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BBC Frozen Planet - Sir David Attenborough's swansong

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Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Even the behind the scenes stuff seems fascinating.

Freeze Frame – Secrets Of The Volcano goes behind the scenes to reveal the siege tactics used to film Mt Erebus. Multiple crews and cameras were used to film from the air, inside the caves and under the surrounding waters.

4Llqf.jpg
 

Dead Man

Member
Edmond Dantès said:
Blu-ray available to pre-order now.

http://i.imgur.com/iIWM4.png[IMG]

[URL=http://imgur.com/eOtBQ][IMG]http://i.imgur.com/eOtBQ.png[IMG][/URL]

[URL]http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B004TSD20E/[/URL][/QUOTE]
But I want it now! :) Thanks for the tip though.
 

Dead Man

Member
markot said:
Wha goddamn, why do snow flakes look like that anyway?!
It is a reflection of the crystal growth as the flake experiences different conditions.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snowflake
They begin as snow crystals which develop when microscopic supercooled cloud droplets freeze. Snowflakes come in a variety of sizes and shapes. Complex shapes emerge as the flake moves through differing temperature and humidity regimes. Individual snowflakes are nearly unique in structure.
 
Any word for the US release of the Blu-rays? It would be mind blowing to me if they decide to miss the holiday season. And winter, for that matter.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Mr. Wonderful said:
Any word for the US release of the Blu-rays? It would be mind blowing to me if they decide to miss the holiday season. And winter, for that matter.
Nothing official, but the US release is expected to coincide with the UK release. If not you can order the UK version and it'll work on most Blu-ray players. It's just the PS3 that has issues playing BBC Blu-ray's as far as I know.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Very frank interview with Sir David
Sir David Attenborough has warned that life will get tougher for future generations as they battle the effects of global warming - and revealed how the "natural world" had helped him cope with grief.

The natural history presenter, 85, who is back on-screen presenting a BBC One seven-part series Frozen Planet, said that he had "no doubt" that global warming "is man-made".

He told the Radio Times that it suited many climate change sceptics to "be that way" because it made their own life easier.

Asked whether he was hopeful or despairing about the future of the planet, he said: "I'm on the pessimistic side. I don't think there's any question that things are going to get worse."

Sir David, whose wife of almost 50 years, Jane, died of a brain haemorrhage in 1997, said that absorbing himself in the natural world had helped him cope with grief.

He said: "In moments of grief - deep grief - the only consolation you can find is in the natural world.

"People write to me and tell me this. People of great distinction have written and said, 'When so-and-so died, the only thing that made life tolerable was to watch programmes on plants and animals'."

The wildlife presenter said that his brother Richard, who directed the films Cry Freedom and Gandhi and starred in The Great Escape and Jurassic Park, was "not well".

He said: "I don't fear death, but I fear suffering, of course. Who wouldn't?"

He said work, rather than "filling in time, like playing golf," gave him a reason to get up at four o'clock in the morning. "I am blissfully blessed that people want me to do something, so why should I say no?"
Source
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
The tech behind the series
Subfreezing temperatures. Ferocious winds. Killer animals. Human beings aren't meant to exist at the poles, let alone film nature documentaries there. So when the BBC decided to make Frozen Planet, a seven-part programme about polar icescapes and wildlife, they had to give their equipment something of an upgrade in order to make it resilient enough to meet the challenge.

This was to be expected -- the difficulty of shooting in these brutal regions was the impetus for the series, says David Attenborough, the show's 85-year-old narrator. "[Executive producer] Alastair Fothergill was saying, 'Where is the least filmed area in the world?' Answer: the poles," recalls Attenborough. "But will your recording devices work at -20°C? And the answer's usually no." So in 2007, the team developed winterised versions of their equipment, which they tested in a deep freeze near Bristol.

Their day-to-day Panasonic Varicam cameras, with which they filmed HD footage of ice-dwelling creatures such as penguins and frozen caterpillars, had to be kept warm or they ceased to work. As a solution, the technicians fitted the cameras with two batteries so they could be permanently switched on. Homemade covers ("polar-bear jackets", as the crew called them) were fitted around the bodywork to capture battery heat for warmth.

Some of the more spectacular shots required a gimbal-stabilised helicopter camera rig. Before they set off, the show's technicians cold-modified it with a combination of low-temperature-functioning lubricants and heating elements they placed around its circuit boards. This rig allowed the crew to document extraordinary sights, including killer whales hunting seals in a co-ordinated fashion. "Nobody had ever filmed that before," says Attenborough. "Scott reported it but people always rejected it. When I first saw it, it absolutely took my breath away."

Nor had anyone ever filmed the formation of a brinicle, he says. Caused by a sudden, localised drop in seawater temperature, this is a super-chilled underwater icicle that extends finger-like down to the seabed, freezing everything in its path. To achieve the footage, divers cut a hole in the ice and set up a time-lapse-photography studio below, their cameras secured in watertight casings. With only 60 minutes of protection from the cold of the polar waters, they had to work fast. "I don't think a scientist ever dreamed that anybody would be lunatic enough to take down the sort of gear you needed," says Attenborough. "Magic!"

Attenborough visited the poles twice for the show, in 2010. He had been before but that didn't make it any safer: "There is a sequence where I'm sitting in a tent and, by God, I thought at one point I was going to be blown off the mountainside." The rest of the team visited each pole much more frequently.

