Stories We Tell

Grade: A-

There’s a moment late in Stories We Tell, Sarah Polley’s newest film and her first documentary, where Michael, her father, is confronted with the film’s big reveal. He gazes absent-mindedly at her daughter behind the camera, then at the window by his side, and then goes on to say in voiceover narration that he froze upon hearing the news “as he imagines Sarah had when she first heard it.” He’s unaware that the audience has already seen Sarah’s reaction to the same reveal a few scenes earlier. Sarah is anything but frozen. Surprised, sure, but not frozen at all. She is, or at least looks to be, genuinely relieved and happy about it. And she confirms our intuition about her feelings when she later admits that she was filled with joy that she had finally uncovered that secret. That, in essence, is why I’ve fallen so madly in love with her new film. It’s been a few days since I watched it and my mind keeps racing back to it at every chance, remembering every precious little moment.

Stories We Tell is centred on Diane, Sarah’s late mother, who was a theatre and television personality in Canada back in her day. Though “centering” is probably not the correct term. She is the focal point of the titular stories, but there’s nothing cyclical or circular about the way the narrative unfolds. As the title suggests, the structure is formed through interviews with family members and acquaintances who share their recollections of Diane. Polley’s more or less aware of the full scope of her story when she embarks on the adventure to make this film, but instead of telling us her story, she asks everyone involved – her two sisters, two brothers, father Michael (who also narrates the film through a piece he has written about his life with his wife), her mother’s friends and co-stars in a Montreal theatre production – to tell her everything about Diane as if she never knew her at all. From the resulting interviews, she peels back layers of information in ways so surprising that we’re kept guessing till the very last frame.

The strength of the film, however, lies not in the surprises – though there are plenty and they are deliciously scandalous – but precisely in the manner in which Polley tells the story. There are tales of romance, passion, ennui, infidelity and such in every family. It’s in the way Polley presents them to us that gives them warmth and depth. It is the way she forces us to rethink our perceptions of ourselves and our family members that make the film a special delight. Stories We Tell shows us that even those closest to us can often act radically different from what we expect of them and can have big secrets stored in their heart for an entire lifetime without letting anything slide; even when those secrets matter more to us than themselves. This film isn’t so much about the characters but the way they are formed through others’ words, perceptions and misconceptions about them.

Technically, too, Stories is an impressive accomplishment. Mike Munn’s work in the cutting room is crucial to the film’s tone as everything boils down to the order of interviews and the setup of the reveals, and his crisp editing does a great job of bringing everything neatly together. Polley has carefully recreated her mother’s theatre stint in Montreal and manages to integrate the washed out visuals of those sequences seamlessly in the intimately photographed reconstructions of the present time and the interviews. In transferring her bright, gracefully soft aesthetic and her repetitious but sparse approach to storytelling from fiction to documentary, Polley proves herself as one of the most interesting, unique voices in today’s cinema; a filmmaker whose every effort, even if flawed, is incredibly rewarding.

Take This Waltz: Sarah Polley's Love Letter to Toronto

Most people in the world rarely get to see their hometown portrayed on the big screen. Now, some certainly get luckier than others: Parisians have had that luxury for decades; Berliners have enjoyed it intermittently; London has been central to many films, and of course, only the aforementioned French capital even comes close to New York and Los Angeles in terms of the quantity of cinematic depictions.

Tehran, the city I was born and raised in, has its large share of portrayals on film, but the picturesque vibrancy of the city is often sacrificed in favour of the hard-edged coarseness of its urbanity. Poeticism in Iranian cinema will forever be associated with the countryside vistas of Kiarostami and Ghobadi – with Majid Majidi’s Oscar-nominated Children of Heaven being the lone exception that comes to mind.

That leads me to my adopted hometown of Toronto. Lovely as the city and its residents *ahem* are, it’s fair to say that Toronto isn’t world renowned for its glamour. Upon first visit, it is the mosaic of architectural styles under an oddly detached grey coating that attract attention, not the colourful bay and gables of College or Queen, or the energy of Chinatown. The city's name brings to mind images of snow-covered avenues much quicker than the pastel-coloured summery backstreets of downtown. On the silver screen, too, the portrayals give that vibe. If, indeed, the city represents itself at all, for in many of the films shot here, Toronto is merely a stand in for other locations – Mean Girls’ Math Contest sequence is something of a cult among University of Toronto students who have all spent quite some time in Convocation Hall - the building where the scene was filmed - but never see the school’s name mentioned.

So it was breath of fresh air to watch Sarah Polley’s bittersweet, but impossibly romantic ode to Toronto. The story of the film – a married woman who becomes attracted to another man – isn’t Toronto-specific, but Polley’s direction leaves no doubt about where she hails from. Putting aside the not-so-subtle Canadian references – from the film’s title taken from a song by the legendary Leonard Cohen to a screening of Mon Oncle Antoine at The Royal – it’s obvious that Polley knows the city like the back of her hand and as a director with a heavy emphasis on visual storytelling, uses this background to map out the characters' emotional arcs. Never has the beach looked as beautiful or as relevant to me as it does through Polley’s lens, neither has Little Portugal ever felt so dreamily languid.

Of course, it works in Toronto’s favour that the film that takes place within it is such a powerful piece too. Reductive as it may sound, one can think of this film as a lighter, breezier, but equally potent version of Blue Valentine, not only because the two films share the same leading lady – more on Williams' excellent performance to come in the next few days – but also because similar to Valentine, Polley’s film details the inevitable ups and downs of a relationship with painful honesty. In this film, the work seems even more effortlessly assured.

Whatever the reason, Take This Waltz never managed to gain the attention it deserves. Its TIFF debut was met with a politely appreciative, if divided, reaction that didn't give the film the critical foothold it needed. It was never going to be a major commercial success either, so chances that the film will be an important awards player come the year's end are very slim. But don't let any of that discourage you. Torontonian or otherwise, it is well worth your time.