Stylish YA Adaptation The Sky Is Everywhere Mixes Magical Realism with Potent Grief

YA adaptations in film often get an undeservedly bad rap, if only because popular contemporary YA fiction—at least of the sort that tends to garner enough mainstream attention to land feature film or television deals—is known for often being tremendously sad and cloyingly emotional. (Think more The Fault in Our Stars rather than The Hunger Games.) Usually, they involve death, often of a major character or someone close to a major character. Ugly crying, for the reader, at least, is the norm. So, consider this your warning going in that The Sky Is Everywhere is an emotional ride, one that frequently skirts the line between sharply truthful and painfully saccharine. (Usually ending up in the realm of the former, but not always.) Yet its whimsical, fairytale feel generally keeps the story from feeling like something you’ve seen before.
Adapted from the novel of the same name by author Jandy Nelson, the story centers on Lennie Walker (Grace Kaufman), a teen musical prodigy who’s struggling to figure out how to keep going in the wake of the sudden death of her older sister Bailey (Havana Rose Liu). The two sisters were exceptionally close, and much of Lennie’s plans for her life after high school revolved around the fact that the pair would do them together, from becoming roommates to attending Julliard. To say that Lennie doesn’t know who she is anymore without her sister is an understatement and her sense of self is further rocked throughout the film by the revelation of several key secrets Bailey had been keeping from her.
Too often, popular culture likes to paint grief as something noble or beautiful, a strange kind of othering by which losing a person who mattered to you means that you will forever be defined by your relationship to them. (For example, Cathy and Heathcliff in Lennie’s favorite book, Wuthering Heights.) The Sky Is Everywhere is wonderfully honest about the fact that grief is an ugly, awful thing, something that can often make us ugly and awful as a result of our feeling it. Lennie’s abandonment of her friends, her occasionally breathtaking cruelty toward her offbeat grandmother and uncle (Cherry Jones and Jason Segal in a pair of truly weird bit performances that you’ll either find charming or infuriatingly performative), her desire to self-sabotage all of the things she’d planned to do with her life—these are all understandable behaviors, even if they can often make Lennie hard to like.
As a result, Kaufman’s performance is the highlight of the film, as she deftly conveys the riot of emotions that seem to exist within Lennie at any given moment: Grief, horror, guilt and rage, at both her sister for leaving her and at herself for ever daring to consider that she might find joy in her life again. Even during Lennie’s ugliest moments, Kaufman manages to keep the character sympathetic and relatable, and her clear emotional desperation is palpable throughout much of the film. Her guilt over food tasting good again, her fierce determination to hang on to Bailey’s clothes because their existence means her sister could feasibly still come back and wear them, are painfully realistic gut punches.