This year is set to be a groundbreaking year for Canadian comedy powerhouse Katelyn McCulloch. Known for her fearless, female-driven approach to comedy, she has already received two Canadian Screen Award nominations and garnered international acclaim. This year, she raises the bar even higher with two significant milestones: the much-anticipated second season of her Bell Fibe TV1 series, *Everybody’s Meg*, which premiered on November 13, and the return of *Shenanigans*, scheduled for November 27 at Cineplex Park Lane in Halifax (5657 Spring Garden Rd). This event is a bold and joyous celebration of funny, feel-good, female-driven film and television. Together, these projects solidify McCulloch’s status as one of Canada’s most exciting comedic voices and highlight her role as a cultural builder, creating spaces where women in comedy can thrive and audiences can enjoy comedy as a shared, elevated experience. We had the opportunity to catch up with her to discuss her career.
Katelyn, thank you for taking the time to speak with Occhi. Your path from dancer to actor to circus performer and now filmmaker is anything but conventional. How have these diverse experiences shaped your voice as a writer, director, and producer?
I have never had a linear path, that is true! And quite frankly, I never want one! I think the twists and turns of my life are because I have always followed what has lit me up creatively and not what other people were doing.
When I started in Circus arts, I really felt that I gained some control over my ability to be creative, to stay in shape, and to perform instead of just waiting for the phone to ring and someone to give me a chance. Circus then taught me lessons now that apply directly to my life and work; that pain is temporary, to stay present, rigour & discipline are necessary for growth, and to stay calm in intense situations. When you are in the air, wrapped up in silks and about to do a big drop, you need to trust your training, stay calm & aware while also being able to perform the heck out of your act for your audience. The filmmaking I’m interested in uses all of these skills.
When I got into filmmaking, I realized my ability to manage stress, juggle multiple things at any given moment, and to be extremely prepared served me. Even though I was new to the medium of film, I felt like I had unknowingly been preparing for it my whole life.
Filmmaking is intense, but I remember everyone panicking about the sun setting and thinking- well, no one is dangling 30 feet in the air with no mat, so it’s really not that stressful. How can we creatively solve this problem? This perspective has helped me so much to keep things collaborative, light, and moving forward on any given day. You cannot control everything, but you can control how you react. I am not always perfect at this, believe me, but I am always trying to improve at this as a leader and a creative.
I will also say that as a writer and director, I think my experiences with musicality definitely inform my comedy and pacing. How I feel my way through a scene, both in writing, shooting, and being in the edit, is informed by a very intuitive, inner rhythm that often leads me to drumming on my leg or using some form of counts.
You’ve described yourself as someone who’s always marched to the beat of your own drum. How has this independent spirit influenced the kinds of stories you choose to tell, and the way you approach your projects?
I grew up in a small town in Nova Scotia, and ever since I was a kid, I’ve always had these big, lofty ideas and a sense that I saw the world a little differently. That was sometimes lonely and frustrating, but when I found things like dance, gymnastics, theatre, and improv, I finally found spaces where being “weird” and seeing things differently felt like a superpower. Those communities really helped me stay authentic and keep marching to the beat of my own drum and even when I moved away to Toronto, I worked hard to stay connected to my sense of self.
My independent spirit has definitely shaped the stories I tell — I’ve always been drawn to underdogs, to women at turning points who are brave enough to change their lives even when it’s uncomfortable. In my short film I Do(n’t), that shows up in a millennial woman questioning marriage and if she really believes in the institution or is she just following the status quo. In Everybody’s Meg, it’s a woman who feels behind in life but keeps finding the courage to rise above her own anxiety. I think that’s the throughline in my work — independent female characters who, like me, are learning to trust themselves and carve out their own purpose in this wildlife.
Comedy is at the core of your work, but so is vulnerability. What draws you to this blend, and how do you balance humor with emotional honesty in your writing and direction?
I believe great comedy comes from vulnerability and our deepest truths. In my first drafts, I actually focus more on the vulnerability than the jokes — because for me, the comedy grows out of what’s real. Once that emotional core feels honest, then the fun begins: punching it up and finding humor that becomes an entry point for the audience to get to know themselves a little better. I think if you can make someone laugh, you can also open them up to feeling — and that’s where real connection happens.
Once I feel the scripts are in the funniest place they can be, I’ll ask my team, “Okay, now how does it get funnier?” I love exploring where the funniest place for the camera might be — visually reimagining moments that balance emotion and humor. In my short film Mulligan, there’s a shot where a woman is lying on the ground having a cathartic realization, but a pink golf ball is blocking one of her eyes. It’s tender and ridiculous all at once — and that’s the sweet spot for me.
In Everybody’s Meg, that shows up in framing, POV shots, and the freedom I give actors to play and discover. I want my sets to feel like safe, joyful spaces where vulnerability and humor can coexist — because when they do, that’s when something truly human happens.
