A 52 Media Inc. and National Film Board of Canada co-production

Shocked by a friend’s suicide, renowned documentary filmmaker Alan Zweig seeks understanding from 23 individuals grieving a similar loss.

TW: This film contains discussions of suicide, and the effects on survivors of suicide loss. If you need support services, please call your local Distress Centre. If you need immediate help, please call of text 9-8-8.

Short Synopsis

People grappling with the suicide of a loved one express their grief—and their resilience—in a raw and profound gesture of empathy from one of Canada’s most distinctive filmmakers.

Long synopsis

When an old friend takes his own life, Alan Zweig seeks out others grappling with the suicide of a loved one. As hard as it can be to speak of such an unfathomable loss, 23 friends and acquaintances feel compelled to tell their stories. Zweig engages with them as only he can—reflecting with disarming candour on the grief and resilience of those left standing. Love, Harold is a profound gesture of cinematic empathy from one of Canada’s most distinctive filmmakers.

What’s the genesis of Love, Harold?

I would never have made the film had my friend Jim not killed himself. It’s not like everything that happens to me makes me want to make a film, but later that summer there was another suicide in my circle—the sister of a friend. And then somebody wrote to me, suggesting I make a film about a friend who’d taken her own life. So all these suicides were happening around me. I started thinking about how we’re affected by suicide, even when it’s a celebrity, someone we don’t know. I remember, for example, being very affected by the suicide of Spalding Gray. So I wondered, maybe I could make a film about this subject. I put together a proposal and it was one of the ones that didn’t get turned down.

How did you go about finding your subjects?

I had a couple of stories to start with. Then we turned to conventional research methods but got nowhere. We did find a couple of stories, but no one involved wanted to participate. And that happened quite often. Either it was too fresh for them, or they told us it was a secret in the family. So I started randomly asking everyone I knew. In the end all my subjects are either friends or acquaintances—or someone I found through them. And as is almost always the case, I interviewed pretty much everyone who said yes.

I like to have a mix of people, not just in terms of race or gender, but also in more subtle ways. This extends to how they tell their story, how much emotion they show—or keep inside. We have three writers in the film, and they express themselves very articulately, but everyone in the film is articulate in their own way. After one of the interviews, the person phoned me, apologizing for being nervous, for letting me down. I said, “Sure, you were nervous, but at one point you had this amazing expression on your face, going from understanding to sadness, and it’s one of the most beautiful moments in the film.” My films are all collective stories, with lots of different voices, so I’m always looking for that mix.

How would you describe your interview technique?

I never do pre-interviews. I don’t want subjects to be interviewed by anybody but me, on the actual day of the shoot. I like it to be as fresh and spontaneous as possible. I don’t want people to expect specific questions, to prepare answers. There’s a chance that I’ll miss some mind-blowing thing that a researcher might have caught, but it’s worth it for me to take that chance in order to go into the interview fresh. That’s essential for me. I hope that whatever they might have gotten, I will get—and if not, I’ll get something else.

People tell me I get good interviews, and they ask how I establish trust. But trust is not an issue for me. My subjects have no particular reason to trust me. They’re going to tell me what they want to tell me. I know I have a relentless quality, that I sometimes ask questions that others wouldn’t ask, but I’m willing to walk through that door.

How involved were you in the editing process?

Editing is how I fell in love with filmmaking, so I’m involved in the edit on all my films. Of course it’s a collaboration. A few years ago I did a seminar for young filmmakers at Hot Docs, and I remember saying, “Unless you can’t afford it, never edit your own films.” So I know how important it is to have another pair of eyes looking at the material. I was lucky to be working with Caroline Christie, one of the best editors in the country.

Some filmmakers will leave their material with an editor and come back when it’s all done, but that’s not how I work. Caroline would work alone from time to time, but I was usually with her in the editing suite. All the key decisions—about structure, rhythm and so on—we made all those decisions together.

Films are an illusion. You’re throwing balls into the air, trying to keep them up. When you’re editing, that’s what you’re doing. You’re working with an editor, using every trick you can think of, trying to keep those balls in the air.

Did your thoughts about suicide evolve during the making of this film?

I’m no expert, but the stories in my film lead me to believe that some people kill themselves because of a chemical imbalance or mental illness—but that’s not everyone. I don’t think my friend Jim was mentally ill. He made what he thought was a rational decision.

It’s clear from stories in the film that some people are reluctant to admit their loved ones took their own lives. They think we don’t want to hear them. I hope this film gives people permission to talk. It enriches our humanity to hear these stories—stories too often kept secret. We owe it to them to listen. I’ve never felt that more than with this film.

People ask if it was hard making this film, a film about such a painful subject, but I had what I’d call a spiritual experience on this project. It was a gift to hear these stories. There was one moment where someone said something so profoundly sad, so perfect, that I felt as if the room was suddenly filled with white light. My crew and I all felt it, as if a profound truth had just been expressed. If I were religious—which I’m not—I would say an angel had come down and blessed us.

Have you been influenced over the course of your career by NFB films or filmmakers?

I love lots of NFB films. I’m not sure if they influenced me, but they definitely inspired me. I love the films of Arthur Lipsett, but you don’t see his influence in my work. Mike Rubbo is someone who had a big impact. I saw Waiting for Fidel while I was still in film school, and I later got to meet Mike. We hung out in Montreal and he showed me around NFB headquarters. Waiting for Fidel is an amazing film. It’s all about waiting—they never actually meet Castro—and I love that. That film gave me permission to make the kind of films that I make.