Andrea Gibson would be the first to tell you that they never expected a documentary about their life with a terminal cancer diagnosis to be funny. No one did. But Gibson, a celebrated poet and performance artist who died in July at age 49, also didn’t expect to see the film at all. They weren’t alone in that either. Three years after the ovarian cancer diagnosis, life was day-by-day.
Yet by some miracle Gibson was able to see “Come See Me in the Good Light,” to look at a living document of their life over the past year with their wife, Megan Falley, from coffee chats to chemotherapy appointments, and to realize that yes, that dinner table conversation about a certain sex act that they had about two hours after first meeting the documentary crew made the final cut.
“I don’t think that they had any expectation that it would be fun,” Gibson told The Associated Press in January at the Sundance Film Festival. “They’re like, ‘OK, we’re creating a death documentary about serious poets.'”
In that moment at the dinner table, everyone involved seemed to understand that this was a collaboration that was going to work. It was the kind of silly, intimate and deeply authentic interaction that would serve not only as an icebreaker with the group of strangers following them around with a camera, but set the tone for the film (now streaming on Apple TV).
“I remember having my jaw open,” said filmmaker Ryan White. “You never get that kind of stuff on Day One. But that scene turns from funny to deep real fast. Andrea and Meg have this way of doing those shifts in everyday life that just made every scene magic: Belly laughter and tears in the same 20 minutes.”
Filming “Come See Me in the Good Light”
For the next year, the filmmaking crew would visit Gibson and Falley every three weeks and film everything for three days straight, never knowing if it was going to be the last time they saw Gibson. Two weeks before it premiered, they were still shooting.
The idea started in part with comedian Tig Notaro, who had known Gibson for many years. Notaro thought Gibson was one of the funniest people she knew. White and his producing partner had been bugging Notaro to bring them a funny documentary. And while a stage 4 cancer, slam poetry film wasn’t even remotely what he had in mind, all those hesitations washed away as soon as he saw Gibson on stage — not just the material, but that star quality that had some calling them the “James Dean” of the spoken word poetry world.
“It’s a really hard film to pitch or to put into a log-line without it sounding really heavy and heartbreaking and sad,” White said. “And it is all of those things. But it is so much more than that.”
Gibson and Falley had been going through the roller coaster essentially alone for two years when they were approached. Their yes was immediate.
“The presence of a camera being there, we thought, would help us do what we were already trying to do, which was take all that was happening and make it beautiful and make it something that could help others or be a gift in some way,” Falley said.
Gibson agreed — here was a direct way to share everything that they learned, everything they were feeling. It wasn’t about legacy, they said, it was about creating art that might help.
Making it to Sundance and letting the film speak for itself
Neither Gibson nor Falley could believe they had made it to the Sundance Film Festival at all earlier this year.
The week prior had been one of the worst they’d ever experienced, but Gibson woke up one morning feeling better and decided to trust that in-the-moment feeling, pack up some things and head to Park City, Utah, with Falley, for the film’s world premiere. It was risky being out at all, with tumors in their lungs and liver: And yet sitting in a cozy condo next to Falley, just a few steps away from a wood burning fire and some of their closest friends nearby, the couple was happy to be in the moment feeling love and loved.
“Our hope for the film is that it just helps anybody going through something very challenging that the whole culture says, ‘That’s impossible. You should be miserable going through that,'” Gibson said. “Just keeping the door open to a possibility that maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Sundance was the last time that Gibson traveled out of state with the film. They died a month shy of their 50th birthday. White decided to keep the film as it played in January and to not note Gibson’s death.
“We felt like the film was perfect the way it ended,” White said. “I felt very strongly that I didn’t want to update it because I feel very strongly that it’s not a film about dying. I’m very, very at peace with that and so is Megan.”
Falley, now a 37-year-old widow, has continued to tour with the film around the world. Though it often has her crying throughout, White said she gets to watch her love story 20-feet-tall and talk to audiences about the love of her life every night.
“It is devastating that Andrea is not with us in person anymore, but I almost think it all worked out beautifully, that Andrea got to see this film, and they know that Megan will carry this mantle now,” White said. “It’s just so beautiful and perfect watching this legacy of Andrea live on.”