Attenborough has been making nature programmes for 57 years. But he says that there are further adventures to be had. "I'd like to go to the middle of the Gobi desert, because of the fossils, but I never will. It's a long way away, and when you get there there's nothing much to see. I don't think anyone will be silly enough to send me."
Source
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
David: I'm an essential evil
'I'm not a propagandist, I'm not a polemicist; my primary interest is just looking at and trying to understand how animals work," says David Attenborough. We are talking in a gigantic BBC sitting room. Attenborough, wearing slacks, shirt and jacket, is a trifle unkempt at 85, but sharp as ever and kind, too, listening carefully as I ask what it felt like for the crew on his latest BBC series, Frozen Planet, to meet the Inuit people whose way of life is cracking up with the ice underneath them. I tell him I found this upsetting, but imagine he doesn't cry easily.

"No, I don't cry easily. Yes. [He pauses.] Yes, but there's inevitability about it. You can cry about death and very properly so, your own as well as anybody else's. But it's inevitable, so you'd better grapple with it and cope and be aware that not only is it inevitable, but it has always been inevitable, if you see what I mean."

The series, which is stunning, and took four years to make, has been heralded as Attenborough's take on climate change – though for most of it he is the narrator rather than author-presenter. But while it might look like a political statement for the BBC to invest a vast sum in seven hours of TV about the Arctic and Antarctic – for what better way to get people worrying about polar bears and ice caps than to send Attenborough to the north pole, for the first time in his life, in his 80s? – he insists that reporting on climate change was not the main purpose.

"These are fascinating, low-temperature ecosystems with wonderful, amazing things to be discovered. So most of the series is about that, but if you're going do it as thoroughly as we hoped to, you have to at some stage address the question of whether or not we are damaging it, or it's disappearing or changing. I won't say that we were reluctant to do so because that wouldn't be true, but it was not the prime motive."

And so, in the final programme, Attenborough appears on location, talking to camera in his own measured words about shrinking glaciers, warming oceans, and the threat posed by man-made global warming. "The polar bear is the easy one, it's a very charismatic animal that people can identify with," he says. "It's beautiful, and also savage; it's got a lot going for it. But it's only a white grizzly bear, really. All these big issues need a mascot and that's what the polar bear is. But climate change is going to affect us much more profoundly than the loss of the polar bear."

When the broader picture is so dark, how do they strike the right balance between comedy and tragedy, sex and death? These are seven films about survival, and there are some gruesome moments. In one extraordinarily powerful sequence filmed from land and helicopter in the Canadian Arctic, a wolf chases down a bison several times her size and scraps with it, one on one, until the poor bison lies down to die, exhausted. In another sequence, polar bears are filmed mating in what they think is a secluded spot.

"If you cut out all the savagery and so on, then you turn it into a fairy story," Attenborough says. "I mustn't sound too highfalutin, but that's a problem anybody has with a novel. How do you deal with the sex scenes without being lurid? So yes, you have that problem, and you have it in a vivid and obvious way. People who accuse us of putting in too much violence, [should see] what we leave on the cutting-room floor. My conscience troubles me more about reducing the pain and savagery that there is in the natural world than the reverse."

Do the horrible scenes stay with him?

"A lion ripping a gazelle fawn to pieces is not a pleasant sight, and the sound alone is awful. But I'm not haunted by it, no. I'm not haunted by anything much, I'm not a haunted kind of bloke. I don't haunt easy."

Though he has ruffled a few feathers recently with his advocacy of human population control, Attenborough remains one of the most popular men in Britain, causing even the least patriotic to reflect that there is still something appealing about a certain kind of Englishness. The sequence in Life on Earth in which he interacts with mountain gorillas remains one of the best-loved moments of television. He directed the Queen's speech, is used to meeting prime ministers (though cheekily "can't remember" if Blair is among them), and personifies a modest, no-nonsense, unflappable type often associated with the second world war.

He speaks of his work on Frozen Planet, and previous series in which he performed the same role, as a craft, "word carpentry", altering a first draft given to him by the director so that the final script will sound like his voice. "I'm an essential evil, the commentary is an essential evil," he says. "What you do is try to construct a sequence that tells a story with no words at all – none. So the art of commentary writing is not to say too many words. When I look back I always think there are too many words."

Attenborough is modest but knows his value, telling me the reason he has never appeared in an advertisement is because he knows his audience believes what he says. If he were to try to sell them something, for money, he would cheapen his brand.

And he does not see himself as an expert, brushing off his two-year Cambridge degree in natural sciences, shortened for national service ("I mean I'm uneducated, I was never a real scientist"), and saying he is "very flattered" when people categorise his programmes as scientific. "They're what 19th-century parsons did. They're watching dear little butterflies emerge from the pupa and that sort of stuff. Obviously, I think that's quite important so I don't want to talk it down too much, but it isn't profound; it isn't atomic physics."

Attenborough was a Midlands grammar school boy, and middle son of a college principal who rejected his Baptist background because of "profound family drama, involving pregnancy and so on. I have no knowledge of my Attenborough relatives at all."

From the start his style as a presenter combined something of the amateur enthusiast, brimming with boyish curiosity for his subject, with an utterly professional approach to broadcasting, and a technical virtuosity that has developed to the point where a big series like Frozen Planet would be incomplete without a raft of dramatically unprecedented footage.

