I've Heard the Mermaids Singing

Patricia Rozema’s directorial debut, I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing (1987), is a whimsical and revolutionary landmark of Canadian independent cinema that blends avant-garde techniques with a gentle, fairy-tale sensibility. Winning the Prix de la Jeunesse at Cannes, the film signaled a significant shift toward female-led, queer-themed storytelling that prioritizes interiority over traditional plot. The narrative is centered on Polly (Sheila McCarthy), a self-described “organizationally impaired” temporary secretary and aspiring photographer who becomes enamored with her sophisticated gallery-owner boss, Gabrielle (Paule Baillargeon). Through Polly’s idiosyncratic lens—and her charming, direct-to-camera monologues—Rozema explores the delicate intersection of artistic obsession, class insecurity, and the tentative awakening of queer desire.

The film’s visual language is as imaginative as its protagonist, utilizing grainy black-and-white fantasy segments where Polly literally soars over cityscapes or walks on water, effectively externalizing her internal yearning for transcendence. These sequences serve to validate the inner lives of women who are often dismissed as “ordinary” or “eccentric,” suggesting that the greatest adventures occur within the boundless landscape of the female imagination. Polly’s role as a “temp”—a position characterized by its fleeting, outsider status—becomes a perfect vantage point for a feminist critique of the high-art world’s pretension and its historical exclusion of the unrefined female voice. By casting Gabrielle as both a mentor and a flawed object of affection, the film avoids the “tragic lesbian” tropes, opting instead for a narrative of mutual discovery.

The titular “mermaids” function as a potent symbol for the call of the “Other”—the unconventional, the queer, and the authentic that exists outside the rigid structures of the patriarchal art world. The relationship between the two women is portrayed with a refreshing naturalism that prioritizes emotional intimacy over sensationalism. When Polly discovers that Gabrielle’s own art is not what it seems, the film subverts the traditional power dynamic, positioning the “amateur” secretary as the one possessing the true, uncommodified creative spirit. This thematic reversal celebrates the idea that artistic talent is not a guarded privilege of the elite, but a visceral human right.

Ultimately, I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing is a poignant celebration of radical vulnerability. It concludes not with a traditional romantic union, but with Polly’s reclamation of her own artistic voice and the realization that her “clumsy” gaze is a source of profound authenticity. The film’s enduring legacy lies in its proof that a small, quiet story about a lonely secretary can contain universal truths about the human need for recognition. It remains a testament to the fact that you don’t need the validation of the gallery world to hear the mermaids singing; you only need the courage to listen to the song within yourself.