Dedicated to the memory and music of Gene MacLellan

Musician Catherine MacLellan—the daughter of Canadian singer/songwriting legend Gene MacLellan—grew up surrounded by her father’s music. He died by suicide when she was 14. Two decades after his loss, Catherine is finally ready to confront the hurtful mystery of her absent parent and embrace his musical legacy.

The Song and the Sorrow follows Catherine as she journeys to understand her father and face her own struggles with mental illness. Through archival footage and intimate interviews with friends, family members, and musicians who knew and played with Gene—including Anne Murray, Lennie Gallant, and the late Ron Hynes—the film reveals a troubled and loving man who was never at ease with fame or money.

Catherine is determined to lift the oppressive burden of silence that accompanies the stigma of mental illness and hopes that others can take strength and solace from her story.

“Elvis covered his songs. I mean, everybody did his songs… But any time I tried to tell him how great he was he felt like he didn’t deserve it.” – Anne Murray

Juno-award-winning musician Catherine MacLellan steps onto the stage, guitar in hand. It’s taken a long time—decades—but she is finally ready to sing her father’s songs.

The daughter of Canadian folk legend Gene MacLellan, Catherine grew up surrounded by her father’s music. An immensely talented songwriter, he penned some of the biggest hits of the 1970s, including “Snowbird” and “Put Your Hand in the Hand.” Archival interviews and musical clips show him looking rakish in an eye-patch and bell bottoms. He was a rising star in the Canadian music industry but turned his back on the spotlight as it pursued him. Catherine remembers a funny and sweet father who was becoming a close friend as she entered her teen years. Gene died by suicide when she was 14.

The Song and the Sorrow follows Catherine as she tries to come to terms with her father and his legacy while facing her own struggles with mental health. She reaches out to family, friends, and musicians like Anne Murray, Lennie Gallant and the late Ron Hynes, who knew and played with Gene. They recall a generous and talented man who was never at ease with fame or money. And for the first time, Catherine’s family faces the unspoken spectre of Gene’s struggle with bipolar disorder.

For Catherine MacLellan, the silence and avoidance has gone on long enough. Now, she seeks to celebrate her father and his music while encouraging people to talk openly about mental illness, hoping others can take strength and solace from her story.

Two remarkable songwriters linked by blood, music—and a painful legacy.

Why did you want to make this film?

There were a few reasons.

Catherine’s story resonated with me because of my own relationship with my father, who is also a creative force and complex personality. Being the creative child of a highly creative person is a gift, but also a burden of sorts, and I intuitively understood Catherine’s searching for herself through her father’s legacy.

I knew that making this film wouldn’t be easy for Catherine. But I had seen her bravery in opening up publicly about her father’s struggles with his mental health, and her own experience of depression. When I approached her with the idea, she was the one who really wanted to underline the mental health aspect of her father’s legacy. She is very passionate about that, and it was exciting to think about approaching the issue of mental health in a personal and artistic way.

I was also really blown away by Gene MacLellan’s music. The more I listened, the more I realized how brilliant he was as a lyricist and composer. I found myself really swept away by the nuances of his music.

And lastly, I’ve always been interested in the relationship between artistic expression and sorrow. I have had some of my most earnest—perhaps purest—outpourings of artistic expression in times of personal pain and loss. I know I’m not alone in that experience. I wanted to explore that connection.

How did you meet Catherine MacLellan?

The first time I saw Catherine, she was performing at a music venue in Charlottetown. I remember how the murmur of the audience stopped as soon as she started to sing, and how I went into a trance-like state listening to her. She has a powerful presence on stage—one I’ve come to learn is entirely like her father’s.

The first time I met her personally I was working on a music video art project for the Charlottetown arts collective This Town Is Small. The project paired musicians and filmmakers with significant spaces around Charlottetown. I filmed Catherine in a vintage clothing store—a place full of colour and texture.

The experience was so rewarding for both of us that Catherine later approached me to make a music video for her song “Stealin.” We have since worked on a number of music videos together. She is very open to ideas and not at all controlling about execution. And her music is beautiful, which made making music videos for her easy.

When did Catherine first talk about Gene with you?

