Stories We Tell

In a quiet, sun‑dappled suburb where family photographs line the walls and home movies flicker on aging projectors, Sarah Polley turns the camera toward the people who shaped her earliest world. As a filmmaker, she steps back from the role of observer to become a participant, inviting relatives to sit across from her in living rooms that still echo with laughter and half‑remembered stories. The film’s structure feels like a collage of conversations, each fragment a thread that, when woven together, suggests a richer tapestry of love, loss, and the ways memory reshapes truth.

At the heart of this intimate portrait are the two pillars of her childhood: Michael Polley, a quiet, reflective presence whose voice carries the cadence of a memoir, and Diane Polley, a vibrant, nurturing figure whose warmth permeates the recollections of those around her. Their differing perspectives create a gentle tension, inviting the audience to wonder how separate experiences can coexist within a single family narrative. The documentary’s tone remains contemplative rather than investigative, emphasizing the act of listening as much as the act of filming.

The aesthetic leans heavily on nostalgia: Super‑8 grain, the soft glow of old slide projections, and the occasional pause as a relative searches for the right words. These visual choices lend the story a dream‑like quality, suggesting that every reclaimed memory is both a resurrection and an interpretation. The film’s rhythm is unhurried, allowing moments of silence to breathe, reflecting the real‑time process of piecing together a personal history that has long been held close.

Through careful pacing and a reverent approach to storytelling, the work invites viewers into a space where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. It poses subtle questions about whose voice gets heard, how stories evolve across generations, and what it means to confront the past with both curiosity and compassion.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 06:30