I started my career as an actor, so as a director, I’m deeply conscious of creating a space where performers feel safe to play, improvise, and bring their full selves to the work. Even with smaller budgets and faster schedules, I want actors to feel empowered from the moment we meet — to take ownership of their characters and trust that every take counts. Comedy requires real vulnerability, and I never take that for granted. My job is to set the tone, not micromanage, and to invite collaboration — to let the actors show me how it gets funnier.
The entertainment industry is notoriously tough, especially for women and multi-hyphenates. What’s been the biggest challenge you’ve faced in carving out your space, and how have you navigated moments of doubt or resistance?
Yes, entertainment can be tough — especially for women and multi-hyphenates — but I refuse to focus on that. I’m proud to be a multi-hyphenate, and I love what I do. Early in my career, I spent too much energy wanting people to understand me, to see things the way I see them. But I realized I could never achieve the level I wanted if I was worrying about perception instead of focusing on the work.
So, I put my head down and let the work speak for itself. Every short film I’ve made, and Everybody’s Meg especially, proves that a woman can produce, direct, and write— and succeed — just as men have for decades. That’s the message I want to model.
And of course, I still have moments of doubt or intimidation, but I refuse to let them bring me down — because I believe what I bring to the table is more important than any fear I feel.
As someone who runs their own production company, how do you juggle the creative and business sides of filmmaking? Has entrepreneurship changed your perspective on the industry or your creative process?
Running my own production company taught me that business and creativity aren’t opposites — they’re partners. Early on, I resisted the business side because I thought it would take away from the art, but once I embraced it, everything changed.
Every artist is an entrepreneur. The sooner we see ourselves that way, the sooner we start valuing our time, our talent, and our ideas.
Understanding the business has made me a better artist — I know how to make creative visions doable within real budgets, and when I’m on someone else’s set, I can just focus on the work and enjoy it.
For me, the magic happens where business and creativity meet. That’s where the alchemy is — and it’s where I feel most in my power.
With Everybody’s Meg, you’ve created a character who’s relatable in her imperfections and setbacks. What inspired Meg’s story, and why do you think audiences connect so deeply with her journey?
Everybody’s Meg is definitely a product of my brain and my co-creators, Maddy Foley and Becky Swannick — and of course, every person who’s joined the team since. When Maddy and I are writing, she’s also building the performance in real time, and my director brain is working, so the comedy and honesty start right on the page. We’re constantly drawing from our real experiences — those anxious, awkward, deeply human moments that we all go through but rarely say out loud.
Meg really was born out of our shared desire to see more female-driven comedy that reflected what it really feels like to be a millennial woman in her 30s — smart, capable, but feeling perpetually behind. Everyone’s either been that person or knows that person. I think audiences connect with her because she’s brave enough to say what we’re all thinking. She’s broke, she’s anxious, she’s doing her best — and she keeps showing up anyway. Watching her do that is both hilarious and, I think, a little healing.
Season two of Everybody’s Meg promises to show Meg taking charge of her life. Without giving too much away, what new themes, challenges, or surprises can viewers look forward to in the upcoming episodes?
In Season 2, Meg’s decided she’s going to “take control” of her life by saving for a solo trip — because, you know, that’s what every millennial woman on the internet seems to do. The problem is… she has no job. Then her sister announces she’s getting married, and Meg’s suddenly co-maid of honor — not full maid of honor, which becomes its own crisis. We also see her go on a date, baby sit, accidentally get drunk pole dancing, and deal with her constant not-so inner-monologue of anxious thoughts.
This season is really about Meg realizing that growth isn’t just about fixing yourself — it’s about showing up for other people, too. Between therapy sessions, family drama, and financial chaos, she’s learning that accountability and saying sorry can actually feel good. It’s still classic Meg — anxious, messy, hilarious — but this time, she’s inching closer to being a little more self-aware… emphasis on a little.
The myth of the “perfect timeline” is a recurring theme in your work. How do you personally grapple with societal expectations about success and timing, and how does this inform your storytelling?
Before I came to filmmaking, I worked mostly in theatre and live performance — even as a professional aerialist — and I didn’t direct my first short film until I was 30. At the time, I felt immediately behind. I didn’t grow up around artists or see examples of women making a living as directors or writers, so it took me a while to believe that path was even possible. But now I know: I wasn’t late — I was right on time. Everything I did before built the foundation for the artist I am now.
That’s why the myth of the “perfect timeline” runs through so much of my work. We live in a culture obsessed with milestones and comparison, but creativity doesn’t have deadlines. The only timeline that matters is your own.
A lot of people wait to feel ready before they start — but you’ll never feel ready. You just have to do it. The people who make it aren’t the ones with the best ideas; they’re the ones who actually show up, fall on their faces a few times, and keep going.
Looking back at your own “bonkers imagination” as a child—clowning at parties, selling flowers, and performing in costume—how have those early creative risks influenced your approach to risk-taking and originality as a filmmaker?
