Filmmaker's Journal: when things go wrong, take it in stride

Saturday was to be an interesting day: diving on a newly found 100-foot wreck off of San Clemente, CA and then filming a brief introduction to a video I was preparing for a film festival/science conference. A busy day but a very satisfying one. At least that was the plan.

Wildlife filmmaking is infused with a high degree of serendipity - unusual animal encounters, shots of once-in-a-lifetime behaviors - along with an often equal measure of frustration when things don't quite go your way. You control only that which you can control, and the rest you just take as it comes.

My dive buddy, photographer Budd Riker, and I had heard about a newly discovered wreck several miles offshore from Southern California's San Clemente beach and we were looking forward to this first of what could be many dives. Ocean wrecks have always fascinated me. As a man-made structure, they seem eerily out of place underwater and yet they also can prove to be an attraction for a wide range of sealife, from schooling fish to algae, corals, and numerous small critters that take up residence in the iron and wood oasis.

But first you have to find it. The boat operators had marked the location with a buoy (which makes for an easy method to descend straight to the wreck, but today the buoy marker was no where to be seen. Lost in rough water or cut free by a grumpy lobster fisherman who felt his unspoken lobster trap territory was being encroached upon; whatever the cause, the crew's easy reference point was now gone and hopes for relocating it on the sandy bottom via sonar proved to be ineffective. Rock outcroppings provided tantalizing but ultimately disappointing sonar wild goose chases.

With time running out, the boat captain had to eventually abort all hopes of locating the wreck. He moved the boat to another site with kelp beds and rocky reefs to offer some sort of consolation prize for having missed out on diving the wreck. However, that turned out to be a disappointment too, as visibility could easily be seen from the surface as having the consistency of green-tinted cafe mocha. With that, all diving was scrubbed and the boat and its disappointed and embarrassed crew headed back to the harbor.

Well, at least I didn't have to spend part of my afternoon cleaning camera and dive gear.

On to plan B in the day's schedule: to shoot the video introduction. Budd and I scouted for a suitable location at Dana Point Harbor and found an interesting spot with rocks, trees, and ocean breakwater in the background. Well, at least I will be able to salvage something from my day, I thought. Oh, but I will have to wait a moment as this one recreational powerboat motors by; its throaty engine rumblings being picked up by the microphone.

Good. All clear. Oops, hold on; here's another one. Now a helicopter cruises over head. And another boat. Now I'm having people who are strolling along the harbor's edge, enjoying the day's great weather, stop and call out, "Hey, you guys making a movie?" Well, not at the moment, that's for sure.

Working in uncontrolled environments can often be very challenging when you have specific goals or objectives to meet. The yin-yang attitude of mother nature is not always conducive to specific agendas. But it's those occasional monkey wrenches that can and do make it interesting.

Fortunately, Budd and I are scheduled to return to the offshore wreck in two weeks, after the dive operator promised to have it once again marked by buoys and accurate GPS coordinates. And we got the introduction filmed the next morning in a different and, thankfully, quieter location - just minutes before rain, forecasted for the evening, decided to come early.

Hah. you missed me, mother nature. At least for the time being.

Shooting In The Wild: the ethics of wildlife filmmaking comes under scrutiny

Nature filmmaking is an important form of media arts, particularly in this day and age when environmental issues are becoming more and more the focus of politicians, policymakers and the general public. Nature films are visual literature that typically have a position or point-of-view they wish to express - even the most matter-of-fact presentations are intended to get the viewer to understand something about the film's subject that perhaps they did not know or appreciate before. So, by design they have an agenda.

But with that agenda comes an ethical responsibility toward accuracy and realism. And for the nature documentary filmmaker, who must contend with the logistical realities of the film process combined with the pressures of satisfying the demands of an entertainment media business, this ethical responsibility can sometimes be a challenge.

Shooting In The Wild (Sierra Club Books), written by veteran nature film producer Chris Palmer, takes an in-depth look at the world of wildlife filmmaking to expose the ethical dilemmas faced by filmmakers who manipulate, fabricate, and deceive - all in the name of presenting nature "realistically." The book has been generating a fair amount of media buzz with its recounting of staged animal sequences to coax certain behaviors, use of captive animals from animal farms or zoos, and even animal abuse - all for the sake of "getting the shot." In fact, ironically, while the book condemns over-sensationalism and attempts to establish a foundation for ethical responsibility in nature filmmaking, the majority of the media reporting has focused on the book being a tell-all expose that rips the mask of respectability off the nature filmmaker, showing them to be manipulative charlatans. Well, it makes for a good headline on the evening news, but I think it misses the point of Palmer's book.

