“The truth is that I was disturbed the day Robert left us to return to London.” Thus begins, for the very first time, the voice-over narration of Disclaimerthe main character of Catherine Ravenstock herself. Over a clicking noise that sounds like an old-fashioned home theater projector – it’s actually something else entirely, something important – she begins to tell her version of the story.

Actually, that’s probably not the best way to put it. “His side of the story” implies that someone else’s side has already been told. But Jonathan Brigstocke, the handsome teenager who drowned trying to save the life of Catherine’s young son, Nicholas, never told anyone his version of the events of that fateful Italian holiday. He couldn’t. He was dead.

Instead, everything we’ve seen of this vacation, everything we know about Jonathan’s death and what preceded it, comes from Nancy Brigstocke’s imagination. Accurate? Inaccurate? Highly defamatory? We have no more way of knowing at the moment than Nancy did when she wrote the book. This first-person narration from Catherine (notably, it’s Cate Blanchett’s voice over footage of Leila George playing her as a younger woman) is the first true account of the events of those two days that we heard.

Maddeningly, Stephen Brigstocke is aware of this. To a certain extent, anyway. “Nancy played with some facts, of course,” her usual first-person narration informs us. “That’s what writers do.” But it’s curious, isn’t it, the gap with reality that he cites as an example: Jonathan’s girlfriend, Sasha, did not return to London because of a death in the family , she came back because she and Jonathan had “an argument.” » An argument so bad that his mother calls Nancy and Stephen to yell at them. A feud so bad that after Nancy dutifully informs Sasha’s mother of Jonathan’s death – she says Sasha isn’t home, and you can believe it or not – Nancy receives a “sorry for your loss » superficial and never hears from Sasha or her mother. never again. It was an argument, I would say.

We must therefore wonder about this young voyeuristic suitor, whom Catherine notices for the first time watching her as she brushes the sand from under her bikini. (His photos play a key role in Nancy’s imaginary narrative.) He shows up at her hotel bar and offers her a drink. She responds as she does to his full attention: with an awkward smile, half embarrassment, half excitement. According to Catherine, all we can say is that she was flattered. “Maybe I’ll fantasize about this later,” his narration says as his younger self sneaks into the elevator, “or maybe I won’t.”

Barely the sinister siren of The perfect strangerisn’t it?

And poor Stephen Brigstocke, wronged and grieving? He spends most of the episode unsuccessfully attempting to inject Drano into the veins of a comatose Nicholas Ravenstock, who has been hospitalized with a stroke caused by his drug use. His unlikely ally in this effort? Robert Ravenstock, who chooses Stephen over Catherine and does not listen to his warnings. Neither do the hospital staff, who take him away from his critically endangered son even as they treat the injuries Stephen suffered during their brief altercation.

His son is at death’s door. Her husband spends no more than two seconds in her company and refuses to listen to a word he says. The man who ruined her life has more access to her child than she does. But Catherine Ravenstock is a professional storyteller, and her story is going to be told, one way or another.

So she flips the script on Stephen. She bursts in her house, violating her personal space, to let him know what really happened. (The noise we keep hearing in the background of her flashbacks is actually her faulty freezer, which had been broken since before Jonathan’s death.) Writer-director-creator Alfonso Cuarón films her in blazing white light, like an extraterrestrial visit. I think it’s a key visual indicator, personally. I think she is an avatar of truth.

Which, of course, would raise a lot of questions about why she didn’t come forward with her story sooner during all these mishegas. Could she have taken Robert, Nicholas, or even Stephen aside and said, “Look, is this it? Really happened, and you would know if you sat still and listened to me for 45 seconds”? Maybe, but it seems like a rude question to ask at this point. Everything suggests that we are on the verge of knowing Catherine’s story. There’s just one problem: You and I may be willing to listen, but Stephen Brigstocke, who doses his tea with sleeping pills, is not.

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about television for rolling stone, Vulture, The New York TimesAnd anywhere that will have itReally. He and his family live on Long Island.