'A love letter to my mother and my heritage': Tim Myles on making his TIFF debut with Little Bird

Cutaways is a personal essay series by Canadian filmmakers, asking them to tell the story of how their film was made. This TIFF edition by Tim Myles focuses on his film Little Bird, the semi-autobiographical story of a young man fleeing his late mother's wake.

I lost my mother when I was 19 years old. She died of Polycystic Kidney Disease — a condition that I didn't know much about, except that it was ever-present for most of my childhood. We spent countless holidays and birthdays in those stark, fluorescent rooms at the Health Science Centre back home in Newfoundland, so much so that the staff knew me by name ("That's Joelle's boy!") They knew that I was struggling with math in school, and that I dreamt of becoming an actor. They would often ask for my autograph, "just in case." They hadn't seen me do anything, and for all they knew I could have been terrible, but they were supportive nonetheless. It always made my mom laugh, and that's what mattered.

Shortly after she passed away, I packed my bags and moved to Toronto to become an actor, leaving behind the only life I'd ever known. Looking back, I now realize that I never fully processed what had just happened to me in the moment. This raw, integral period, where one would normally spend grieving, was cast aside by the new journey I was embarking on. It made me suppress a lot of the emotions I was feeling at the time, and I would actively block them out because I thought I had to focus on "making it." I didn't realize how damaging this was until I would go back to Newfoundland for the holidays and found myself breaking down at family functions and in public, always at really inappropriate times.

I never spoke to anyone about it, and a lot of the time I used alcohol to help cope, but the pandemic really made me sit down and reflect on these past few years. In the script I wrote for my film Little Bird, my character runs away from his mother's wake but later learns not to bear the weight of grief alone. This was the conclusion I came to about my own journey: sometimes I felt as though I had run away, that I had to rediscover myself and write a new life story, but all I really needed was to share my pain with those who would listen so I could get it out and learn to heal.

Little Bird is a love letter to my mother, my heritage, and that specific time in my life where I was very impulsive, always looking for an escape or a way out of situations I felt I couldn't yet handle. I was running toward something I hoped would not only heal me but honour what she would have wanted. I'm still learning a lot about myself, my art, and my own culture. My mom was a proud Mi'kmaw woman who always reminded me who I was and where we came from. She was learning our language until she became really sick, and we always had traditional art and sculptures/pieces from Miawpukek First Nations, our band's reservation, around the house to keep our culture close to us. I grew up around my non-Native side of the family, and I feel like I still have a lot to learn about myself and the Mi'kmaw way of life — but Little Bird has brought me one step closer to this side of me.

I don't want to sound cliché, but it really does feel like a dream to premiere this project at the Toronto International Film Festival. Two years ago, I was waiting tables for a TIFF event at a hotel job that I absolutely despised. I remember going into the back kitchens between services and telling myself to just keep going, because one day I'd be on the other side of the festival. It's been a long journey for me, full of rejection and failure, but all roads have brought me here: to tell this deeply personal story and begin my career as a narrative filmmaker.

My team and I have worked tirelessly on this project, so much so that I felt as though we were preparing for a feature. I couldn't have made this film without my producer Caitlin Russell and my co-producer Lauren Andrews, who went above and beyond to bring this film to life. Our time spent shooting the film on the Saugeen Shores was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. We connected with the community members at Saugeen First Nations, where they welcomed me with open arms, sharing stories about the history of the area and showing us around the sacred land of the people of the Three Fires. I shared pictures of my mother with them, and it was as though we had all met before. The bonds that were created during that time will be with me forever. I also had the honour of working with one of my oldest friends in Toronto, my east coast sister Lisa Nasson — an incredible actor who has taught me so much about the importance of family, and the love of storytelling our people share so deeply.

This journey has been cathartic, and has helped heal the wounds I hadn't yet tended to. I feel a sense of closure, knowing that I can release the pain I had felt for so long, and that I honoured my mother how she would have wanted: with hope, humour, and a happy ending. I hope audiences can take these things away from the film. And to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one, to quote the character of Anjij, played by the immensely talented Cheri Maracle: "The thing about grief is, we don't have to bear it alone. Don't bear it alone."

Little Bird is part of the Short Cuts Programme at the Toronto International Film Festival.