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Microcosmos: Le peuple de l'herbe (1996)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 1997
A nature documentary in the style of David Attenborough, though without the narration, Microcosmos stuns by virtue of its situation on the big screen. Somewhere in the Provencal Midi a field awakes to the rising sun, primed to absorb the unknown bounty of another day. Morning dew coats everything in tiny droplets; there's no discrimination between beetle, slender leaves and spider's web. As the sun rises into the clear sky and burns away the mist, the undergrowth stirs with a million tiny noises. Insects of all type roam free, in the hunt for sustenance, a sexual partner or perhaps something more. In this day, compressed from several years worth of footage, we will be privy to birth, life, death and all that goes in-between. On the shorter time-scale of the insect world, lifetimes pass rapidly.

The fruit of more than three years dedicated work by directors Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou, Microcosmos puts a unique spin on images familiar to any nature program junkie. Instead of trying to educate the audience, the aim here is to let the natural world envelope and amaze. As it turns out this is a wise move, one that is fundamentally dependent upon the medium of cinema. By blowing up the grass-roots universe, until foraging ants tower menacingly, the intensity of the experience reaches a level out of reach to television viewers. We are transported into the jungle underfoot by Microcosmos and it's near impossible not to be impressed. Given the resolution attainable with film, the detailed structure of the "cast members" is beautifully apparent. These creatures are marvels of design and functionality, far beyond the fumbling of human imagination and special effects.

Since, beyond the few words uttered by Kristin Scott Thomas, no speech breaks the silence, Microcosmos relies upon other elements to retain the attention. A double-pronged approach is taken; the ear is kept busy with a riot of natural sounds, and a subtle score, as our imagination is entranced by insectile antics. While the latter is vulnerable to the charge of artificial anthropomorphizing, it is more perceptive to compare the insects to mammals as a whole (rather than Man alone). For instance, a cluster of ants drinking from a pool echoes wonderfully the image of lions on the savannah. Perhaps it's significant that no mammals are caught on film, disrupting this attractive match-up of species. As for the former point, the multitude of captured sounds that rattle through the plant stems (courtesy of Philippe Barbeau and Bernard Leroux) astonish; when the musical background, by Bruno Coulais, interjects it does so appropriately and for a reason. Aurally this is a hedonistic feast.

From a technical perspective Microcosmos strains at the boundaries of the possible, attempting to give us views previously confined to the mind. Where else can you peer from an ant-hole as a pheasant looks back, all the while busily pecking at the tiny inhabitants? In another scene Burgandy snails meet and embrace, consummating their attraction and toppling over in the heat of passion. Two small instances, these rewarding moments reflect the gorgeous cinematography of Thierry Machado, Claude Nuridsany, Marie Pérennou and Hugues Ryffel. Together they lead us into this largely mysterious world, revealing wonderful insight into the balance of insect society -- predators, protectors, workers, lovers and feeders. So simple and yet so complex. Edited by Florence Ricard and Marie-Josèphe Yoyotte, a natural story emerges from the contrasted themes.

The weakness of Microcosmos is also its strength; eschewing a learned narrator for the clicks and whistles of the real world, viewers are cast adrift with their thoughts. If you've spent your time immersed in nature programs then this is no problem; the delicate dances and curious actions all make sense. Otherwise the likelihood is that you'll gain a glazed look, recovering only during the most outstanding scenes (such as an endless procession of wriggling caterpillars or the Promethean struggles of a Sacred scarab beetle). Fortunately, whatever knowledge you carry into Microcosmos, you'll come out with a refreshed appreciation for the beauty and force of nature. The irony is, of course, that the best place to appreciate the micro-world is on the big screen.

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