DIVA spoke to the director of this spellbinding documentary
BY ELLA GAUCI, IMAGES BY NATIONAL FILM BOARD OF CANADA
A Mother Apart (2024) is a raw, lyrical journey through love, loss, and belonging. Poet and activist Staceyann Chin, once abandoned as a baby, now fiercely raises her own daughter – while confronting the ghosts of her past. Woven with electrifying poetry and aching tenderness, it’s a spellbinding testament to resilience and reconnection.
DIVA spoke to director Laurie Townshend ahead of its screening at BFI Flare.
Was there a specific moment or reference point which inspired your film?
Absolutely. Like most of my creative impulses, this film was born from seemingly separate events colliding at just the right moment. In 2017, after years of uncertainty about motherhood, I finally felt ready to take those first tentative steps on my fertility journey. At the same time, my home city of Toronto – like so many others across the globe – was in the midst of a racial reckoning. While photographing BLM protests, one image kept appearing: a Black mother and her child, hand in hand, standing together in spaces of resistance. It struck something deep in me, prompting the question: If I were to become a mother, what kind of mother would I be?
Looking back, I realize I was seeking answers when I reached out to Staceyann Chin – who at the time, was only familiar to me through her writing. A mutual friend introduced us, and in March 2017, I visited Staceyann and her daughter, Zuri. That meeting sparked a wide-ranging conversation about everything from being a lesbian daughter of a Jamaican woman, to reimagining motherhood and raising children in community.
If you had to describe your film in three words, what would they be?
Unflinching. Resonant. Healing.
What was the most unexpected lesson you learned while making this film?
As I mentioned earlier, while following Staceyann’s journey through motherhood, I was on my own path – though I didn’t fully realize it at the time. Of the seven years it took to make A Mother Apart, five were spent with me undergoing invasive, costly fertility treatments. It was exhausting. Then the pandemic hit. I was a middle school teacher, balancing my virtual school responsibilities with international remote shoots with Staceyann. In the chaos of it all, I recall feeling relieved that I didn’t have a child to care for on top of everything else.
Then my mother got sick, and I became her primary caregiver. Again, I felt a deep gratitude – not for what I didn’t have, but for what I had the capacity to give. The roles had reversed, and I was now mothering my mother.
The next lesson came about a year and a half before my dear mother passed. It was our last day of filming with Staceyann in Jamaica, and I was overcome with emotion, having spent years bearing witness to the growth of her relationship with her daughter. What struck me most was the way Staceyann made space for Zuri – the way she delighted in her, the patience she showed, the grace. It was in that moment that I understood: motherhood was never just about having a child of my own. What I truly needed was to learn how to do for myself, what I had done for my mom…what Staceyann was doing for Zuri – with that same tenderness, patience, and grace. In the end, A Mother Apart wasn’t just a film about mothering—it was the very thing that taught me how to mother myself.
How does it feel to have your film showcased at BFI Flare?
It goes without saying that the BFI is revered and widely regarded in our field. So it’s the greatest honour to have been invited. This will be our European premiere, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to share A Mother Apart with audiences at BFI Flare.
Staceyann’s story speaks to so many – especially within the vast Caribbean Diaspora, where conversations around identity, belonging, and motherhood are deeply complex. As a proud Jamaican, lesbian, poet, activist, and mother, Staceyann stands at the intersection of multiple communities whose narratives have too often been sidelined. In a world where stories like hers tend to get pushed to the margins, it’s profoundly meaningful to have A Mother Apart showcased on such a prestigious platform as BFI Flare.
BFI Flare is a celebration of LGBTQIA storytelling. What do you hope LGBTQIA audiences at BFI Flare take away after watching your film?
A Mother Apart speaks directly to the deep healing so many of us need as queer adults wounded by those who were supposed to care for us through childhood and adolescence. Staceyann’s story is a testament to the power of grace and forgiveness – something we often struggle to extend to ourselves, especially when we find ourselves in positions of caring for others.
