The White Planet

With the world going documentary-crazy, never before have we seen so many entirely average efforts somehow worming their way onto the silver screen. One such example is Canada’s The White Planet; a celluloid postcard from Antarctica. This film’s footage is undeniably brilliant, stitching together intimate animal close-ups, sweeping aerial pans and magical underwater visions. It simultaneously captures the breath-taking spectacle of the continent, and the delicate vulnerability of the creatures that inhabit it. Yes, this documentary is indeed a picturesque insight into an ecosystem that may not be around for much longer (thanks to the impact of climate change and human intervention), but none of these factors alone seem to warrant the film’s feature length, and its widespread cinema release.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that surely any half-decent filmmaker could obtain amazing footage in a context as inspiring as Antarctica, The White Planet also has one significant drawback; its monotonous, and greatly irritating, narration. Its only purpose seems to be to point out that which is already quite obvious or to add an unnecessarily pretentious edge to the proceedings (apparently walruses now “philosophically await the return of the ice” and sturgeons “exude joie de vivre”). In the meantime, bizarre natural phenomena are captured onscreen but never explained, new species are shown but not introduced, and the jumble of varying footage seems to often lack any sort of strong cohesion or connection. Furthermore, despite being largely advertised as a film about global warming, the narration skirts only over the surface of these issues. Some films are best reserved for television or DVD release; and The White Planet is worth seeing only for the occasional (and undeniably adorable) baby polar bear, or in order to celebrate its carbon neutral distribution.

Rating: 2.5