Upstream
Not just a piece of entertainment; part of a tool kit for helping save lives
I’m lucky. I have no direct connection to suicide. But growing up in Scotland and reaching the age of 46, I now know it’s all around. And often hidden. Taboo thrives on secrecy and shame and silence. But people are dying. Too many, too soon. We need to confront suicide and give people the tools to combat it. The tool kit should contain films.
The Canmore Trust commissioned me to create a film of hope. Their work in suicide awareness and prevention is extraordinary and horrifyingly necessary. Set up by the inspirational John and Isobel Gibson, the Trust works relentlessly to bring about compassionate change and salvage hope from darkness. They fundraise, research, create walks, conferences, gatherings, connections.
A phrase I got used to hearing: “Anything for John and Isobel.” They believed a film would help with their work.
People are watching it, more will. Because it’s not just a piece of entertainment. It’s part of a tool kit for helping save lives.
I have a bias. We’re related through marriage. Still, when John told me his story and outlined his hopes for a Canmore film, immediately I was in. I was deeply honoured. Didn’t know if I could help, but knew I must try.
Film is the global medium. From four second clips to three hour epics, how many do we watch every single day? They are all-pervasive and reach beyond borders of any kind. In the UK, largely thanks to Scandi Noir or the heroic work of film festivals, we are used to reading subtitles, giving access to global stories. Visionary imagery carries film across time, culture and generations.
Films are akin to dreams, memory, visions. Images are stacked together, and audiences translate meaning. In the hands of Bergman, Tarkovsky, Terrence Malick the meaning can be profound and inspirational. According to the great critic Roger Ebert, films are empathy machines. Having watched my own films in darkened cinemas with audiences of strangers, followed by the most wonderful discussions afterwards where the rooms are often united and the sense of community is tangibly powerful, I totally concur. Films can change us, and we change the world.
For our film, I needed to understand what John and Canmore wanted. Meetings took place. Coffees and pastries in Waterstones Cafe were consumed. Stories were shared, tears shed, statistics relayed, rage articulated. John shared films, books, pointed me towards people and organisations. He emphasised the current, bleak, worsening picture for Scotland. Suicide affects potentially anyone, but poverty, addiction and mental ill health increase vulnerability. And in Scotland we know about those.
How long should the film be? It will live online, and we didn’t want its length to put people off. Around 20 minutes was decided. Long enough to tell a substantial story but not to outstay the welcome. People are bombarded daily by moving images – they will usually first clock the running time. 20 mins – ok, give it a minute, see if it grabs us. And, if we film-makers do our job well, hopefully people are hooked by the story and deep into the film before they realise.
Documentary, fiction, or a blend of both? I watched amazing films where survivors of suicide talked in their own words. They are intensely moving. They thankfully exist on mainstream TV and the streamers, and populate charity websites. My experience isn’t in documentary, so I suggested a fictionalised drama based on true stories and research. I wanted a lot of characters, all telling their individual stories. It felt right to weave their tales together, showing a spectrum of Scottish suicide experiences. And it felt vital to ground the film in the story of John and Isobel’s LEJOG – a magical, mystical journey that on one level was a charity fundraising walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats but seemed to exist on many other levels for those involved.
Films need a good soundtrack, and I wanted the sounds of nature to score ours, plus stunning music to keep things moving and complement the character journeys. Movement is a key part of recovery and wellness. Ross Whyte is a wonderful, prolific composer who I’m in awe of. He immediately said yes. He created more tracks than we could ever hope to house in our film, a joy for an editor.
When investigating potential collaborators John suggested a dentistry colleague of his – the astonishingly amazing poet Morag Anderson. Her work is mesmerising. Seek it out. She agreed to be involved and created new poems just for us. I love her words and am honoured she allowed them to be included.
In terms of collaboration no-one was more integral to this film than our director of photography Ryan Dewar. He also edited and colour-graded the footage. From the beginning he championed this film – interrogating the script, scouting locations, meeting John, suggesting shots and styles. He’s a fantastic cinematographer; a brilliant filmmaker and we were lucky to have him.
When a film is finished there is usually ambiguity about how and where it will screen and who will see it. Not for UPSTREAM. The film now lives with Canmore. It’s theirs. People are watching it, more will. Because it’s not just a piece of entertainment. It’s part of a tool kit for helping save lives. We need to prevent suicide. And destroy the factors that allow it to exist among us. People are devoting their lives to documenting, understanding, combating suicide. Answers are coming. As a filmmaker, my humble offering is UPSTREAM, a film created with kindness, community and hope. Please watch it (https://tinyurl.com/8fckerjh). Share it. Talk about it. Contact Canmore (admin@thecanmoretrust.co.uk). Tell us your thoughts.
Opening up a national conversation about suicide
Sometimes I find it difficult to believe what has happened over the past five and a half years since Cameron died by suicide. Cameron was our 24-year-old youngest child, a lover of life and nature, a skilled craftsman, and a caring friend to many.
Cameron was a veterinary surgeon, doing the job he had planned for his whole life, with no obvious psychological distress, a good sportsman, and a good player of the bagpipes. He loved animals, and he loved Scotland. And then, one day, Cameron was no more. Two police officers came to our house to let us know that Cammy was dead and that he had taken his own life.
Life stops, seemingly forever. Gradually, life starts again – somehow made easier by walking and talking with people who have been through similar experiences of loss to suicide. And so emerged this amazing entity called The Suicide Community, that we were now part of. And from this community emerged The Canmore Trust (Canmore is an anagram of Cameron) – a safe space for those impacted by suicide to find purpose in moving forward.
Part of my finding purpose was to walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats in the summer of 2022 – an event of 1203 miles over 77 days that saw our concept of The Suicide Community grow and grow. We invited anyone impacted by suicide to walk with us and to talk with us – and they did in their droves!
Families and individuals, colleagues and friends joined us as we opened up a national conversation about suicide. We discovered that suicide is often isolating with individuals and families choosing not to talk about their loss. We gently challenged that thinking and asked people to share their stories as they walked.
My journal is overflowing with such stories – new encounters, new meetings, new friends, people coming out from isolation to find a place and to share a voice in The Suicide Community. We discovered the importance of being able to tell our stories – the story of our loved ones living on in the spoken and written word. That allowed us to grieve better and to move forwards, even if we cannot move on.
And so, we decided, as a charity, to gather these stories together and to share them widely and freely, offering hope to anyone impacted by suicide. Film seemed the ideal medium and so was born The Canmore Trust’s first film – UPSTREAM. May it bring hope to many. May it bring hope to you.
John Gibson
Cammy’s dad, Eilidh’s dad, Malcolm’s dad, Isobel’s husband. CEO, The Canmore Trust
If you need help and support due to the impact of suicide or suicidal thinking, please see the extensive resources on The Canmore Trust’s website or text CANMORE to 85258