"The filming of killer whales tipping ice floes and knocking seals off was an unbelievable achievement, unbelievable," he tells me with enormous pride. "Vanessa [Berlowitz, the series producer] devised this system in which you had a small inflatable boat and mounted it on a tripod with this extraordinary giro-controlled stabiliser that was originally used for helicopters. And this thing that Scott had put down as a rumour, that killer whales were threatening sailors, and that a lot of people had discounted, she for the first time worked out how it was done, and as a consequence she filmed it not just once but 22 times, and so you've got this sequence which is just amazing!"

But Attenborough's sense of himself as a non-expert, combined with the trust invested in him by his vast audience, has also held him back. It is the reason he was reluctant to speak publicly about climate change, although privately convinced of the evidence for 15 years. "I'm not a chemist, I don't know about the chemistry of the upper atmosphere, so that is why I kept out of the argument for as long as I did. But eventually enough people say two and two makes four for you to say yes, it's four."

The other reason was BBC impartiality, drummed into him as a young producer and reinforced during a stint running BBC2. He says it took him a long time to grow out of this, and as recently as a decade ago, when he delivered a piece-to-camera on Easter Island that warned of the grave dangers of resource depletion, he still "felt a little uneasy saying it, really. I remember brooding and worrying about it, I thought that's rather dangerous. [He guffaws]. But nobody noticed!"

The BBC has surely never played its cards better than by holding him as close as it has. He is unswervingly loyal, and one of the corporation's most precious resources. So has his salary kept pace? "I have no idea! I can tell you I don't get what Jonathan Ross gets. I don't know how much Stephen Fry gets for doing a programme about the brain."

When I suggest the world of natural history filming still looks very male, judging from the Freeze Frame shorts about the making of Frozen Planet that give viewers a chance to meet the crew and ogle the technology on which their licence fee is being spent, he swiftly disagrees. "No! Vanessa was one of the key people! The BBC in terms of women's employment has been far ahead. Every boss I had was a woman. It angers me when people think the BBC is male-dominated, it's not, and it never has been. The Madagascar series was almost entirely women, I think I was the only bloke there."

When we meet our photographer I am surprised to see a different side to his personality. He's more abrasive, though not unfriendly, perhaps more how he might behave with his crew. "The light is better up there? Baloney, absolute baloney." How was the north pole? "As the Arabs say about sand, once you've seen some of it, you've seen all of it."

He walks with a limp, but is in good health. His two brothers Richard (Lord Attenborough) and John are not so well, and his wife Jane died in 1997. But his daughter Susan keeps him company in Richmond, where he is in the process of turning a building that used to be a pub into an extension of his house. And he is busy, soon heading off to make another programme in Borneo.

He flirted with anthropology as a postgraduate, but couldn't stand the theoretical approach then in vogue. His son Robert became an anthropologist, and moved to Australia. Was he a hard act to follow, as a father? "Well, he hasn't followed my act at all. He is a very self-effacing academic, his talents which are considerable, aren't histrionic at all."

Robert has two daughters, both now in England, so it is to them Attenborough refers when he says: "If my grandchildren were to look at me and say, 'You were aware species were disappearing and you did nothing, you said nothing', that I think is culpable. I don't know how much more they expect me to be doing, I'd better ask them."

In Life on Earth, his first series that told the story of evolution in 12 hours of groundbreaking television, he referred to Darwin as being "enthralled almost to the point of ecstasy" by his discoveries. Does he recognise that feeling?

"Again, it's a bit highfalutin but there are occasions, yes. The process of making natural history films is to try to prevent the animal knowing you are there, so you get glimpses of a non-human world, and that is a transporting thing. A displaying blue bird of paradise is one of the most mind-blowing things you can imagine, but I suppose if I had to pick one I would say I remember getting up before dawn and going to a hide we had built by a billabong in northern Australia.

"Going there in the pitch dark and just watching dawn, watching the animals coming to this billabong in front of you, seeing the birds arrive and the kangaroos coming out and then seeing the crocs gliding across the top, and pythons snaking through the water and then these wonderful ibis and magpie geese and the sun coming up and the whole thing, I mean you suddenly saw a kind of prelapsarian, paradisical, Rousseauesque, Breughel-like world of the garden of Eden. Hmm ... "
Source
 

Zeppelin

Member
I'm so fucking excited for this.

BBC should honestly tape David Attenborough reading through a dictionary so they can use him as the narrator for everything, forever.
 

Dead Man

Member
Zeppelin said:
I'm so fucking excited for this.

BBC should honestly tape David Attenborough reading through a dictionary so they can use him as the narrator for everything, forever.
Shit yes they should.
 

Mastadon

Banned
Zeppelin said:
I'm so fucking excited for this.

BBC should honestly tape David Attenborough reading through a dictionary so they can use him as the narrator for everything, forever.

Couldn't agree more. Can't wait for this, roll on Wednesday!
 

mclem

Member
Edmond Dantès said:
And BBC One HD at 9:00pm.

...and iPlayer throughout the week.

Actually, I'd be shocked if it wasn't on series catchup on the iPlayer.

Edit: Also a repeat on Sunday in the early afternoon.
 

pootle

Member
I would love to get really into this but it's the same problem I've been having for ages with documentaries and it takes me right out of the moment- the music is just overbearing.

If they would just reduce the volume in the mix by half and let me listen to the narration instead of being turned off by the constantly annoying music.

