During the two periods of my life where I managed to have regular access to pay TV, thanks to a childhood spent gorging on documentaries and glossy books full of exotic animals, I gravitated towards channels like National Geographic to see if I could get my 24/7 natural history fix.
Unfortunately, though there were some impressive NG offerings, they were scant, and by the time
America's Hardest Prisons 8 rolled around for the ninety-eighth time, I found myself realising - well, confirming - that when it comes to nature documentaries, you can't really go past the BBC Natural History Unit.
The combination of reverence for nature, learned presenters (no "Julia Roberts visits the elephants" here!) and a rather charmingly whimsical bent has put the BBC NHU docos at the forefront of nature and science broadcasting more or less since the Unit was founded in the late-'50s.
What's especially impressive is that - as their peers continue to employ almost instantly dated whiz-bang technologies to puff up nature docos (night vision! Lasers! Computer animated flying cubes!!), the BBC pieces rely only on excellent cinematography and good old fashioned expert commentary. Even older BBC Natural History Unit material - say, from the '70s and '80s - still looks impressive (David Attenborough's 1989
dinosaur series,
Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives, in particular stands up very well).
And while the BBC Natural History Unit takes its work very seriously, the advent of YouTube and accompanying online "edited highlights" suggests they don't take themselves seriously at all.
I was reminded of how much I love this aspect of their work when I watched a snippet from Stephen Fry and Mark Carwardine's series,
Last Chance To See, in which they track down animals close to the brink of extinction.
A friend alerted me to this earlier today, and there's not really any other way to describe it than "BBC zoologist gets rooted in the head by a kakapo while Stephen Fry stands by and laughs":
Unlike other networks or production houses, who work in veiled silence, treating their shonky docos as the last word in Emmy-baiting genius, the BBC seems happy to reveal the human aspect of its Unit (which sounds a bit creepy written down, really).
My personal favourites were the very rare - such is his carefully curated public persona -
bloopers that Michael Palin unearthed for his biographical documentary,
David Attenborough: Life On Air, which included Sir David falling backwards off sand dunes, being bumrushed by creatures, and so on. It was a delightfully humanising peek at the Attenborough I always suspected lurked just underneath his polished facade.
Really, you can't go past Attenborough full stop, can you? Here he is visiting a lyrebird in the Dandenongs:
And inspecting the bowerbird's architectural and interior decorating skills:
And "finally" (really, I could go on, and YOU'D LIKE IT), demonstrating the problem-solving skills of crows in Japan:
And so on and so forth.
It's true, there have been many other excellent nature documentaries made throughout the history of television, and you may call me a snob if you wish, but as far as I'm concerned the only nature documentaries worth watching are those that bear the BBC brand. I know I can rely on them for programming is learned, thoughtful, and generally classy viewing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Mark Carwardine get head-raped by a parrot again.