Hearing the phrase "Rashomon effect" had created the illusion that I knew the 1950 film that was its origin. So I watched it this afternoon to test this claim. It surprised me by being Russian in its moral quest; Indian in its theatricality; and often Hollywoodesque in its visual urgency. In our post-truth world, the screenplay's conflicting claims to "what really happened" are especially relevant. From the shadows of leaves obscuring troubled faces to long, profound silences in which matters of life and death are decided, it's a film where comforting realism is replaced by dramatic tension. Mostly, it's about the stories we tell ourselves, and about ourselves, that consciously or unconsciously strive to portray us as honourable beings even in the most trying circumstances. Plus, it ultimately, and unexpectedly, offers hope against a landscape of bleakness. No, it's nothing like I'd imagined it to be.