In every scene the camerawork is amazing and tells the story. There's no need for music cues to bring emotion or drama.

I will still be watching, of course.
 

Dead Man

Member
pootle said:
I would love to get really into this but it's the same problem I've been having for ages with documentaries and it takes me right out of the moment- the music is just overbearing.

If they would just reduce the volume in the mix by half and let me listen to the narration instead of being turned off by the constantly annoying music.

In every scene the camerawork is amazing and tells the story. There's no need for music cues to bring emotion or drama.

I will still be watching, of course.
BBC used to be good at that, but since the late 90's they have had the music too loud imo. At least it tends to be decent music.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
The making of Frozen Planet
'This white wilderness, this emptiness, is the North Pole,’ Sir David Attenborough intones in his rich, reassuring voice in the final episode of Frozen Planet.

'Beneath my feet and for 500 miles in every direction there are several metres of ice. But something significant is likely to happen at the North Pole soon. Chances are that sometime within the next few decades there will be open water here for the first time in human recorded history. The Arctic and the Antarctic are changing.’

We take the poles for granted. Forty per cent of our planet is covered in some form of ice, but it hasn’t always been that way. We take them for granted, and our knowledge of them is sketchy. People still frequently mistake the fact that polar bears are to be found in the north and penguins in the south; that Antarctica is a frozen continent and the Arctic a frozen ocean.

The BBC’s new series compares the poles throughout the seasons, combining extraordinary photography and technology with an emotional story­line told through its main characters: polar bears and Arctic wolves in the north, penguins and orcas in the south.

The extreme cold is not the problem for these animals, their challenge is the changing seasons. It took three years to make Frozen Planet and all the footage is new: orcas are seen hunting in groups by creating a wave that knocks a seal off the ice; we see frozen forests, the formation of a snowflake, the calving of a glacier and the birth of an iceberg. And there’s the first footage of a 'brinicle’, a stalactite of ice reaching to the sea floor that kills everything in its path as it freezes. The photography is epic and spectacular; every shot is mind-blowing. There is, as Attenborough told me, no dross.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
The man behind this series is Alastair Fothergill. Fothergill has worked with Attenborough since 1988; he began at the BBC Natural History Unit (NHU) in 1983 and at the age of 32 he became its head.

He quit the post to go back into the field and make The Blue Planet (2001), followed by Planet Earth (2006), which had an audience of nine million, and is the highest-selling non-fiction DVD ever – worldwide. He is the executive producer on Frozen Planet, though in effect he is very hands-on, splitting the making of it with the series producer Vanessa Berlowitz. He now divides his time between the BBC and Disneynature, for which he has made two films, out next year, an unprecedented gesture by the BBC that shows the high regard in which he is held.

It was Fothergill who brought Attenborough to the North Pole for the first time in April last year. It was not easy. For a start, there is only a small window in which it is accessible: the Russians run a temporary camp there from the end of March, when the sun rises, only an annual event in the Arctic, to the end of April, when the ice is beginning to break up. They make a runway about 70 miles from the pole for aircraft to land, but to do that they need a tractor, which has to be dropped from a plane on to the ice, with parachutes attached to it. Sometimes it goes straight through the ice, and they have to start again.

There were six of the Frozen Planet team at the North Pole in April 2010: Attenborough, Fothergill, Berlowitz, the cameraman Gavin Thurston, the sound recorder Chris Watson and the logistics man Jason Roberts. As well as the Russians, there were also a couple of scientists, a blind man walking to the pole and an oligarch’s wife who arrived in Chanel furs just to have her photograph taken. There were also some very rich tourists, the sort who pay to ski or walk the last degree to the pole.

Attenborough was concerned by quite a large crack in the ice at the camp, but the Russians insisted that it wasn’t significant. Unfortunately the weather was terrible – a white-out – and nothing could be filmed, so the group were marooned in the tent for four days. 'Me and five stinky men,’ Berlowitz said lightly.

It was -40C outside and there was little to do – Berlowitz had a few natural history DVDs with her, Fothergill had a chess set, but Attenborough had forgotten to bring any music and had to watch several episodes of The Office on Thurston’s iPhone. 'We told stories,’ Fothergill says. 'David’s really good at that. Lots of us who work with him have heard them before, but they’re still bloody good. And we teased Vanessa. But by day four we were all going a bit stir crazy.’

The weather lifted and, finding the pole with a GPS, they got their footage of Attenborough standing on top of the world. After they had finished filming, Berlowitz tapped Fothergill on the shoulder and said, 'Happy birthday.’ He was 50.

Two hours after they took off again, the crack in the ice split 20m apart and the camp was sundered in two, separating the tents from the runway.

David Attenborough is the oldest man ever to go to the North Pole. 'You have to look after him now,’ Fothergill says. 'I mean he was 84. He can’t walk like he used to but my God he can write, and he can deliver. The old magic is absolutely there.’

Attenborough felt completely safe in the hands of his team, and he knew that every detail would have been considered. 'If Alastair asks me to do something, he will have worked it all out ahead: how far will I have to walk? Will there be anywhere to sit? He knows my limits. He is a great leader and people will follow him anywhere. He even looks like Shackleton. I can’t think of anybody better to take me to the North Pole.’

