All Your Yesterdays

This film is a contemplation on the lifespan of secrets. Do the secrets we keep from our spouse in our childbearing ages remain potent in our old age? Or, when do these secrets convert into beliefs we hold about ourselves, and when do those beliefs turn into core components of our identity? I was most compelled to explore this question through Marty and Diane’s dynamic and marriage--their individual perception of it and one another. What is marriage but a negotiation, a choice of the life we envision for ourselves. When we don't have all the information pertinent to make that decision, how will that reframe the life we've led for forty years? Will there ever be anything our spouse can say that might rectify the betrayal? Or do we choose to believe the lie they've been telling themselves as a final act of grace? There is a controversial and somewhat experimental scene that takes place half way through the movie where I made the explicit decision to keep the camera as wide and still as possible. Marty and Diane are seated on the couch, surrounded by all the things from yesterday. It is in this moment of inaction, of boredom, of ennui, where a confession takes place - the confession that feels unbothered by time, and doesn't fully understand perhaps, what fracture it provokes. For this movie, I was very inspired by the film Amour and the desire to create as much of a play-like quality in film as I could get away with.