All My Life

Somehow All My Life seems oddly lacking in stakes, which is so weird considering the story (the main symptoms of onscreen Chau's deadly but photogenic disease seem to be a little tiredness and sweatiness).

Director Marc Meyers and screenwriter Todd Rosenberg manipulate us without restraint, but Rothe and Shum are so endearing and their characters so pleasant that you don't mind it too much.

Sloppy sentimentality.

Rothe and Shum Jr. have such nice, authentic chemistry that they should put it to good use again. Perhaps there's a jaunty rom-com out there with their names on it.

This three-hankie weepie holds a surprising amount of heart and hope to accompany all the cathartic crying.

This will be a film with all the philosophical substance of an inspirational Facebook chain post.

All My Life ’s story may have few surprises, but Jessica Rothe and Harry Shum Jr.’s compelling chemistry effectively engages the audience nonetheless.

Despite its best efforts, there are still those gooey moments that seem custom made for the movies rather than plucked from real life. But every time the film gets too close to schmaltzy Meyers is able to rein it back in.

Saccharine and by-the-numbers, this is the Starbucks of romantic tearjerkers - a weepie that's so militantly affable, it lacks any real charm or emotional depth, and will fail to light a fire in your heart.

Situated as it is within its specific subgenre, All My Life fails the ultimate test: it leaves a dry-eyed audience.