The ethics of accuracy and realism exist throughout all forms of expression. We accept that fiction almost by definition is a manipulation or fabrication. And in non-fiction books and films, we accept fabricated dialog or scenes that convey the essence of historical truth. We even tolerate a measure of hyperbole from our leaders in their speeches and their political campaigns. Up to a point. . . and that's where the slippery slope of ethical responsibility versus manipulated fakery rears its head. Can a black and white line be drawn within what is often a subjective gray area?

This is what Palmer discusses in Shooting In The Wild by sighting many examples of nature filmmaking that deviate from precise realism: forced predations, unnaturally-induced animal behaviors, reproduced sounds, and even whether or not the use of music in a nature film is a manipulation of reality.

In describing a filmmaker's staged predation sequence between a king snake and a diamondback rattlesnake (as the intended prey), Palmer writes, "When the king snake ignored the rattlesnake, the filmmaker tried again and again to engage them in combat, with no success. Finally, a crewmate came up with an idea: he put the rattlesnake into an empty mouse cage for a day so it smelled like a mouse. Problem solved - the king snake soon seized and ate the rattler."

As engrossing as it is to read of these cinematic machinations, Palmer is not setting out to give nature filmmakers (or himself for that matter, as an accomplished producer of award-winning films) simply a black eye. Rather, he wants everyone, from viewers to filmmakers to network executives, to consider both the difficulty and importance in trying to find where one draws the line between truth and deception. It is an important topic to debate because nature films are too important of an educational resource to suffer from a lack of credibility with the audience.

As a filmmaker myself, I am continually having to make decisions as to how best to make my point, to fulfill my agenda as it were, without portraying animals in a false or deceptive light. Sometimes the decisions are dictated by the difficulty of the film process. Take sound for instance.

When I film underwater, it is virtually a silent world. Underwater camera housings often have hydrophones (underwater microphones) but the sounds they record are usually just the bubbles emanating from the cameraman's dive gear, which has nothing to do with what's going on in front of the camera. While topside, one can be filming an animal at a great distance, far beyond what the microphone can effectively pick up. So, a soundtrack is compiled after the fact using pre-recorded sounds or ones that are artificially produced. Palmer notes that opening and closing an umbrella can be a substitute sound source for an eagle's wings flapping. I often use sounds of splashing at a community pool for the sounds of sharks breaking the surface. Logistical necessity or deception?

Or what of the lush music scores that accompany many nature films? As a former composer, I greatly appreciate the power of music to support the visual image or the spoken word. We seem to have no qualms about the impact that music can have on the many non-nature films we watch - the ability to make us laugh, cry, or jump out of our seats - but is it right for a nature film? Reality dictates that there are no Aaron Copland-esque refrains heard when we stand before a panoramic view of the Sierras, so is the use of music, as some cynics would say, a manipulation of our feelings? A cheap deception meant to further the filmmaker's agenda? Well, perhaps someone did not get enough hugs as a child.

While the use of sound may not be the most egregious of manipulations, the issue of artificially-induced behaviors certainly is one that can take a filmmaker down the slippery slope. Take, for instance, the practice of baiting or chumming for sharks. Many shark programs have been criticized for favoring sensationalism over reality by providing food stimulus that provokes the shark to act in ways that are not natural, except perhaps in the most extreme and infrequent of situations. The shark's exaggerated behavior is then portrayed as the norm and the stereotypical image of the malevolent predator is, once again, perpetuated.

In my first shark documentary, Island of the Great Shark, I went to great pains to film white sharks acting in as natural of a behavior as possible. Rather than edit together a series of powerful scavenger attacks on floating bait that would present an image of a voracious, aggressive predator continually on the attack; I chose images that made up the vast majority of what actually occurred time and time again, that of a wary and cautious animal that would gracefully move through the water - investigating, curious, but not hell-bent on devouring everything in sight. It was my call to portray these animals based on both what I actually experienced and what I had learned from speaking with recognized shark experts. But it also meant that a portion of my potential audience would be disappointed because I chose not to support the pre-conceived stereotype.