I first meet Fothergill at the airport in Resolute Bay in the Canadian Arctic in August 2010, next to an enormous stuffed polar bear. We are among a party of tourists who are about to board the Kapitan Khlebnikov, a Russian icebreaker leased by the polar tourism specialists Quark, on which Fothergill is lecturing. (The Frozen Planet team have enjoyed much support from Quark.)

He has brought along his two sons, Hamish, 15, and Will, 10, and is wearing a tweed waistcoat and cashmere jumper and looking for all the world as if he is about to take a stroll on the Norfolk Broads rather than embark on an expedition to the northernmost national park in the world. This is the last time the icebreaker will take the Tanquary Fjord route; having leased it to Quark for 20 years, the Russians want it back.

We will be on board for two weeks and it takes a while to get the feel of the ice, the measure of the unsetting sun. In my cabin, a rectangular porthole provides a framed view of unstoppable beauty for the entire trip. At midnight the sun streams through it, creating what looks like a perfect lightbox on the opposite wall. Other passengers are a mixture of Americans, Canadians and Europeans. I am one of the few taking a polar trip for the first time.

We land twice in the first few days, disembarking from the ship in Zodiac inflatables: on Beechey Island, where some members of John Franklin’s ill-fated search for the Northwest Passage were buried in 1845, and Devon Island, the largest uninhabited island in the world. We are on permafrost here and the ground is like clay, soft and muddy and lunar.

On the third day I am awoken by an announcement that there is a polar bear on the port side of the ship. There he is, larking about on the ice and sniffing the air, less than 50 yards from where the ship has parked. He disappears suddenly into a pool and emerges with a ringed seal in his mouth, bites off its head, then carries it off, leaving a train of dark red blood on the ice.

The passengers are all agog at this rare treat, Frozen Planet live, but I don’t realise just how rare it is until Fothergill says, through slightly gritted teeth, that the BBC has never been able to film a polar bear catching an adult ringed seal.

Later, sitting in the library, surrounded by books on the Arctic, Fothergill tells me about the genesis of Frozen Planet. It was the extraordinary success of Planet Earth and the ensuing feature film, Earth, that paved the way for the series. Fothergill is fascinated by the extraordinary annual change that occurs in the poles. 'The problems the animals face is the scenery – the world is literally melting beneath their feet and that is very visual and dynamic.’

The first episode opens with Attenborough laying out the facts and sorting out the geography, along with some extraordinary footage of the glaciers in Greenland. The next four episodes move into the seasonal storyline, starting with spring and comparing the changes in the poles and the effect they have on the animals. Programme 6, The Last Frontier, looks at how humans have adapted to the extreme environment, and finally On Thin Ice is an environmental special, examining the evidence of climate change, its impact on the poles and consequences for the rest of the world.

'What we’re doing that we’ve never done before in a landmark natural history series is to bring in the storytelling techniques of the Big Cat Diary, the emotional soap opera,’ Fothergill says. He believes strongly in storyboarding, rather than the old school of wildlife filmmaking which was to go out and see what you came up with. Fothergill and his team write the scripts almost as if they were making an ad or a fictional feature film, establishing the characters, a narrative and the sense of place, and the emotional heart of the story.

He works very closely with Berlowitz, a hugely experienced aerial director, who was a producer on Planet Earth. They wanted to mix the safe with the risky, with at least four sequences 'that will genuinely blow people away,’ Fothergill says. 'People in the UK have been spoilt as far as natural history is concerned because there is so much of it, and that presents a challenge.’

Another innovation is the technology, which has enormously improved since Fothergill made Life in the Freezer, a short series on the poles, in 1993. The team had substantial logistical support from the Royal Navy’s Antarctic patrol vessel HMS Endurance and the National Science Foundation (NSF) in America. And they had the Cineflex heligimbal, a camera that has had a vast impact on wildlife filmmaking, and was first used by the NHU in Planet Earth. The heligimbal is a gyro-stabilised camera mounted on a helicopter, plane or boat, which allows close-up photography from a long way away, so the noise won’t disturb the animals. The clip Fothergill showed us during one of his lectures, of a pack of Arctic wolves hunting a musk ox, was shot from 3,000ft up. And by using the Cineflex on a boat, they were able to film polar bears at stunningly close range.

There are some logistics that cannot be bought, and Fothergill approached the NSF, which runs the American Antarctic base at McMurdo in the Ross Sea, for help. He went to Washington, DC, to pitch to the head of logistics, the head of marketing and the head of science, but there wasn’t a smile out of them, and Fothergill thought that he had wasted his time. Then one of them said, 'My son did nothing but play computer games until I bought him a DVD of Planet Earth, and now that’s all he watches. And that’s why we’re going to support you.’

They were given 150 hours of helicopter time and six days of flight time in Twin Otter planes, millions of dollars worth of logistical support. In return, all the NSF wanted was 'outreach’ – for the American public to understand its work in the polar regions. The team flew the Twin Otters with the Cineflex up the Beardmore Glacier, the glacier that Captain Scott went to, which has never been filmed before.

They also had help from scientists from the University of California for the sequences of the orcas hunting minke whale and seals. The scientists had been satellite tagging the orcas, and were delighted to team up with Frozen Planet because they couldn’t afford a specially equipped boat like the BBC team had. 'They got four study papers out of it, we got our footage, and they used our footage to illustrate their work – we would not have been able to do it without each other,’ Fothergill says.

