Big Fish is a story about stories. In the same vein as Picasso’s El arte es una mentira que nos acerca a la verdad (art is a lie that makes us realize the truth) good storytelling grips you, changes you, and lets you touch a world you would never reach following more conventional paths.
It’s a father and son story, really. The father reaches the end of his road, and having lived a rich life full of strange events, he always told the best tales. His son resented him for it; dismissed it as his father stealing the show with his lame-ass stories time and time again. And his son, realizing that he hardly knows the man he has called dad, sets to find out the truth.
And — I don’t really want to ruin it for you. The movie reminded me that fiction helps us define our world just as much as facts. Without it, we wouldn’t have non-fiction. Where would that leave us?
Sometimes fiction is just more real than what is real.