Tell My Story (David Freid, 2020): USA

Review by Jeremy Ellison. Viewed at SBIFF 2020.

Tell My Story is a heartbreaking, intimate documentary that follows a grieving father, Jason, as he tries to understand why teenage suicide has become so prevalent in our society. The subject is especially urgent for Jason—his 14 year old son Ryan committed suicide in 2018. To find the answers he so desperately seeks, and maybe also as a means of catharsis, Jason partnered with Phillipe Diaz, CEO of Cinema Libre Studio. Together, they venture into the dark psychology behind suicidal youth.

Their journey involves interviews with teenagers, psychiatrists, parents, suicide survivors, and more. “Interviews” seems like the wrong word—they are much closer to therapy sessions. The objective of these conversations isn’t to ask questions and receive answers, but to allow one another, specifically the teenagers, to open up about the things they feel they shouldn’t (or can’t) express. By doing so, Jason learns more about what his own son may have been struggling through.

The documentary is pieced together in a way that allows the film to breathe, while simultaneously being emotionally suffocating. One scene might be exhaustingly heavy, but it will be succeeded by one that is comforting and insightful. Director David Freid treads a fine line between overbearing and unfulfilling. As the film progresses, its narrative focuses less on pulling tears from the audience, and more towards educating them. We spend more time with counselors and psychologists who have dedicated their careers to understanding the minds of adolescents. Unfortunately, this is also where the film started to lose me. Throughout its second half, it is heavily implied that social media and video games are the main contributors to the growing teenage suicide rates. While it’s very possible that both play a part in the issue, to target them as the true enemy is vastly misguided and unconvincing. The factors that lead a teenager to suicide are far more complicated and destructive than either social media or video games. This conclusion also doesn’t consider much more probable explanations: mental illnesses, history of abuse, socioeconomic status—just to name a few. The reasoning for something as tragic as suicide can never be fully understood, but there are certainly more compelling answers than what this film offers.

Another gripe I had with this film was its questionable use of music. The score itself works well, further elevating the film’s melancholic attitude. But often times, scenes would feature a popular hip-hop or pop song whose lyrics involve depression and/or suicide. While these songs are clearly relevant to the subject matter, their use still feels out of place and distracting. And mostly, the upbeat and catchy tunes of these songs undermines the harrowing tone of the documentary.

Tell My Story is an undeniably powerful traverse through grief. While it’s easy for stories as heavy as this to elicit heartache, director Freid manages to do so without ever feeling manipulative or exploitative. Despite my strong disagreements with its conclusions on the subject, I still found the documentary as a whole to be a worthwhile and effective answer to a terrible tragedy.