First things first: you will be a mess when you finish Come See Me in the Good Light. It doesn’t matter how strong your inner constitution is; you’re going to be a wreck. There’s nothing you can do about it. Documentaries are intimate in nature, but much of the film feels like pulling a wound further open. While the effect is shattering, I mean all of this as a compliment. For all the quiet devastation Come See Me evokes in the viewer, it brings calm and transcendence as well. (Quick plug: That Shelf writer Pat Mullen already included it in his best of the year so far list too.)
Director Ryan White (Good Night Oppy) humanely and uninvasively observes partners Megan Falley and Andrea Gibson after Andrea’s ovarian cancer diagnosis. This film isn’t about fighting cancer, necessarily. White, at times, glosses over the uglier parts of cancer treatment and the financial strain it creates. Instead, we receive radical transparency as Megan and Andrea share everything about each other and the life they’ve shared. The treatments and bills are relatable for everyone, but White’s intent is different. He wants us to feel the fear, the chaos, and the grief that we try so hard to ignore about mortality. Yet the film is unexpectedly funny. Laughter isn’t a betrayal of a difficult situation; it’s a necessity to survive another day.
Stories about terminal illness are often couched in the experience of the surviving spouse. By fully experiencing, vicariously with Andrea, their struggles and achievements, it propels this documentary to an upper echelon. That’s not to say that Megan isn’t represented here, but that the point of view isn’t covered in amber. The way that some documentaries feel like the subject is already passed. Come See Me in the Good Light is alive and breathing.
Between oncology visits, a whiplash of news, both good and bad, Andrea and Megan’s already tight bond deepens. Whether experiencing COVID or the craziness of being a multi-dog parent, they always reiterate what they mean to each other. The preciousness of life in the face of adversity is considered a cliché, but films rarely feel this authentically life-affirming. When days become limited, the depth of love is more important than the longevity.
There is heartfelt acceptance in finding the best way to spend the little time left. Andrea’s youthful struggles with depression transition into a fight for as much time possible. Megan’s writings, about struggling with body image, evolve as she witnesses her partner’s battle with cancer. “I just want to have a body; I don’t care what it looks like.” And it’s in these hard places where we come to discover ourselves. To share that vulnerable space with viewers is a feat of courage. In terms of form, White is content to let the camera operate as a third observer in the room and recognize just how valuable the intimacy is. The power of film lies in empathy. Inviting strangers to watch a story that they metabolize into their own experience. Frequently, whether or not we have a similar worldview, it allows us to be one with who we see onscreen.
Andrea Gibson’s roots are working-class, but an open mic event at a cafe inspired a career change. Living in rural Maine, the realities of being openly queer weren’t possible at the time. Engaging in art gave Gibson the freedom to express their identity. In turn, Gibson made that seem possible for anyone who followed them. Gibson took to spoken word poetry, and, after years of brilliant works, they became the Poet Laureate of Colorado.
Gibson sold out spoken-word venues throughout North America, but COVID put a damper on touring. The isolation of a pandemic adds to life’s already considerable difficulties. This is the point where White’s presence in the film becomes physical. He asks Gibson about how much performing means to them. They respond honestly. If their voice can’t be heard, then prolonging life through treatment only means so much. Gibson gives a final spoken word performance at the Paramount Theater in Denver. The thunderous applause at the end marks a triumphant return for an artist who treasured sharing with others.
Several passages of Come See Me in the Good Light are images tied to Gibson’s poetry. Their voice resonates so clearly through the screen that it’s no surprise why people would travel the world over to hear Gibson in person. If there is any doubt that art can immortalize the soul, let the words read throughout the film convince you otherwise.
“My story is one about happiness being easier to find once we realize we do not have forever to find it.”
Rest in peace, Andrea Gibson.
