Marianne Ihlen was a free spirit of the ’60s. A Norwegian expat living on Hydra, a sun-soaked island off the coast of Greece, she joyously juggled several simultaneous sexual relationships, imbibed whatever drink or drug was passed her way, and lived out the kind of perma-vacation that, these days, is only an option for the wealthy. But most importantly, according to Julie Felix, a British-based folk musician, she was a “terrific muse.” Ihlen was, after all, the inspiration behind “Bird on a Wire,” “Hey That’s No Way to Say Goodbye,” and “So Long, Marianne,” three songs made famous by their creator, Leonard Cohen.

It’s Ihlen’s passionate, tempestuous, and inspiring on-again/off-again relationship with Cohen that Nick Broomfield explores in his documentary Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love. Unlike many of the director’s previous docs, like 1998’s Kurt & Courtney or 2017’s Whitney: Can I Be Me?, this film isn’t pitched for controversy, nor does it dig up salacious details about his subjects. It’s an uneven but affectionate portrait of two people who are drawn together, creating sparks and conflagrations whenever they came into contact.

Some of that could be because Broomfield has some skin in this story: Early on, he reveals he and Ihlen were, for a time, lovers on Hydra, and she later pushed him to finish his early films. His fondness for Ihlen is evident throughout, even as he gently takes her to task for the damage done to her son as she tried to maintain her capricious adventures around the world. (Ihlen passed away in July 2016.)

The imbalance comes from Broomfield’s decision to use Words of Love as a biography of Cohen’s career. The director hits all the highlights, from the sessions with a gun-crazy Phil Spector that resulted in the fascinating 1977 album Death of a Ladies’ Man, to Cohen’s extended stay in a Buddhist monastery, to the success of “Hallelujah,” to his return to the touring circuit. But Ihlen falls into the background, much as she did when Cohen started a relationship with artist Suzanne Elrod in the ’70s. Conceptually, it works, but structurally, it hurts the film.

At the same time, the story of the women who supported and suffered for the art of others—particularly men—is one that is rarely told. And Broomfield understands that, giving us the full view of the work that Ihlen did to help Cohen as he was typing out his novel Beautiful Losers and writing his legendary songs. He even brings us into the quiet life she led after returning to Norway, and to the hospital room where she breathed her last and was read a lovely telegram from Cohen. Words of Love gives Ihlen gets her well-earned due, in hopes she’ll be remembered and appreciated beyond the grooves of Cohen’s albums.