Juggling the budget, Fothergill had to make many tough decisions about which shoots to spend money on. Should they aim for the wolf hunt or try for the giant krill bait ball? They also had a time-lapse filming system called a motion-control rig built specially for the project. 'It cost a lot of money to develop and will probably provide 50 shots in the whole series, but they’re extraordinary because they show the seasonal change.’

There were casting decisions too, such as choosing the right penguin for the job. The Adélie, with its dinner suit and ridiculous rolling gait, got the part. It is the most southerly nesting of all penguins, so it suffers with the retreat and advance of the ice. And it is a comical penguin: there is a beguiling sequence in Spring, the second episode, when the male is collecting rocks for its nest to impress the female, and its neighbour sneaks up and repeatedly steals them for its own nest.

'More eggs, more eggs, the rangers are coming!’ shouts Philip, the German waiter, as three burly rangers come down the stairs for breakfast. We have reached Tanquary Fjord on Ellesmere Island, about 500 miles from the North Pole, part of Canada’s Quttinirpaaq (meaning topmost) National Park at 81.26º north. From April to the end of August every year, five rangers are stationed in sturdy canvas huts to monitor activity in the park and help visiting researchers (who fly out at a cost of $50,000). This is their last few days and they are delighted to come on board for some good food and new faces – they have seen nobody but each other and the odd scientist for four months.

We visit their home: much of the 14,585 sq mile park is glaciated with ice caps. There are caribou and more than 10,000 musk ox, white wolves and Arctic hare, and it is ridiculously beautiful and totally silent. Fothergill is a walking encyclopaedia of natural history; it’s like being escorted by, well, David Attenborough.

He points out the purple saxifrage – 'the most northerly flowering plant in the world’ – and a woolly caterpillar, which his son has unearthed, an amazing creature. 'It has glycerol in its blood, which is anti-freeze, so it can survive. In spring it starts feeding on the leaves of the dwarf willow. The dwarf willow then produces a toxin which is stimulated by chewing and after a while the caterpillar can’t eat it any more, so it has to close down for winter. It takes 14 winters before it’s big enough to pupate and finally come out as a moth. We filmed it for the Spring programme, in time lapse.’

The dwarf willow is the tallest tree in the Arctic – if it’s half an inch high and as thick as your thumb, it’s about 150 years old. Things grow slowly in the cold and dark.

Fothergill is explaining his three rules of wildlife filmmaking – 1) if you’re in the tent it will happen; 2) don’t waste time worrying about things you can’t control; and 3) it’s only television – when he suddenly grabs his binoculars and spots a snow goose, followed by a long-tailed jaeger, 'and there’s a red knot being chased by a ruddy turnstone – it’s all happening.’

He is the only member of the expedition without a camera. The next morning I see him pacing about on deck talking on the satellite phone to Berlowitz, who is shooting in Greenland. He is clearly envious. Greenland has the second biggest ice cap on the planet after Antarctica, a huge dome of ice two or three miles deep, flowing out from the summit to the coast. It has very active glaciers that are calving like crazy and the Frozen Planet crew has shot some spectacular footage of the retreating glaciers on a time-lapse camera. Greenland attracts a lot of scientists because everything is happening faster there; it’s become the centre of the northern hemisphere for work on climate change.

Berlowitz is filming the moulins, channels formed by lakes of turquoise blue meltwater spilling over. The channels carve their way through the ice and then plunge down a vertical shaft to the heart of the ice sheet, where they lubricate the junction between the ice and the rock floor, causing the glacier to move as much as 130ft a day. Yacubsharlem is the fastest flowing glacier in the world, and as it reaches the sea, great chunks will break off and form icebergs, an activity that obviously has serious implications for rising sea levels.

Near the end of our trip we go out in the Zodiacs to visit the bird cliffs on Prince Leopold Island. The vast cliffs look like something Antony Gormley could have designed, and function as a favela for birds. There is an established hierarchy: glaucous gulls at the top and northern fulmars, kittiwakes and guillemots stacked up underneath, and a strong smell of guano everywhere.

We disembark at Dundas Harbour, a grim little place where the Royal Canadian Mounted Police established sovereignty in the 1920s, and take a bracing walk across the tundra. 'Put this on, Will,’ says Fothergill, jamming a fur hat with earflaps on to his 10-year-old son’s head. 'Your mother will kill me if you get ill.’ Fothergill’s wife, Melinda, is not on this trip, because she doesn’t fly. They married in 1994; Melinda used to be a producer in the NHU. 'She hates flying. I never knew – she told me after the honeymoon, so I married her under false pretences. We go everywhere by train now.’

It is a good day for birds. Tramping along, binoculars in hand, Fothergill spots some eider ducks, then a grey gyrfalcon, long before anyone else can see them – we all peer hopelessly at the sky. He is pleased about the gyrfalcon; it was a good spot, but for someone who has seen falcons hunting Arctic hares, it’s a bit tame. 'That’s where she’s nesting,’ he says, pointing to a tiny white patch in the rock ledge, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Fothergill is a bird fanatic. He still gets excited, he says, when the swallows come back in April and he proposed to his wife in Norfolk with birds flying overhead. He grew up in London and Norfolk; his father was a schoolmaster at Harrow and the family would spend the long summer holidays in north Norfolk. 'My father would paint the house and listen to cricket on the radio and I cycled off to the wildlife reserve at Cley Marshes.’ When he was 12 Fothergill got an unpaid job there, cleaning the hides and helping out.

