Stories We Tell Page #11

in terms of what they saw,

in terms of what they felt,

in terms of what they remembered,

and in terms of their loyalties.

The same set of circumstances

will affect different people

in different ways.

Not that there

are different truths.

There are different reactions

to particular events.

The crucial function of art

is to tell the truth,

to find the truth in a situation.

That's what it's about.

You realize,

when you've finished all this...

You realize,

when you've finished all this,

you've got about six hours of stuff,

and you'll decide

what you want out of it.

It'll be exactly like the story.

Each one of us will pick out...

If any one of us were

trying to edit it

and decide

what we wanted to keep,

it would be

the same farcical kind

of theatrical exercise

that we're all involved in.

"Oh, I want to keep that. "

"Oh, that's rubbish. "

That's an enormously

different thing

from simply doing

an interview straight

and never doing any editing

of it whatsoever,

but letting it run as it is.

That would have been at least

as close to truth as you can get,

whereas your editing of this

will turn this into something

completely different.

What would you say

this documentary is really about?

Am I breaking the fourth wall here?

Turn the camera around.

What is it about?

I feel like

it's about a lot of things.

Memory, you said.

Memory and the way

we tell the stories of our lives.

I think in many ways it's like

trying to bring someone to life

through people's stories of them.

Is this a good angle for me?

Sorry, go on.

Telling people what?

A**hole.

Hi, Harry.

One of the main focuses

in the documentary

are the discrepancies

in the stories.

All of us... you, me,

my dad, my siblings,

my mother's friends, et cetera...

have similar stories

with large and small details that vary.

I'm interested in the way

we tell stories about our lives,

about the fact that the truth

about the past is often ephemeral

and difficult to pin down,

and many of our stories,

when we don't take proper time

to do research about our pasts,

which is almost

always the case,

end up with shifts

and fictions in them,

mostly unintended.

In relation to Mom,

I think when we talk

about it as a family,

there seems to be this...

this kind of...

a lot of questions

about who was she.

You know, a lot of disagreement

about what kind

of a person she was,

and there's this misconception

that she was some thing,

and I guess that to me

is another misconception...

that there is a state of affairs

or a thing

that actually happened,

and we have to reconstruct

exactly what happened in the past,

and I don't think there ever was

a "what actually happened. "

I think there were

lots of perspectives

from the very beginning.

You don't ever get

to an answer.

You don't ever get to,

"Okay, now we've figured it out.

"We know exactly what happened,

"we know exactly what kind

of person she was. "

I think those things are just illusory.

Again, in terms

of the basic question,

"Can one get at the truth?"

You can certainly get

very close to it,

but you have to limit it to those

who are involved in the events...

directly involved and affected...

and the direct witnesses

to the events are only two,

and one is not around.

Diane's not here to talk to.

That's really the only person

who could provide

the essence, the essentials

of what took place.

So we went through

all of that debate,

and then we started here

yesterday.

I somehow feel that we've

cleared up some of the smoke.

Maybe not all, but some of the smoke

has been cleared away.

The reality is, essentially,

that the story with Diane,

I regret to say, is only mine to tell,

and I think that's a fact.

Now, my recollections

may be faulty at times,

but I'm not gonna lie.

The love that I shared

with Diane 30 years ago

was so intense and so lasting,

it all came back to me

and got wrapped up

with my affection for you.

So I became crazy

about you in the same way.

When I heard the full details

of the affair

between Mom and Harry,

I was really happy

because I've always felt

like she spent her whole life

looking for love,

and I certainly felt

that in the last years of her life,

and for a long time

ever since I was a child,

she really hadn't gotten

from Dad what she needed.

And when I heard

the story of Harry...

I remember feeling...

feeling really happy

that she had found love

and that she'd been loved

that much.

But I kind of think Dad

was the one she really

was in love with,

and he just wasn't an option,

so I'm really glad

that she was loved.

I'm not sure she was

loved by the person

she really wanted

to be loved by, but...

My dear Sarah,

when you make a documentary

about your own discovery

of a new father,

are you doing so to avoid

your own deeper concerns

of its real impact on you?

Is that why you describe it

as a search for the vagaries of truth

and the unreliability of memory,

rather than a search

for a father?

Hey, Dad.

I've been thinking

a lot about your last email.

Maybe you're right.

Maybe there is something

underneath my need

to make this film

that I've been denying.

Every time I feel I have

my footing, I lose it.

I can't figure out

why I'm exposing us all in this way.

It's really embarrassing,

to be honest.

Have I totally lost my mind,

trying to reconstruct the past

from other people's words?

Trying to form her?

Is this the tsunami

she unleashed when she went,

and all of us

still flailing in her wake,

trying to put her together

in the wreckage,

and her slipping away from us,

over and over again,

just as we begin to see her face?

What do you remember

of the day Mom died?

That was a terrible day, wasn't it?

I don't know. I guess...

I guess her brother

had said to us,

"Well, it's

almost the end now, and... "

"I think each one

of you should go... "

I mean, she was unconscious.

"And say whatever...

"Whatever final words

you have to say to her before she goes...

"because it's very close

to the end. "

So that was a bad day.

What did you say to her?

What?

With that time that we

each had alone with her,

what did you say to her?

Don't know.

Probably that I'd missed her...

that I would miss her,

that I loved her, and that...

would never forget her.

That's about all.

You know, somebody you've known

for 25 years...

and spent much of your life

with for 25 years,

and has given your life

much of its meaning for 25 years,

awful hard to lose them.

That's a dire line of questioning.

I tell you, we must find a way

of making it more funny.

What are you, some kind

of sadistic interviewer?

You told me

I had to break you down more.

Yeah, well, you've done it,

haven't you?

There was no acting

in any of that.

No acting at all.

You see what

a vicious director you are.

Now you understand, don't you?

I remember that...

remember that day

when you directed me

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