Through her vulnerability and unwavering commitment to becoming the mother she always needed, Staceyann shows that it’s never too late to mother oneself. But healing is not a straight path – it’s cyclical and unpredictable. Just when you think you’ve moved past the pain, it can resurface, asking you to tend to it again.
What I hope LGBTQIA audiences take from this film is the understanding that it gets better – not in a perfect, linear way, but in repeated lessons where we learn to speak to ourselves with the same care we would offer a child or an ageing parent. And yet, even with that commitment to self care, healing may feel elusive at times. Because it isn’t about arriving at a fixed state of wholeness – it’s about learning to hold ourselves with compassion, again and again.
Why do you think LGBTQIA filmmaking is so important in 2025?
LGBTQIA filmmaking is more important than ever in 2025 because stories have the power to shape how we see ourselves and the world around us. If we’re not the ones telling our own stories, we – and future generations – are being shaped by forces that have historically erased, distorted, or harmed us.
Also we now have a deeper understanding of intersectionality and how multiple identities – race, gender, class, sexuality – intersect to shape our lived experiences. Our stories need to reflect those nuances. We must move beyond singular narratives to show the full complexity of who we are.
This year’s Flare is split into the themes of Hearts, Bodies, and Minds. Do you have an LGBTQIA film which affected your heart, body, or mind?
Dee Rees’ Pariah (2011) moved me beyond words. At the time of its release, it offered a groundbreaking and honest portrayal of Black, woman-identified queerness, showing us that our stories – especially those that exist within the complexity of Black families – deserve to be told with care and authenticity.
I loved that the main character, Alike, was this “soft stud,” trying to find her footing through poetry, friendship, and sexual exploration. I grew up on John Hughes’ coming-of-age films, but there was always something missing for me – a Black teenager gripped by the fear of coming out to her Christian mother. Hughes’ films may have depicted the universal struggle of finding oneself, but they never reflected the specific, complex realities of being a queer Black person. I saw Pariah as an adult and it was the first time my inner teenager felt truly seen. Alike’s journey – with its intense mother-daughter dynamic – felt so real and personal. Even in the face of rejection, Pariah beautifully showed that owning one’s truth – especially when it feels like the world is pushing back – can still be transformative.
What was the best piece of advice you received while working on this film, and what advice would you give to emerging queer filmmakers?
The best piece of advice I received while working on this film was to have patience – both with the process and with myself. It took nearly seven years to make A Mother Apart. In that time, we faced incredible obstacles, not the least of which was having to shoot remotely through the pandemic. It would have been so easy to get overwhelmed or frustrated by things outside our control. But patience allowed space for the story to evolve and for me to grow as a filmmaker.
What I learned from Staceyann, both through her life and her journey as a mother, is that patience and grace are essential. Making a film is much like bringing a child into the world and raising it – mothering. You need patience to allow the film to find its voice, to give it room and breadth to grow and become what it’s meant to be, just as Staceyann does for her daughter, Zuri.
For emerging queer filmmakers, my advice would be to embrace that same patience. Trust that your story is worth telling, and don’t rush it. Let it breathe, let it take its shape, and understand that every challenge you face is part of your growth as a filmmaker.
What’s the one question you wish more people would ask about your film?
Despite efforts to bring historically marginalized stories and storytellers into the mainstream, harmful narratives and limiting assumptions about queer Black women persist, both in front of and behind the camera. I’m always eager to engage in these important conversations, so two questions (sorry!) I wish more people would ask:
1) What do you think is the most overlooked aspect of queer Black stories? (Answer: the breadth and nuance of our emotional lives…and the universality of our unique experiences)
2) How do you hone your craft and innovate as a filmmaker? (By consistently engaging with industry peers/discourse, practicing humility, mentoring and being mentored, reading across genres and trades, watching challenging and innovative films, experimenting with technology, collaborating with professionals who inspire me)
A MOTHER APART screens as part of the 39th BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival on Sunday 23 March and Monday 24 March. For more details / tickets here
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