These past few days I've been watching the monumental series called "Planet Earth." Took them like ten years to film, and it's pretty much a showcase of two seemingly opposite concepts: on the one hand, it's a very impressive technological achievement, to record all those very difficult sequences of natural environments and animal behaviors in High Definition. Sometimes they had to hide, crawl, jump, dive, climb and do all sort of onerous tasks besides waiting for days on end to be able to capture a few minutes of footage. So, in a sense, these DVD's are very much a celebration of what humans can do.
But, on the other hand, this documentary is a last chance to see many sights of our own planet that we would normally never see. Either they are perilous or remote, or both, but these landscapes are at one time titanic and dramatic, but also ephemeral and fragile. It is very apparent that our six billion-strong gang of furless primates (in appearance insignificant next to such a very wide wilderness) can tip the scales and unbalance the delicate juggling act that life plays on this planet, which is both cradle to life and a continuous threat to it.
I must confess that, at times, the images of the natural beauty are so brutal that they do make me weep. Every minute of this documentary I've been reminded very strongly of J. R. R. Tolkien's famous line, uttered by his fictional character, Galadriel, queen of the sylvan elves:
"All shall love me. And despair!"