Come See Me in the Good Light: A Poetry-Cancer Documentary, at the Very Least
Written by Riley Heath. Photo by Riley Heath.
Given every opportunity to make the documentary “Come See Me in the Good Light”, a story about dying, director Ryan White very tastefully refrained, dismantling the expectation I’d come in with and capturing something much more profound—a story of life, love, and living.
“I honestly don’t know what to expect,” my friend, Kendall, said as we walked down the green-carpeted footpath of the Lucas Theatre. We took our seats close to the front.
“I made sure not to wear mascara,” I said. “I assume this is going to be pretty sad.” All I knew was that this was a story about a terminal cancer diagnosis. To my mind, the only ending to a film of this nature is when we watch the featured person die.
The film began, and soon after, the camera panned to a sign above Andrea Gibson’s (they/them) and Megan Falley’s (she/her) front door: “Brokeback Mountain”, it read. The theatre erupted in laughter. “Come See Me in the Good Light” is no sob story, I quickly realized, but rather a burning candle amidst the darkest of times. If I found myself wiping tears at any point, I was sure to be laughing profusely within the minute if left up to Andrea. what a gift this film was, and what an amazing human being.
The couple lived in Longmont, Colo., and from scenic mountain views, to shots of the good luck horseshoes hung on a backyard branch, to behind-the-scenes clips from the treatment center, we got to see it all. It was clear this documentary was special from the very first scene; Andrea and Meg sat on the couch, covered in cozy blankets and several small dogs, passing a poem on a computer screen back and forth. We — the audience via the film crew and camera — were addressed and acknowledged like family.
“I’ll tell you all,” Andrea said, looking right at the camera, “I usually get so upset when Meg edits my poems.” The film crew chuckled on screen, and several people in the Lucas Theatre did, too. I’m used to the intimacy of documentaries and the way they invite you in, but never have I felt so welcomed before.
Andrea found out they had incurable ovarian cancer back in 2021, and this diagnosis paused their escalating career as a poet. This literary craft didn’t disappear, though, as it was a backbone for the film and intricately woven into most of the scenes. At one point, I couldn’t help but wonder if everything had a deeper metaphorical meaning — even the motif of the broken mailbox; Andrea kept fixing it as best they could, and no matter how hopeless it seemed, continued to try and try again.
Andrea’s prose had me reflecting on the profundity of my own life, down to the small moments I tend to overlook; I never thanked Kendall for coming to see the screening with me, for being a good friend. “It woke me up,” Andrea said. “It took me being told I was going to die to see the beauty of this world.” During the post-screening Q&A, Ryan White recalled how Andrea felt such joy after being diagnosed, and how he made it his job to capture that essence because no one believed it was possible. I watched a husband put an arm around his wife a couple of rows ahead of me, and then understood what Andrea and Ryan were trying to share with us.
Meg and Andrea had a talent for balancing the painful, hard conversations with witty jokes, which stunningly portrayed both the duality of life and of human beings. This film crew of four was masterful in the creation of this production, arranging delicate, vulnerable clips in a very thoughtful and respectful way. We got to be at the bedside for chemo treatment scenes, atop Meg and Andrea’s bed as they held each other and contemplated mortality, and on Seattle’s Paramount Theatre stage when Andrea gave their very last performance. There was not a dry eye in that Paramount theatre, and there wasn’t in the Lucas Theatre, either—though not out of sadness as I expected, but because of love.
