“Best Day of My Life!”
When asked how he’s doing by friends, colleagues in the comedy realm, passengers in his latest pick-up, and everyone in between, Rasheed Stephens (himself) replies with the same answer: “Best day of my life.” It’s as much an optimistic statement, a way to look at any moment of any day as a great thing for the possibilities it brings (as well as not being 6 ft below), as it is a mantra to help get through the hard times. To be reminded that what we define as “best” shifts, waxes, and wanes, elastic as long as we, too, remain malleable to what life offers. Having its world premiere at Slamdance Film Festival 2024, Stephens and co-writer/co-director Tehben Dean unveil the Stephens-led docu-dramedy All I’ve Got & Then Some, a “One Crazy Day” film that tracks Stephens across Hollywood from waking until sleep as he tries to make it to his first paid stand-up gig in five years. Hilarious and surprising, while also honest and raw, All I’ve Got is a lo-fi experience that works as a calling card as coming up performers as creatives.
L-R: Avis Parsons as Rose and Rasheed Stephens in ALL I’VE GOT & THEN SOME. Photo courtesy of Rasheed Stephens.
A Georgia transplant, Rasheed’s been living in his car for some time now as he tries to make in Los Angeles as a comedian. He goes to open mics, networks with social media influencers, works as a ride-share driver: basically doing all he can to keep the hustle going and make something happen before he loses heart. But today is different. Amid everything he has to do to make sure he can keep gas in his car and food in his belly, if he can get to the stage tonight, there’s a chance that he can start the momentum he needs to move out of his car and into something more. But between a surprise romance, his close friend Rose (Avis Parsons) in need of sex work protection, a squirrelly agent, and all sorts of other people and incidents specific to Hollywood, he’s going to have to dig deep to make it to the stage at the end of the day.
All I’ve Got is easily split into three portions: the film, the confessionals, and the comedy sets. These three pieces make the film a less traditional narrative and more of a hybrid that gives one a sense that the subheading of “based on a true story” make be more accurate than is typically presumed when that pops up on a title card. The cinematography from Dean immediately evokes a cinéma vérité style, where we, the audience, are invited into Rasheed’s world to go along with this journey. The major difference between the form of observational cinema and traditional narratives are that the people in the film don’t acknowledge the camera (documentary vs. narrative feature) and no one in All I’ve Got does. The camera is there, moving around Rasheed, following him closely like a documentarian who wants to capture every look, every gesture, every reaction to what’s going on. If not for the fact that not a single person acknowledges the existence of Dean, it would be easy to confuse the film for a documentary. Through this style though, an intimacy forms between us and Rasheed, wherein we see his joys and frustrations at where the day takes him. We come to understand his complex relationship with Rose as two people just trying to make life in L.A. work and the kind of opportunity a love connection with Naiya Armour’s Doll can mean. We’re afforded a specific kind of access that strips Rasheed emotionally bare, making us feel like a compatriot in his day, no matter how weird it gets. This is only amplified by the cast of characters, most of who are first-time performers, giving the whole of the film a sense of authenticity without coming off as over-worked or staged.
Rasheed Stephens in ALL I’VE GOT & THEN SOME. Photo courtesy of Rasheed Stephens.
The second part of the film that weakens the illusion between cinematic fiction and narrative truth is a frequent use of confessionals. Dean and Stephens set up the entire film to function as a series of interconnected vignettes, the separations between them mostly created through title cards with a time, place, and subheading. Additionally, though not specifically tied to these title cards, rather than following Rasheed, we sit with Rasheed (or is it Stephens?) in a talking head-style interview in which he provides exposition that would be awkward during any of the other segments. Sure, these are info dumps, but none of them come off as fabricated or intentionally overloaded with information that a different scene in the film could provide. With the film running roughly 80 minutes, it doesn’t have time to spare on the confessionals, especially if it’s going to maintain the momentum building up to the gig that night. But with these sequences, Rasheed is framed in a nice tight close-up and he speaks directly to us, the occasional edit making it clear that what he’s saying is scripted and cut for timing, efficiency, and narrative development. This is also the primary way that we, the audience, get to look at Rasheed without some other kind of distraction, enabling us to really get a sense for the charismatic performer and the struggles that lie underneath the surface.
The last piece of the film is also the least utilized in a film about an up-and-coming comedian — his work. Each time a new segment begins, there’s a brief period where the screen is blank and we hear Rasheed at work. It’s only snippets and they typically are used as a means of transition, either to signify a shift from one vignette to another or to tee up something to be explored, but what we hear is incredibly clever and leaves us wanting more. Except the film doesn’t really give us a chance to hear Rasheed perform, even cutting in during his set the whole film builds toward. This last bit is a particular crime as his stories and delivery f’ing kill. Granted, one kind of expects a film about a comedian to include them performing, but the way that the material is used goes against expectation and, frankly, it frustrates. “Leave them wanting more” only goes so far when what we get is so good. Of course, this being a mixed-format film makes it even harder to understand as All I’ve Got is styled so much like a documentary that the lack of performance time, either from the past in Georgia or the present, stands out more than if it were just a traditional fictional comedy narrative. It’s not enough to bring down the whole film, but performance is so significant to who Rasheed is that to only get small pieces feels like a failure to deliver on the build up toward the end of the day.
L-R: Naiya Armour as Doll and Rasheed Stephens in ALL I’VE GOT & THEN SOME. Photo courtesy of Rasheed Stephens.
There’s no doubt that Rasheed (or Stephens) hustles far more than most would be willing to do to achieve their goals and that’s only a small piece of what sets the character apart on his journey. It certainly helps that the pieces we get of the performances demonstrate that Rasheed isn’t just talking game, he’s got it, too. In a larger view, All I’ve Got & Then Some similarly signifies that Rasheed’s got what it takes to play within format and tone, all while keeping things as grounded and natural as possible. I wouldn’t suggest that All I’ve Got breaks new ground in its mixed-format narrative style, but its uniqueness establishes that the team of Stephens and Dean are ones to keep an eye on.
Screening during Slamdance Film Festival 2024.
For more information on screenings, head to the official Slamdance All I’ve Got & Then Some webpage.
For more information on the film, head to the official All I’ve Got & Then Some website.
Final Score: 3.5 out of 5.
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Categories: In Theaters, Reviews
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