In Shooting In The Wild, Chris Palmer goes beyond listing past sins by nature filmmakers caught up in the struggle to capture images by whatever means necessary (and some, like animal abuse or staged predations, are certainly inexcusable). Palmer broadens the discussion with recommendations that amount to a road map to ethical wildlife filming. One of his recommendations is for filmmakers to work closely with reputable scientists. I couldn't agree more, but it's not always easy to do so.

Programs are typically pitched to networks and that pitch must resonate with executives who are concerned with audience appeal and ratings. And sometimes these program pitches are ideas that were hatched by production company staff members who are not scientifically-trained or oriented at all but know what will catch the attention of the network's program developers. It is then, after they have sold their idea, that they look for someone - a scientist or other subject matter expert - who can provide some credibility to the project. This kind of approach, where one backs into the science, can lend itself to an ethical dilemma for the producer who finds himself stuck between the expectations for what has been sold and what the scientists say is the actual reality. Again, I have seen this many times in shark programs and it has made more than one qualified shark expert leery of working with filmmakers because of some preposterous film premise or because of how they themselves were represented in some prior film.

Palmer writes, "But while a good scientist-filmmaker relationship can be mutually beneficial, it's important to choose partners carefully. Before they begin, the parties need to agree on both the goals of the project and the most ethical way to accomplish them."

Shooting In The Wild is a fascinating book for all the interesting stories that Palmer tells and for his examination and recommendations on the ethical dilemma that nature filmmakers routinely face. I would recommend it to all who appreciate wildlife films - filmmakers, conservationists, and just viewers at large. It serves as a guide for how nature filmmakers should conduct themselves and for what viewers should come to expect from this unique entertainment genre.

Filmmaker's Journal: guest posting on Oceans4Ever's "Summer Sharktakular"

It's been said that the future belongs to the young. If so, then here is an example of hope: ten-year old Alexa, with the help of her mother, Cindy, have established the blog Oceans4Ever. It succeeds in bringing important issues to light without hyper-opinionated rants and complex scientific jargon. Just straightforward talk from the perspective of someone who is living with the world we adults have given her, warts and all.

Right now Alexa is running a Summer Sharktakular with contests along with information and guests posts from a wide range of sources. I was asked to contribute a guest post about shark filmmaking and I was most pleased and honored to oblige. I addressed the responsibility that the nature filmmaker has towards getting the story right when it comes to sharks:

"... the truth is that sharks are predators and scavengers – extremely important predators and scavengers that help maintain the proper balance and health of the marine ecology.

The oceans cannot survive without them.

The message I try to convey to my audience is: you may not love them, but you must appreciate them. You can’t enjoy the jackrabbit or the deer without appreciating the coyote or the wolf. And you can’t enjoy the colorful reef fish or the comical seals without appreciating the shark."

My hat's off to Alexa and Cindy for Oceans4Ever! We are standing very close to a precipice but its because of the efforts of young people like Alexa that, in that perilous moment, we might spare ourselves that long fall.

"Shark films can be exciting, they can be entertaining, but they must be on-target. We owe it to the sharks; we owe it to ourselves – for our futures are intertwined."

Check out the Ocean4Ever blog.

3D Technology: new format can benefit nature conservation

Sometimes the technologies developed for our own entertainment or amusement can also have additional benefits as well. As an example, computers have taken game simulator technology to a level that benefits science (NASA simulators) and the military (pilotless drones). And in the 1950's, a crazy movie experience came and went, with red and blue glasses that made monsters or native spears fly out of the movie screen at us.

Yes, the early days of 3D or "stereoscopy" was an interesting fad - and now, thanks to the success of movies live-action films like Avatar and many animation films like Up, it is back and could very well be here to stay.

I just returned from the National Association of Broadcasters (NAB) annual convention and trade show, held in Las Vegas. This is a BIG show, covering every aspect of broadcast technology, from cameras and support gear to broadcast production and distribution equipment. And this year, 3D was the hot item, with televisions, cameras, and all the toys for launching 3D-dedicated channels. Networks were lining up with Discovery, ESPN and DirectTV all dedicating future channels to this new viewing format.

But the underlining question was: Where is the content? And, secondly, what does this have to do with a nature & conservation blog?

Well, for one: nature documentaries, properly shot using the latest in 3D technology, can be absolutely stunning. The ability to enrich the viewer's experience can add immeasurably to the power of the message. The ability of 3D to draw you in, with that sense of "you are there," can help communicate to the viewer - whether or not they are a nature lover - the importance of ecosystems, be they on land or under the sea.

