Narrative is the way we relate to the world and to each other. We tell stories to communicate ideas, and to relate the events and emotions we experience. We tell stories to hold on to our memories. Sarah Polley’s new film, Stories We Tell, is an exploration of the functions of narrative as they relate to the telling of our life stories. And while that may sound high-minded and intellectual, what Polley unearths is a well of emotion and one of the most powerful new films I’ve seen in recent memory.
The film, superficially, is about Polley’s family and some startling information about her parents. As a plot, the film is solidly entertaining. Revelation after revelation change our understandings of the players involved and pull us deeper into the story.
In practice, though, the film is less about the revelations of the plot, and more about how each character in the film responds. Polley sets the film up as a series of interviews with family members and friends, and intersperses 8mm home movie footage. Through these various interviews we often get contradictory accounts of the same events. These contradictions provide a range of perspectives that are always enganging.
Three analogues for Stories We Tell have come to my mind: Rashomon, F for Fake and Close-Up. All three films deal with the nature of truth in narrative, and how varying perspectives create varying narratives. F for Fake and Close-Up in particular express these ideas by blurring the lines between fiction, non-fiction and documentary. Stories We Tell is very definitely a documentary, but Polley understands that the very nature of telling stories through cinema blurs the lines between truth and fiction. She uses that to her advantage; creating a film that breathes with the complexity of the best “fictional” works.
In many ways it’s not important that the film is a documentary, except in the way Polley is a part of her own film. While Polley never gives herself an interview, we see her making the film and the fact of her directorial is always clear while watching. As such, the film’s construction itself becomes an important perspective on the events Polley is depicting.
At one point, one of the characters argues that Polley’s film is not the right way to tell the story; saying that by including everybody’s perspectives and giving them all equal weight, “you can never touch bottom.” No truth can be found that way. He’s not exactly wrong, but Polley, it seems, is not really interested in the literal, factual truth of the events that transpired. Instead, she’s after a more fundamental truth of human beings and relationships: we’re all a mess of contradictions and it’s never possible to fully understand another person.
Stories We Tell renders this truth with great emotional weight. These are not mere abstract concepts. They are at the base of who we are and how we interact with each other, especially in love. Love, in the end, is what permeates the film, and much like in her two previous films—Away From Her and Take This Waltz—Polley is unafraid of dealing with the difficult complexities at the heart of loving another person.
In many ways Polley is brave for making very private stories so public, but that’s nothing compared to her artistic bravery. Where so many docs are content to fit into simple categories, often attempting to mimic the narrative formulas of fiction films, Stories We Tell embraces the form and then reaches beyond its usual confines. It’s at once familiar and bold, resulting in a powerfully insightful and emotional journey, and it marks Sarah Polley as one of the very best filmmakers working today.