At Harrow, he had a biology teacher called Michael Thain who would take a group of proteges off on field trips. 'I remember he once organised an expedition to see the Caucasus black cock in Iran.’ It was Thain who inspired Fothergill’s initial ambition to be a research biologist. His mother wanted him to be a vet. 'Or something sensible like that. I had to promise her I’d never grow a beard, or wear white socks with sandals.’

He studied zoology at St Andrews then moved to Durham. While at Durham, as part of a BBC competition, Fothergill and his friends took a Super 8 camera on an expedition on the Okavango to look for the nesting ground of the pink-backed pelican. It was his first taste of natural history filmmaking. 'We travelled for five weeks in dugouts, sleeping on a different island every night, and walking with lions – it was one of the best experiences of my life. It wasn’t a very good film, but I thought, golly, this is a way to be paid to be with animals.’

The day after he finished university he went for an interview with the BBC Natural History Unit in Bristol. He was given a temporary job as a reporter on the BBC wildlife magazine because their researcher had broken his leg, then had a few other jobs on children’s natural history shows until in 1985 he became an assistant producer on The Really Wild Show.

The Really Wild Show was a completely new concept and it won Baftas three years running. Fothergill was learning on the job. 'They wouldn’t let me travel outside the UK; so I tried to film impossible things like wildcats in Scotland. The thing about children’s programmes is that there were no rules and you learn really quickly. I was doing live broadcasting, filming – everything.’

He did that for four or five years and then directed a Wildlife on One, which was when Attenborough remembers meeting him. 'It was a very useful series for filmmakers making their first film for the BBC,’ Attenborough says. 'It needed some kind of continuity, so I did all the narration. These young filmmakers would send me a script and I would edit it. One of these was a film on carmine bee-eaters. Lovely film. I wanted to change a few things, I always do, and normally some chap comes in and says, yes, yes, thank you very much. But in walked this young turk, Alastair. I made my suggestions, and he questioned them, and there was a sort of squaring-off, in which we were establishing what our relative positions were.’

They then worked together on Trials of Life in 1988, on which Fothergill was an assistant producer. 'That was amazing – trip after trip after trip. Very exciting, no email, no satellite phones – you never knew what was going to happen.’ In 1993 he made Life in the Freezer. 'It was a small series, but it kicked above its weight and it proved that the polar regions had a real power with the audience.’

The NHU in the early 1990s was the place to be if you wanted to make wildlife films. 'The people I work with now I’ve known since we were 20,’ Fothergill says. 'We all marry each other, have babies – it’s terribly incestuous but it’s lovely.’ The then head of the unit was leaving and Fothergill was asked to apply. He was unsure because his great love was being in the field, not behind a desk, and he was in the middle of making Life in the Freezer. 'But on a Sunday night I got a call telling me I had the job. I was living on the River Wye at the time and spent the whole night walking up and down, trying to decide and in the end I thought, I’d better do it. Then I went off to South Georgia thinking, what have I done?’

Attenborough was meeting him there. 'He said, right Alastair, we’re going for a walk.’ He knew exactly what I was going through – he had been the controller of BBC2 [which Attenborough left to go back to wildlife filming] and he said, do it.’

So he did – for five years, very successfully, although he had to pass up producing Attenborough’s Life of Birds, which he still regrets. He resigned his role to become the series producer of The Blue Planet, which was his idea, then there was the vastly successful series Planet Earth in 2006. The only criticism it received was that it was filmed through rose-tinted spectacles. 'The sort of programmes I make are not strongly environmental in their message. I think my skill is pure blue-chip natural history. Until Planet Earth, no one had filmed a snow leopard. I think there’s a real role in making people care. What I’m good at, if I’m good at anything, is the celebratory programmes; there are others who are doing fantastic environmental programming.’

Fothergill now has a deal to make three films for Disneynature, natural history films with a storyline. Two are coming out next year: African Cats, directed by Keith Scholey and produced by Fothergill, and the chimpanzee film Oscar, which he co-directed with Mark Linfield, Berlowitz’s husband, and filmed in the Ivory Coast and Uganda. Fothergill’s long-term collaborator George Fenton is doing the music. Fothergill cites Fenton and Attenborough as the two most inspirational people he has ever met.

A couple of months after the Arctic trip, I attend a music recording for Frozen Planet in London. The BBC orchestra, conducted by Fenton, is playing the music that he has written for the Autumn episode. Berlowitz and Miles Barton, the director of that segment, are there taking notes. Facing the orchestra is a large screen showing the bird cliffs of Svalbard, with the fledgling Brunnich’s guillemots learning to fly. The music is sculpted to the action on the screen: the baby birds taking off, faltering, plunging, crashing – and getting snapped up by the Arctic fox, attended by Attenborough’s humorous tone and Fenton’s light touch.

Fenton works his composition around the inflections of Attenborough’s voice ('it’s almost like a singer’s’), treating it like another instrument or a character. Fenton says Fothergill is very considerate towards the music, and will cut the film allowing for its presence. 'He also has a knack of knowing what appeals to a wider audience. The most important thing in producing, some would say, is to be able to raise money, but I think one of the qualities of a great producer is to protect the work, which he’s good at. There’s an alchemy with film – you can have the greatest of everything but you need the whole to become greater than the sum of its parts. Alastair is very collaborative, and he has the ability to put all the elements together and make everybody step up and enjoy it. It’s a rare thing.’