Now, this has been done successfully in movie theaters and large format venues like IMAX. But the new technologies are now focusing on the small screen: television. And this avenue has the means to make 3D ubiquitous and the next wave of technology that will simply become part of our everyday lives. That can empower conservation groups and filmmakers with the ability to provide content which can be more impactful, more meaningful to the average audience.

Scientific research can also benefit from 3D technology. 3D can provide details and subtleties to images from faraway Mars to the bottom of the sea that no 2D or conventional image could provide - particularly in situations where a manned presence would be prohibitive. At the NAB show, I attended one presentation on advanced scientific imagery and learned that many respected scientific organizations are now fully committed to 3D technology - regular 2D video is becoming yesterday's news.

But as with many steps forward, there will be a transition, not a simple "out with the old, in with the new." Many don't remember, it took more than a few years for color television - something we take for granted - to be adopted both by the industry and by the viewers themselves. There are plenty of challenges that must be dealt with - from optimal viewing (3D TVs without glasses are being developed) to replacing or modifying existing viewing platforms (TVs) to the quantity and quality of programming.

So, no one is suggesting you throw out that new high definition flat screen you just bought. But for those of us who work so hard at getting people to appreciate the magnificence of our natural resources - from the beauty of an Amazon forest, to the delicate explosion in color and variety of a coral reef, to the warm interplay between a family of threatened wolf cubs - there is another communication tool that is on the horizon for our disposal.

Filmmaker's Journal: why I do what I do

Being involved in nature documentary filmmaking seems to catch people's attention, so I often get asked the how's and why's of what I do. Well, regarding the "how," I suppose it's part deliberate strategy and part serendipity.

For the "why", after years in the television commercial and motion picture field, with a little detour into corporate media communications (yes, I even wore a tie), I decided that I wanted to do something with my skills that was more socially relevant and would better speak to my personal passions. So here I am.

I recently was interviewed by a local public radio station on a show that focused on life after your college degree. Here's an excerpt where I talk about the importance of nature documentaries:



And to be honest, it can be a lot of work but a lot of fun. Life is great but when I'm not shooting, life is just a little less great than I'd like it to be.

Find your passion. And hopefully, in some way big or small, it will benefit us all.

Filmmaker's Journal: ramblings about sharks and the media

Let's face it - shark conservation is a tough sell. They don't have the mammalian intelligence connection like whales and dolphins. They don't have the warm and fuzzy factor that makes us feel for polar bear cubs and penguins. No, unfortunately to most people, sharks are lurking just beneath the waves waiting for us to venture out just far enough . . .

And that's such a shame. Because - despite the critical role these animals play as scavengers and hunters that help to maintain balance in the marine ecosystem - as long as people fear them, they will listen politely to the arguments about the shark's importance, they will be put off by the gruesome images of shark finning, they will rationalize the very remote possibility of shark-human interactions . . . and they will do nothing.

And today there is much going on to reinforce that fear. And some of it is coming from the very people who wish to protect these animals. I have said before, I am a big supporter of safe and responsible shark ecotourism - shark diving, if you will. But my concept of "safe and responsible" that promotes conservation, works with scientific research, and provides a safe environment for both divers and sharks, is not the same concept as some others in the industry. Over the past several months, there have been a series of media publicity and community public relations gaffes the net result of which has been to show shark diving to be a haven for wreckless thrill-seekers and it is fueling government and community forces to clamp down or place an ouright ban on shark ecotourism at some key sites.

No doubt about it, at one time shark diving was a major thrill-seeking adventure sport, something only for the bravest of hearts. But it has evolved as an educational experience in the hands of responsible operators, in tandem with their understanding and concern regarding the future of sharks. Still there are some who cling to the images of the past and that short-sighted approach simply puts the media into its own feeding frenzy.

Now I must admit, as a filmmaker, I can appreciate their dilemma to some extent. Nature filmmakers have to wear three hats: the advocate, the storyteller, and the businessperson. In an ideal world, or an ideal film project, all three of these roles would work in harmony. But often one or two of them are in conflict.

The advocate wants to promote conservation; so the facts are important so that viewers will accurately understand and appreciate the subject animal. The storyteller wants to tell a good yarn; a dash of excitement, a little drama or pathos, and maybe a happy ending. And the businessperson understands the realities of what the broadcasters are buying, what the advertisers or the viewer ratings are demanding in terms of programming. Getting all three of these to work together for the benefit of the shark is a challenge.

