March of the Penguins

Photo Credit: Jérôme Maison. © 2005 Bonne Pioche Productions / Alliance De Production Cinématographique.

There are times when I feel I can’t relate to human beings. I can still empathize at a distance, and yet somehow not connect. Film often tends to add distance to this gap, when I’m in such a mood. The falsely amplified sense of motions, noises and human conflict in the average motion picture can easily provoke me to want to be as far away from humans as possible. Then comes a movie like “March of the Penguins,” in which I can find refuge from the cacophony of all that clutters my familiar existence.

So many films are stolid in their depiction of life… They rely heavily on dialogue, on action, and leave no time for quiet contemplation. I guess that’s why a film like this seems to have captured the attention of so many of us. Being filmed in Antarctica, it has an advantage that almost all films miss—the opportunity to reduce the elements of the story down to, literally, one character and one setting.

This is not to say the film lacks diversity. On the contrary, I think the limitations of doing a documentary that can’t be scripted, except for the narration, present a fascinating challenge (subzero temperatures and 100mph winds notwithstanding)—to discover its myriad land-sculptures of ice and snow, sounds and life within the span of an extremely homogeneous species and an extremely desolate continent.

There, the filmmakers succeed in the same way a master percussionist can pick up a basic four-piece drum kit and create rhythms you couldn’t have imagined possible. I find it difficult to talk about the film in terms of a story, plot or individual characters, because it’s a film comprised of evocative images and sounds which are intended to be precisely that. The images resonate within our minds, as if we are somehow driven at some psychological, instinctual level to respond positively to direct symbological constructs only nature’s imagery can offer. Incidentally, toward the beginning of the film, there is a wide shot of the penguins passing in front of a glacial plateau that seems to resemble the profile of a human face.

Morgan Freeman narrates this documentary, lending the casual rhythm of his voice to maintain a degree of familiarity to a place that is as alien to most humans as is the surface of Mars. The opening shot connects us to these distant creatures. It shows only the fuzzy silhouette of their bodies upright, inching along the frigid landscape. At great distance, they could appear to be humans. The fluidity of their movement is a recurring observation—oddly familiar to the steadiness of human locomotion and quite unlike the erratic motion of many other avian species.

We are informed that the Emperor penguin must travel a distance of close to 70 miles to reach its mating destination. The annual average temperature in this region of Antarctica, we are told, is around 50 degrees below zero (not factoring in the wind). I have some experience with this, having grown up in North Dakota. However, while North Dakota might see a day or two of -50ºF, these penguins live in this brutal climate all year—occasionally seeing -80ºF.

Antarctica, with its vast ranges of white, cliffs of ice, and frozen, deep blue, is an awe-inspiring place. My gratitude goes to the film makers who were insanely ambitious enough to brave this weather so that I need not. The cinematography, directed by Laurent Chalet and Jérôme Maison, is the most remarkable documentary footage I have seen. Perhaps, my wife posits, the fact that the Emperor penguin hardly ever sees humans, much less understands the devastation of which we are capable, may explain why the cinematography at times achieves an unprecedented degree of intimacy for a nature documentary—the penguins seem unthreatened by the camera crews. Whatever the reason, their reach into the world of these penguins is as close as some of the best wolf photography and cinematography led by wolf biologist L. David Mech and famed National Geographic photographer Jim Brandenburg.

There’s a positively heartbreaking moment involving one of the fathers, who protect the eggs under their bellies for a couple months while the females return temporarily to sea to collect food for themselves and their soon-to-be child. He loses his hold on his egg, and in seconds it is lost to the cold. The cinematographers managed, somehow, to capture the egg, perhaps in time-lapse, I don’t know, as it hemorrhages from the expansion of the fluid inside as it freezes. It’s certainly tragic, and yet it’s fascinating. One has to marvel at the patience and craftsmanship that goes into this and every other shot in the film.

Throughout the course of the film, Freeman repeatedly refers to the mass of penguins as “the tribe.” The males huddle to protect each other and their eggs from threatening winds. When the females return, songs of celebration (and relief, one would imagine) fill our ears. Then, of course, the little star attractions of this or any other documentary about any species ever filmed, poke through and make their first appearance.

Normally, given any other climate, a large sigh of relief could be heard collectively through the audience by this time. We know, however, that the challenge of survival is just beginning for the little ones. Even once the females have returned and the families sing to each other, the children take their first steps and the audience shares in the joy and the humor of the babies at play with one another, there is still an awareness that the biological imperative of survival does not pause at any time.

The youngsters learn more independence with turns of absence from their parents searching one after the other for more food. They learn to avoid predators, and they grow up to soon take their parents’ place in the march by the turn of their fifth year… yes, there’s even the kid with the splotchy complexion who looks like his growth spurt kicked in just a bit early (see if you can catch him as they make their first plunge into the ocean)… We’ve come to the end of the film more detached from our own environment, and wholeheartedly immersed in their world.

One could call it tugging at heartstrings but then that would be missing the point. Sometimes, strings have to be tugged, to remind us that in the midst of our egocentric existence we are still connected to these other living things at some fundamental level. We are not pestered by oratory, but persuaded by imagery to feel their hardship, their suffering, their joy, their achievement, and what is unmistakably their love—in all its manifestations.

Finally, I think the conclusion to this story is this: If there is a purpose to our lives, it is not so much for us to be served with imagery and experiences to please us as though we are to be exalted and entertained by the sum total of terrestrial biology (e.g. “manifest destiny”). I think our purpose, if there is one, may be to appreciate the common struggles that connect all living things. If we can accomplish that, some day we may not have to look as far as Antarctica to find a species that has remained unspoiled by our wealth of ecological ignorance.

March of the Penguins • Running Time: 1 hour 25 Minutes • Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1 • MPAA Rating: G • Released by Warner Independent Pictures