I learned about Gene’s life, music and suicide long before I ever talked about them with Catherine. The first time Catherine and I discussed her father was when I approached her about this documentary.

As you can imagine, I was nervous about bringing up his suicide as a focus of the film, because obviously it’s a very personal and painful story. I didn’t know how she’d take the pitch, and, to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure I was comfortable with the idea myself. There’s a fine line in documentary between sharing someone’s story and exploiting it—and I wanted to make sure I was on the right side of that line. My other films are more abstract or issue-based. I had never made a documentary before about someone else’s personal tragedy.

So when I asked her if she’d do this project, I framed it as a film about the legacy an artistic parent bestows on an artistic child. Catherine came back and said, “You know, I think we should explore my dad’s and my own struggles with depression.” As soon as she said that it all just clicked. I knew she was the one pushing to tell her own story, and that I wasn’t pushing her.

For years, Catherine would not perform her father’s songs. What changed for her? And what was it like for you as a filmmaker to witness that process?

I asked Catherine about this, and she said several reasons came together. The first and simplest is time. It’s been over 20 years since her father passed away. Catherine has grown and matured as a person, and has come to a sort of peace after personally and publicly dealing with Gene’s suicide. She also feels more secure in her own considerable musical abilities. It took a long time, but she was just ready to face her father’s work, absorb it, and make it her own.

The second is fate. It seems to be the time of Gene—with a revival of interest in her father’s work and life over the past few years. Many contemporary Canadian musicians have covered his songs lately. Two writers have embarked on producing comprehensive biographies. And at the same time I approached her to work on this documentary. I think that these things pushed her to face the music. Literally.

And lastly, in Catherine’s words, “That’s where he is. He’s in the music.” Catherine has been searching for her father in the stories and memories of other people. But she says that when she plays his music he’s always right there. So she recently completed a tribute album called If It’s Alright with You: The Songs of Gene MacLellan and has created a stage show of the same name about his life. We filmed the opening night for the documentary. The show was hugely successful in the summer of 2017 and has another run booked for summer 2018.

As far as witnessing this process as a filmmaker—well, it was a privilege. To have someone share this intimate and personal journey with me and the camera (and with a boom mic hanging over her head)—that’s a gift.

In one striking scene, Catherine’s mother says, “Let’s not talk about the depression.” What are you hoping people will take away from this film in terms of talking about mental health?

Though this film deals with a story of suicide and the legacy of mental health struggles, it’s not an issue-based film. It’s a personal story about a father and a daughter. About how we learn from the actions and mistakes of our parents and struggle to carry that lesson forward.

There are so many powerful moments I can point to. Watching Catherine going through the process of searching for some insight into her father that would allow her to feel closer to him, and searching for understanding and closure. The bravery of Catherine and her mother, brother, and daughter candidly discussing painful memories on camera. There were times along the way where I could tell the journey was taking a toll on Catherine, and that was hard for me, as a director, pushing her to some degree.

I feel that the lesson that Catherine is carrying forward is this: not speaking openly about depression and mental health with your family and loved ones is a mistake. She is very frank with her own daughter Isabel, while still being appropriate for Isabel’s age of course. But Isabel knows when her mother is going through depression, and knows about her grandfather’s issues. And through this film Catherine wants others to know that once you talk about depression, once you normalize the conversation, it loses some of its oppressive weight. It’s a burden that can be lightened by being shared.

I also hope people can see something of their own relationships with their parents reflected in the film. And I hope that people are inspired by a beautiful man, his beautiful music, and his beautiful daughter.

You have many different threads in the film. What were the challenges in balancing the storylines?

There are certainly many threads running throughout this film and I was aware of that from the beginning. It was a challenge to give each element its proper due while weaving back and forth between them, and keeping the story moving along: Gene’s life and work, Catherine’s life and personal struggles with depression, Catherine’s seeking connection to her deceased parent, the music, the relationship between creativity and sadness, a sense of some Canadian music history.