I learned resilience and risk-taking before I even knew what it was. As a kid, I was always launching little “businesses” — detective businesses, driveway makeup booths — and most of them totally flopped. But instead of quitting, I’d pivot. No customers? Fine, I’d have a yard sale the next day. That instinct to just try again is basically how I still make films and what I try to foster every day in my life, so I don’t lose that fearless kid inside of me.
Taking risks is the throughline of my whole career — from circus to stand up, performance art to theatre, dance, and eventually filmmaking. I always followed by my own intuitive nudges that yes, were risky- but I felt like I had no other choice if I wanted to become the person I dreamed of being. But being the one who takes the risk can be pretty lonely. Everyone wants a seat at the table until they realize how much it costs to build the table. I didn’t grow up with money or connections, so I built my own and invited other women to sit down with me.
For me, risk-taking isn’t reckless — it’s the only way to grow. And I am strategic in my risks and always ask myself, “Does this decision help me bring more of my authentic self to the world?”. Every time I push my own edges, I make space for someone else to do the same. That’s how the work gets better, and that’s how the industry changes.
And within my art, I take risks by showing the things most people are afraid to show or say out loud. Whether it’s a rom-com moment where a woman tells her partner her uncomfortable truth in I do(n’t), three beer cart girls accidentally killing a golfer in Cart Girls, or Meg typing on her laptop while sitting on the toilet (that’s something I do and I didn’t even realize it was weird until I put it in a movie) — these are the kinds of moments that make people laugh because they’re real. My goal is always to use comedy as the entry point into something deeper — to help people recognize themselves and feel a little braver about letting their own freak flags fly. If I show you my weird- maybe, you’ll show yours! That’s the world I want to live in, at least.
Collaboration is key in filmmaking. What qualities do you look for in your cast and crew, and how do you foster an environment that encourages both creativity and accountability?
Collaboration is everything to me — it’s at the core of how I run Hey Old Friend. When it comes to actors, I’m often drawn to people with improv or theatre backgrounds. I shoot long takes and love to keep the energy rolling, and that live-performance training brings a stamina and spontaneity that really suits my style of comedy.
With crew and creatives, I look for people who share my “show me how it gets funnier” mindset. I always come in with a strong plan — tight scripts, detailed shot lists — but once we’re on set, I want to be surprised. The best days are when someone brings an idea that makes the whole scene better than I imagined.
I value people who are collaborative, solution-oriented, and able to put the project above their ego. We’re all human, we all have off days, but if everyone’s working from a place of respect and curiosity, that’s when the magic happens — and most importantly, it stays fun!
As a Canadian comedy creator gaining national recognition, what unique opportunities and challenges do you see in the Canadian film and television landscape, especially for emerging voices?
For any comedy creator — in Canada or anywhere — the biggest opportunity is that there are so many ways to develop your voice for free. You don’t need permission to start. You can write, post, perform, or pick up a mic at an open-mic night — all of that is part of your training. People often think they need more money or more connections to get better, but your comedic voice grows by putting in creative reps.
The challenge, especially in Canada, is visibility. There’s incredible work being made here, but we don’t always watch each other’s shows or celebrate our own creators the way we should. When Everybody’s Meg came out, I made a point of sending it to people I admired — not to ask for anything, but to plant the seed that I’m a creator who’s here to stay, who’s dedicated to the craft.
At the end of the day, your voice is your product. Keep developing it, keep sharing it, and keep your focus on the work. Rejection is inevitable — even when you’re established — but a “no” isn’t a “no” forever. It might just be a “not yet.” This industry is built on long-term relationships, so sometimes the people who will champion you most are already right beside you.
Finally, for others who feel like they’re “falling behind” or struggling to find their own path, what advice would you offer—both as a creator and as someone who’s carved out a unique and inspiring career?
Your path is your own — so keep your eyes on your own page. It’s great to be inspired by others, but the moment you start comparing yourself, you’ve gone off course. Self-correct, refocus, and remember you can only build something original by trusting your own rhythm.
Keep rediscovering what lights you up — both inside and outside of your work. For me, this manifests as teaching Pilates! I don’t have to do it- but it connects me to a totally different community that keeps me grounded and inspired. The more you fill your cup with real-world experiences, the richer your creative voice becomes.
Try new things. Take other jobs. Follow curiosities. You don’t have to be a full-time artist to be a real artist. Everything you do feeds your craft — and sometimes the detours lead you exactly where you’re meant to be.
And finally, do it for passion, not ego. When I first leaned into comedy, I worried it wasn’t “cool” enough because everyone around me was making arthouse films— but once I embraced what actually made me happy, what made me laugh, what I wanted to watch…everything clicked. The moment you stop chasing what success should look like and start following what genuinely excites you, that’s when the right collaborators, opportunities, and momentum find you.
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