that Takatoshi will one day see the light inside the train and help the next person step aboard.

◊◊◊

The closing credits roll over an establishing shot of the exterior of Kurita Optics. Everyone continues with their morning routine. I watch them like a passer-by observing people in my neighbourhood as they go about a pleasant day. Some of them leave the film’s frame, just as some members of the audience leave my field of vision. Yet they continue to live on in Miyake’s film and in our lives.

How to cite: Chan, Sam Yu Wing. “The Everyday Kindness of Sho Miyake’s All the Long Nights.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 10 Sept. 2026, chajournal.com/2026/09/10/long-nights.

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Sam Yu Wing Chan is from and lives in Hong Kong. He holds a BA in English from Hong Kong Baptist University and is currently pursuing an MA in English Literary Studies at The Chinese University of Hong Kong. Sam’s research interests include representations of individual memory within grand narratives, historical fiction, science fiction, and magical realism. He is particularly interested in Hong Kong Anglophone fiction and life writing, and is currently working towards publishing more of his creative work. [All contributions by Sam Yu Wing Chan.]