My approach to filmmaking (for better and worse) has always been to have a strongly articulated philosophy going in, and then intuitively trying to follow where that philosophy leads as the story unfolds. And then I do a lot (I mean a lot) of editing. The art of filmmaking really comes alive for me in editing, so I think like an editor while I’m directing. I was also incredibly lucky to have an amazing team, including producers Rohan Fernando and Paul McNeill, and story editor Andrew MacCormack. who kept me on a clear narrative track when I strayed, and brought out the heart of the story for me.

 There is a real sense of intimacy in this film, with people talking about very difficult questions but clearly being at ease with you.

I think that’s just filmmaking magic. Sometimes the film gods smile on you and give you both access and intimacy.

I do try to keep my film crew to a minimum, which I think helps. I try to roll with events as they happen and not stress the subject out with too much “directing.” And I try to have a conversation rather than an interview.

Of course Catherine’s natural presence on camera helps a lot. She has a vulnerability and is very eloquent in her self-awareness. Really, she’s the ideal documentary subject.

Tell us about the landscape of PEI and the role it plays in your visual approach to the film.

I was born and raised in downtown Toronto and moved to Prince Edward Island when I was 11. From Bathurst and Bloor to Belfast, PEI. It was a major change, but I’ve become a country girl at heart. PEI factors significantly into much of my film work, and I explore it as a traveller might explore a foreign country. Though I am firmly rooted here, I’m not from here, and so my eye is fresh to the beauty of this island. So much of the world is covered in concrete and billboards. On PEI, we get the advantages of modernity with the benefits of a slower pace of life. You can’t live here without being attached to the landscape. The verdant green, the iron red of the soil, the rolling hills and crashing beaches.

I think that’s true for Catherine as well—the landscape feeds her music and her writing. They spring from the Island soil. And I think that was true for Gene too. He also moved from Toronto to live here because he could work here. The land and people here inspired his art. And so PEI had to be a character in this film as well. It is there in the background, but it is there on purpose.

What did Gene mean to the musicians you interviewed, including Anne Murray?

It’s almost impossible to talk about Gene MacLellan without talking about Anne Murray. He wrote the song that made her a household name for decades. And the money that came from her success with the song allowed Gene to live as a songwriter for the rest of his life.

Everyone we asked to be a part of this film jumped at the opportunity. That included Anne Murray. She was very gracious and immediately agreed to be involved.

Gene had a rare and genuine humility. He struggled so much, and tried as best he could to live a life of meaning, generosity and truth. I’m told he was also very funny. I could see how vividly his memory still resonates with everyone who knew him when we invited local colleagues and friends of Gene’s together to share his songs and memories at Bootlegger’s in North Rustico, PEI (a place Gene used to frequent). Gene has been gone for over two decades and yet a room full of people sang his songs and traded stories about him as if they’d seen him yesterday. He remains very much alive to those who knew him. He had a gift with people.

You heard a lot of stories about Gene while making this film. Is there one that sticks with you?

I heard so many stories of Gene’s generosity and his dedication to pursuing some kind of truth in his life.

People who knew him still talk about him with such passion and excitement. He was a musical genius, which doesn’t hurt of course, and so fellow musicians respect him deeply on that level alone. And fans still feel a personal connection to the man because of the truth and solace that they find in his songs.

He seemed to strive to make his beliefs manifest in his actions. I think a lot about the story his friend and fellow musician Marty Reno tells about how, at the height of Gene’s fame, when people at the highest levels of the music industry courted him, offering him a fortune, he simply walked away. Gene was in LA, witnessed the empty lives of some of the most successful people in music, and said, “I thought I was unhappy—but they were really unhappy. I didn’t want any part of it.” That’s powerful. That’s an unusual man.

What was it like when Catherine stepped onto the stage to perform the show she’d created about her father’s life and music?

We filmed the opening night performance of If It’s Alright with You: The Music of Gene MacLellan, and when I watched her perform and interpret his music and felt the energy in the room… that was cathartic. The room was packed, and the audience seemed to miss Gene as much as Catherine did. She was celebrating and sharing what was best in him. And everyone was there with her and supporting her. And, perhaps for the first time, his mental health struggles were revealed and woven simultaneously into the glory of his music. It was empowering to see that we can talk about our struggles and still be great, and magical, and effective.