The Stories We Tell

Watched this doc by Canadian director Sarah Polley last night, an accounting of her family story—how in her late 20s she discovered that the guy she called "dad" was not her biological father (her real dad being, as all errant trysts are, an actor her mum worked with once on a play in Montreal).

But the movie isn't really about wayward romance in Montreal (which is a fine topic!), it's about how we remember stuff from our lives, and how we retell it, and the subtle, important ways it changes in the retelling. Polley's mom died of cancer when Sarah was just a lil tot, and because she can't tell her own story, Sarah pieces it together through interviews with the peeps who were close to her. The story weaves and weaves, becoming a strange tapestry built from every different color of "I always thought" perceptions and "I think what happened" memories.

Anyway, good stuff. Is there anything richer and more fraught than a family history ... even yours?!