Case in point: here's a short clip taken from my YouTube channel, RTSeaTV, that was done as a lark while I was filming a piece on Isla Guadalupe shark diving for a major online magazine. A colleague of mine, marine biologist Luke Tipple, and I were testing a two-man cage and at the last minute thought about making something out of whatever I shot on this one dive. It involved being in open water with great white sharks - something that is a highly calculated and thought-out risk taken only by professionals - and the cage proved to be an excellent platform to work from with plenty of easy exit/entry points (and by the way, totally unsuitable for regular shark diving customers!).

So, a little excitement and awe mixed with some important facts and a call for conservation. But does it help or hurt the cause? In a short clip, one can get a measure of balance; however filmmakers seeking to do long-form projects are always challenged by the pressure to pander to the gentleman in Kansas kicking back with a Bud and ready to change the channel to NASCAR or flip to YouTube if he doesn't see a shark attack in the next five minutes. Sigh . . .

So what does this all say? That we just keep on trying, whether it's sharks, global warming, or whatever your cause du jour. We try to do what's right, we suffer and carry on from the mistakes of others, and we never lose faith that, perhaps little by little, people will see that truth is the best antidote to fear and the key to understanding and respect.

Filmmaker's Journal: stalking the arctic muskox

Last summer I had the opportunity to travel with InMER on its Summer Reconnaissance Expedition to the Northwest Passage, documenting the effects of climate change. There was a wide range of filming to do, from important interviews with Inuit tribal elders to government officials, capturing the stark but majestic arctic tundra - and then there's the "fun stuff" like stalking a herd of muskox.

Looking like prehistoric buffalo, the muskox is actually more closely related to goats. With a heavy coat of fur and a pair of curved horns, they are an odd sight - looking like something from one of those 1950's caveman movies where they throw a worn rug over an elephant and call it a mammoth!

Telling the expedition leader, Ed Cassano, CEO of InMER, that I needed close-up footage of a herd of muskox (well, "need" is a bit strong; more like "wanted" to be honest), we set out to scan the horizon from atop Mt. Pelly, a low, local mountain near Cambridge Bay, Nanuvut, in search of muskox. It didn't take long for us to spot a small herd moving across the tundra below. With that we traveled back down the mountain and tried to position ourselves out of sight and scent of our quarry.

Ever tried to sneak up on a 600+ pound muskox on the open tundra? Let me tell you, it's not easy. Tundra is made up of spongy mosses and lichens and stubby grasses, with the occasional basketball-size boulder. I felt like an ol' Saturday morning cartoon character as I slowly zigzagged from a rock to an indentation in the ground (making like a pancake!) to another rock, and so on - hoping all the while that I was moving unseen.

Well, not likely, oh great hunter with a camera. While the rest of the expedition team was safely over the next ridge, I initially found myself upwind of these hairy beasts. They knew I was there and would occasionally take off in a brief stampede. My team mates would hear this and imagine me being trampled like a rag doll. So for several hours I crawled on my belly as the herd would move about until I finally found myself down wind. Now I could close in, I thought.

As I slowly approached, some of the herd paid no attention and grazed peacefully or sat down on the tundra to rest. But others would sense something from time to time and slowly form a group with their rear ends together, forming the horned spokes of a wheel - a very common defensive action against wolves and bears.



So there I was, within 50 to 75 yards, filming these amazing animals found only well above the Arctic Circle. But before I became too full of myself, I spied a lone male standing on a nearby ridge. This was the herd's "alpha male" or dominant bull and from his perch he knew exactly what was going on. "You think I don't see you, you little pipsqueak?" he was probably thinking.

He simply watched, probably confident that if he felt the herd was truly threatened by my presence, he could stomp my sorry little rear end into the ground. So, when he would finally get bored with me, he would nonchalantly saunter over the back side of the ridge and wait for the eventual result. "Ohmygosh, Harriet! Bruno's gone! Come along everyone, chop chop! The boss is on the move!" And the subsequent stampede would follow until they were in eyesight of their fearless leader.

This went on for several hours: stalk, shoot, stalk, shoot. And there's only one word that can describe the experience - it was fun! This is one of the joys of nature filming: depending on patience, stealth, and luck - lots of luck.

The attached video is just a little collage of footage taken from that day. I wonder what Bruno thought of me in the end? Probably, "Geez, what a tourist!"