When I had last seen Berlowitz, at the BBC last summer, she had just returned from the South Pole. 'Flying in the Antarctic was my absolute dream,’ she says now, 'it was one of the reasons I wanted to do this series. With the help of the NSF, we went into places that probably hadn’t been seen by anyone since Scott, and it was really moving.’ Her baby son was 10 months old at the time, and Vanessa didn’t see him for 10 weeks. 'I would come back from flying over these incredible glaciers and then I’d Skype home and see my baby’s face…’
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Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
When she returned he didn’t recognise her and it took two weeks before he softened. 'Two weeks of hell. I nearly gave up at that point. But I’ve learnt from Alastair, who very much leads from the front – he’s passionate about being in the field – that it helps on a series like this, when you demand that people give up so much of their family life, that you are seen to do it as well. It was a high price to pay, but professionally it was the highlight of my career. It’s the only place on the planet where I have felt totally dwarfed and insignificant.’ Nowhere else, Berlowitz says, has she had such a strong sense of the fact that the planet is still in charge.

After 30 years of nature filmmaking, Fothergill still feels the same sense of wonder that he always has. 'In different stages of your life there are different pleasures. But the natural history thing never wanes for me. I’m as excited about it now as I was when I was 10. And now there’s another level, which is the satisfaction of all the logistics going right, and the pleasure of working with my team. And the final level is being able to enrich people’s lives. When we get it right, it’s not just any old telly. So much of TV is disposable, like fast food. We’re trying to do the fine dining, I suppose.’
Source
 

Kyaw

Member
Galvanise_ said:
That Bison just dicked over his mate epically.

I want that penguin. Epic.

For sure. I was like WTF?!
Maybe he didn't want him to keep struggling and ended it for him/it?

Awesome stuff from the BBC Nature team.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Amazing, absolutely amazing. The Natural History Unit have really surpassed themselves this time. I know it's early days, but this may well be the series that finally tops Planet Earth as the definitive series of recent years. It's debut episode puts Life's to shame.

I found myself taken aback quite a few times during the hour and some of the scenery is just beyond anything you read about in science fiction and fantasy. Any lingering doubts about the Natural History Unit's recent output have been put to rest in the most fitting way possible.

Roll on episode two.
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Kyaw said:
I need to finish watching the Planet Earth Bluray. T_T

I have like 1 or two discs left.
You should check out South Pacific and Galapagos as well, the two stand out mini series in recent years apart from the flagship series (Planet Earth, Life and Human Planet).
 

Edmond Dantès

Dantès the White
Telegraph review
You knew what to expect before you switched on the telly. Extraordinary footage of natural wonders overlaid with swelling strings and that marvellous knowledgeable whisper. At first glance, Frozen Planet, the latest epic David Attenborough documentary series on BBC One, is nothing new: what it is, however, is brilliant.

In this latest offering from the BBC Natural History unit, examining the great frozen wildernesses of the Arctic and Antarctic – strange lands where days and nights last for six months – the old formula was in place. The names of top predators were always given a suitably dramatic pause: “…wolves!”, “…a southern sea lion!” Herds of prey formed defensive circles, their stalking enemies sought to separate the weak or the sick. Penguins leapt comically through the water; giant humpbacks pirouetted through the air. Time-lapse photography showed the changing of the seasons: “The struggle for life never lets up…” An Attenborough documentary is a familiar beast. He’s been doing them for 57 years: understandably, he feels he’s got the hang of them by now.

Early on, we watched a male polar bear tracking a female for miles, then defending his mate against a series of would-be challengers, leaving him bloodied but victorious. It was a fantastic piece of filming: two giant males, the largest predators on land, battering each other with claw and fist. But almost as soon as it was over, it had been topped by the next scene: a pack of wolves stalking a herd of bison through the tundra. The herd panicked and charged, and one buffalo smashed a younger herd-mate into the ground in his headlong rush, leaving it to the mercy of the wolves.

After that the scenes competed with each other for the title of most beautiful. Meltwater on the Greenland ice cap carved copper-sulphate-blue runnels through the two-mile-thick ice, plunging into mile-deep crevasses. The ice itself moved, forming vast glaciers that carved through mountains. The glaciers rumbled on to the sea, creaking and teetering and finally snapping, falling in vast bergs into the Arctic ocean, floating off like strange white sculptures.

But it was when the cameras shot south, to the Antarctic, that Frozen Planet reached new, astonishing heights. A pod of orcas, working in perfect unison, swam under a small ice floe on which a frightened seal hid: they flicked their tails as one, spilling the seal into the water. The intelligence and co-operation was breathtaking – almost human (as was the cruelty in how they toyed with their prey once it had struggled, wearily, back onto the ice). Then Attenborough and his team followed the route of Scott and Amundsen to the Pole, delving into ice-caves around an Antarctic volcano, diving beneath the ice to find upside-down landscapes of plunging stalactites and weird ice-fish (and “a relative of the woodlouse as big as a dinner plate”), and flying across a strange ice-free land, filled with wind-hollowed boulders. It looked like the surface of Mars.

By the time Attenborough stood at the South Pole – a balmy midsummer day of -31F (-35C) – I felt almost worn out: beauty fatigue. At 85 years old and more than half a century after his first BBC nature documentary, though, Attenborough seems to have no such thing. This was a masterpiece: may he continue to make many more.
Telegraph

Masterpiece indeed.
 
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