In numerous interviews, Andrei Tarkovsky called “Mirror” a film about his mother. But should we believe him?

By this I don’t mean that he’s lying to us. Rather, I think Tarkovsky is ignoring all of the pieces of “Mirror” he assembled through the years that don’t involve his mother. In fact, it’s not even accurate to say “he” in regard to “Mirror,” because Tarkovsky did not conceive or assemble the film alone.

Aleksandr Misharin collaborated with Tarkovsky over many years on the screenplay, and in interviews he pointed out that their method often made it very difficult to determine where ideas came from. One writer would take a pass at a first draft of a scene, then pass it over to the other. And they would switch roles freely.

So when Tarkovsky’s parents later saw “Mirror” and reportedly were quite upset by it, Andrei easily could have fallen back to two true answers — “Mirror” is a work of fiction and it was co-written. It should not be confused with memoir, never mind a memoir fully about Tarkovsky’s mother.

And yet, that is exactly how Tarkovsky described “Mirror,” from the day it was released until the day he died in 1986, at the obscenely young age of 54. Kryzsztof Kieslowski also died at 54, but he was a chain smoker. Tarkovsky’s death is more mysterious. Some believe that toxic chemicals he was exposed to while directing “Stalker” in the late 70s account for his early demise.

That sounds like a narrative Tarkovsky would embrace, that he died from his art. It’s what you would expect from a man who had a sometimes cold, distant relationship with his family even though, from all accounts, he was treated like a prince by them all, considered the great family savior. Tarkovsky was not a warm and fuzzy man. But he might have been the most gifted artist cinema has ever produced.

And so we run with that narrative, that “Mirror” is about Tarkovsky’s mother, even though it opens with a shot of a young boy turning on a television, then switches to a puzzling documentary bit where a young man who stutters is given hypnosis, which we are to believe permanent cures him of the affliction.

“Mirror” announces its own fractured, personal form of story telling immediately. We are not to expect a simple narrative in what follows. In fact, you could say that we won’t see anything resembling a story at all, just a serious of stunning images that reflect Tarkovsky’s dreamscape.

Tarkovsky has also said in interviews that “Mirror” is not a puzzle to be solved, it’s a dream to experience, with your emotions more than your thoughts. So we return to those opening images, the young boy with the television, the young man given a treatment that walks the line between science and mysticism.

Did Tarkovsky’s mother have these dreams? No. In fact, one of the early planning documents for “Mirror,” an outline used to help sell the project to the Soviet film authorities, pitches the use of a questionnaire to be passed out to mothers who lived through the Great Patriot War. The answers and anecdotes would then form the spine of the story of every Russian mother of the era, and that in turn would guide the creation of the “Mirror” screenplay.

Sounds interesting — except that survey was never commissioned, not even to Tarkovsky’s mother. No, the stories of Maria Ivanova Vishnyakova were pulled from Tarkovsky’s memory, even though Maria had a career as proofreader for a publishing house. She was a woman of letters. But Tarkovsky didn’t seek out her words.

But he did look to recreate memories, his and hers. Tarkovsky assembled family photos and had his childhood house in Yuryevets painstakingly recreated in Tutshkovo, just outside Moscow. The narraive portion of the film begins after the opening credits, with Margarita Terekhova sitting on a fence, peering out at a man walking towards the house.

“Mirror” uses narration from time to time, all of it taken from the poetry and prose of Arseny Tarkovsky, Andrei’s father, a renowned Soviet lyrical poet. Andrei worshipped his father, who abandoned the family when Andrei was only a few years old. So think of the strange mix of images and narrative here. The woman portraying Tarkovsky’s mother is peering out into the distance, but the lost father is providing the story, a memory of the house in Yuryevets and how people could be recognized by what path they take.

And what we witness is also strange, a doctor is lost along the path and happens upon the Tarkovsky household. He makes a mild pass at Maroussia, the fictionalized mother, and she responds that maybe she should go get her husband. The doctor sees through this fiction. He then leaves, heading back towards the path, and as he goes a gust of wind moves the bean field around him, as if creating a mystical path for his journey.

This scene is presented as if it’s important — almost magical — and on first viewing, hearing this narration in the background that describes the early relationship between Tarkovsky’s parents, you could easily believe that this is an origin story of how the parents met … or if not that, at least how Tarkovsky’s mother met a new lover.

But no, the doctor wanders off and we never see him again. He’s a fleeting character, there to help introduce us to the mother and her predicament. In fact, there’s a certain cruelty to this juxtaposition — the doctor and the possible life Maroussia could have with him, the words of her former husband still dominating the narrative of her life, and looming nearby, the son Alexei, the man who will always be center stage in her life.

The poem we hear in the voiceover ends in bizarre, violent imagery — a madman with a razor. What on earth does this have to do with the mother’s story?

And just to drive home that this is a film that will live and breathe in cinematic grammar, not personal narrative or logic, the film abruptly cuts to one of the most famous shots in film history — the family barn on fire while it rains. It’s startling, it’s beautiful, it hints at why the family leaves the country house and moves to Moscow.

But there’s never a clear reason given for why the barn burns and how it directly affected the family. It simply grabs our attention and points at the fate that will guide Maroussia’s future.