To film the Aral, we flew to Tashkent and then drove to a number of communities, ending at the former edge of the sea, where the beach sand was a witches' brew of toxins. We flew to the retreating seashore, where I was reluctant to breathe deeply because I knew how polluted the air was. The food and water were contaminated. It was heartrending to visit hospitals, where medical staff were unable to help the patients. I found the entire trip unpleasant, because I knew I was taking in all those toxins, and I couldn't wait to finish. But unlike the fifty million people around the sea, I had the option of leaving. The story of the Aral Sea is a fable for our time, the result of ignoring the effect of our megaprojects on the surrounding ecosystems.
FOUR
STAND-UPS AND FALL-DOWNS
IT'S ONE THING TO memorize lines and deliver them before a camera; it's quite another to move or even gesture while also speaking. Add factors beyond those and the task becomes even more challenging.
I am filled with admiration for David Attenborough, the British host of countless natural history television programs. His stand-ups set a very high standard. Actually it was a often sit-down rather than stand-up. In one instance, somehow he and the film crew had been able to move close enough to a group of wild gorillas to get them into the shot without spooking them. Attenborough was almost whispering his lines, when a female gorilla sidled up to him and began to check him out in a rather friendly manner. No amount of preparation could have anticipated the animal would move in like that, but Attenborough incorporated this unexpected intrusion into his words and kept going without blowing his lines.
In the same way, Australia's Steve Irwin is very impressive in the way he delivers his lines in his TV series The Crocodile Hunter. He works at close quarters with wild snakes and crocs in a very physical way while conveying tremendous enthusiasm, yet he is able to evade a snake strike or a croc's mouth or tail without losing his cool or a limb.
I had an unscripted close encounter with a creature when we shot a stand-up for A Planet for the Taking that pondered the mystery of our relationship with the apes. I was seated on a stool as I posed the question of our evolutionary history; a trained chimpanzee sat on a stool next to me. In the opening shot, the camera was focused on me — the idea was that when I mentioned our nearest relatives, the shot would widen and reveal the animal.
As we began to shoot and I started talking, the chimp reached into the frame and tickled me under the chin! It was a probe of curiosity that we could never have rehearsed or trained the animal to perform, and it worked as a perfect surprise for the piece — but I blew it. I was so shocked at the chimp's initiative that I stuttered and then broke out laughing. Too bad, but I'm just not the calm and cool type.
We've tried to create fun in stand-ups, though. When we were filming a story on location at Cambridge University in England for Science Magazine, I did a stand-up while poling a punt on the Cam River that runs through the campus. As I finished my piece, I pretended the pole had stuck in the mud, and I flipped off the punt and into the water. It had to work on the first take, because I didn't have dry clothes to change into. It worked.
Another time, I was hired by an energetic dynamo, Margie Rawlinson, to narrate a film she had commissioned to raise money for a science museum in Regina. She would show the film at a fund-raising dinner to be attended by special guest Gerald Ford, former president of the United States. During his presidency, Ford had been filmed stumbling, and it was widely joked that he couldn't walk and talk at the same time. I was filmed on a skateboard, and my opening line was something like: “Well, I can ride a skateboard and talk at the same time.” Then, following the script, I slid right into a lake and finished my piece while soaking wet. I thought it was hilarious and so did Margie. Apparently Ford didn't.
We once did a two-hour special on drugs for The Nature of Things, at a time when George Bush Sr. was U.S. president and waging war on drugs and drug users. Vishnu Mathur was the producer of the program and Amanda McConnell was our researcher and writer. We traveled to Liverpool, where there was a very successful program of prescribing heroin to addicts so they could remain healthy and avoid the aids-causing HIV. We then went to the Netherlands, where, with approval of the police, “coffee shops” were selling marijuana and hashish.
I did a stand-up seated at the bar in a coffeehouse. On one side of me was the owner of the shop, and on the other side was a regular customer. The plan was for me to start talking on a tight close-up so that no one else appeared in the frame. As I expounded on the Dutch experiment, the camera would widen out to reveal the two men, one puffing on a joint and then passing it in front of me to the other, while I finished the piece.
Well, it was a huge joint, more like a cigar than a cigarette. We were just starting to use videotape rather than film, and the crew was still getting used to it. We had filmed several takes with these two guys sucking on this huge stogie before John Crawford, the soundman, discovered he had not flicked the right switch on the camera; my mike had not recorded my piece. I was annoyed, because we had already put these guys through a lot. But they seemed quite cooperative and we began to shoot again.
It took a lot of coordination to get the joint being passed across at the right moment in the script, so Rudi Kovanic kept shooting and reshooting as the smoldering dope was passed under my nose. Finally, everyone pronounced the take to be perfect; we then shot a “safety” that was also great, and we were done. The crew had to reset lights to film a scene in the coffeehouse, but my work was over. I told them I would walk to the van and wait there for them to finish.
I set off walking. And I walked. And I walked. It seemed I had been walking for miles, yet still the vehicle was way down the street. I started to freak out. I had taken ages to get here, but if I turned around, would I be able to make my way back? I turned around, only to discover that I had walked maybe half a block. All that joint passing had affected the host as well.
People ask whether it's dangerous filming for The Nature of Things. They're usually thinking about encounters we might have with wild animals. The cameraperson who does the filming is the one who may be at risk; doing a stand-up is pretty controlled, and I can remember only a couple of times when I even worried about danger from animals.
One of those occasions came when we were filming elephant seals. They get their name from the incredible proboscis of the males, who can blow up those snouts into trunklike structures that are quite intimidating, exactly as intended. A male can weigh up to a ton. Elephant seals were pushed to the very edge of extinction early in the last century and have made a remarkable comeback, now numbering in the tens of thousands.
We set up a stand-up on an island just offshore from Los Angeles, where the animals go to breed. Several huge males were lying on the beach, looking most benign. Rudi lined up a shot so that I could give my lines with the seals visible behind me. I delivered my lines, and Rudi said, “That was good, David. Now, would you mind backing up to get closer to the animals?”
The thing about camerapersons is that they are totally focused on what they see through their eyepiece. Often they seem completely unaware of the danger or discomfort others may feel. But I was up to the task. We had a usable stand-up “in the can,” so now we could try for a more impressive shot. We filmed another piece, which Rudi also pronounced fine, and then he had me move closer. My back was to the animals, but they didn't seem to mind, so I kept backing up. We did four or five takes.