My relationship with non-fiction storytelling goes back to the early 70s, when my sister and I would spend hours crafting elaborate narratives for our collection of small plastic horses. They fell in love, roamed the plains, tasted freedom, and escaped tragedy. But I always insisted that they never, ever be endowed with magic powers, rescued by superheroes, or otherwise allowed to cheat the laws of physics.
We were telling stories, but they had to be as close to non-fiction as they could get, or I wouldn’t play the game.
Four decades later I’m still convinced that the best stories are the real ones. Whether I'm editing or teaching, nothing brings me greater satisfaction than finding the extraordinary in the commonplace and coaxing those stories into compelling, relevant, and meaningful films. Above all else, I do what I do because I believe that responsible, powerful storytelling builds understanding and solidarity across borders and across the street.
We were telling stories, but they had to be as close to non-fiction as they could get, or I wouldn’t play the game.
Four decades later I’m still convinced that the best stories are the real ones. Whether I'm editing or teaching, nothing brings me greater satisfaction than finding the extraordinary in the commonplace and coaxing those stories into compelling, relevant, and meaningful films. Above all else, I do what I do because I believe that responsible, powerful storytelling builds understanding and solidarity across borders and across the street.
