'Danger! Danger! Danger!' or When Animals Might Attack: Adventure Activism and Wildlife Film and Television Mark L. Berrettini, University of Northern Colorado, USA In the Animal Planet series The Crocodile Hunter and Peter Lynch's 1996 documentary Project Grizzly, Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter and Troy Hurtubise, the subject of Lynch's film, reason that action-packed, close encounters with animals are the mainstay of their respective work. Irwin states at the end of an episode titled "Steve's Story": I have to get right, fair smack into the action because this day has come where the audience, you, need to come with me and be there with that animal because if we can touch people with wildlife then they want to save it. Gone are the days of sitting back on the long lens tripod and looking at wildlife way over there. Uh-uh. Come with me. According to Irwin, again in "Steve's Story", his ability to track, grab and even wrestle with animals is secondary to his command of zoology and biology and only serves to advance his mission of "Conservation, Enthusiasm, and Passion". Hurtubise's description of what he calls "close-quarter bear research" occurs in the middle of Project Grizzly when he appears in the Mattawa, Ontario Town Dump (named in a subtitle) while black bears scavenge for food around him. Hurtubise is dressed for the "bush" in what functions as his uniform in the film -- a buckskin fringe jacket and a red beret with hunting knives strapped to his thigh and his back. In a voice-over Hurtubise explains: You wanna learn the behavioral aspects of bears, you gotta live with them. You've gotta see what they see. It's different from just studying them, from films. It's different from studying them even on location, but from an obstacle point. You have to sit with them. Be there. They're walking around ya. You're seeing what they're seeing. You're smelling what they're smelling. You're watching how they interact with each other, three-four feet away. That's close-quarter bear research. Hurtubise does not describe the results that will be produced by close-quarter bear research but his general idea seems to be to advance our knowledge of grizzly bears. Before he explains close-quarter bear research, however, we see his main research tool; a series of homemade enormous metal and plastic suits that should allow him to approach grizzly bears and withstand their attacks. The film includes images of the construction and testing of the several versions of the suit and the latest incarnation shown is the seven foot tall, 147 pound Ursus Mark VI. A viewing of RoboCop inspired the suit and this connection is shown in the documentary when Hurtubise, wearing the Ursus Mark VI, walks through a drive-in theater while the film plays in the background. Irwin and Hurtubise are not formally trained as scientists, nor do they appear to consider themselves to be scientists, but they do aspire to deliver accurate scientific representations of animals through a mix of naturalist methods and experiential knowledge. They thereby correspond with the historical development of ethology, the biological study of natural behavior, that Eileen Crist describes as a: methodology of long-term, close observation and [the] interest in the natural lives of animals [that has] often not [been] regarded as 'proper science'. The founders of ethnology preserved much of the methodology of naturalists but introduced a theoretical framework and an accompanying technical vocabulary modeled on the physical sciences. (Crist, 1999: 8-9) Irwin's and Hurtubise's descriptions call upon this history and emphasize their shared notion that animal research depends upon observational research conducted in close proximity. On a weekly basis Irwin captures animals, holds them close to the camera and to his face and is usually attacked by the creatures as he delivers a mini-lecture about them. Lynch's documentary shows Hurtubise stalk black bears in garbage dumps as he, in his own words, pursues "the edge"; "I've got to have something that gives me the edge. And when I run out of the edge, I'm in big trouble". Such actions appear to place Irwin and Hurtubise in harm's way for reasons that follow from their similar methodologies and both men interpret the potential injury that they face as a part of their calling. Another aspect of Irwin's and Hurtubise's vocation that they view as a necessity is to capture the dangerous nature of their exploits on film and video. This need might be explained as a way to 'spread the word' about their work, though neither man states this. To capture the danger and the excitement involved with their close observation of wild animals is implicit and is akin to ethological drawings, photographs and written observations. In Gender on Ice: American Ideologies of Polar Expeditions, Lisa Bloom discusses a portion of this ethological history that includes National Geographic and that sets the stage for, and later competed with, motion picture representation. Bloom writes that: Playing a similar role to Hollywood's, the National Geographic Society would entertain its audience by adding the flavor of adventure to an otherwise tasteless recipe of science. Yet instead of fabricating fictions for its audience it would entertain with facts. It would use photographs rather than moving pictures and would feature explorers, travelers, and scientists as its stars rather than actors. Its educational purpose made it morally superior to Hollywood. Yet its subject matter would be equally thrilling. It, too, would make the exotic seem familiar, although most of its members preferred to be armchair travelers, others would one day want to become explorers. National Geographic saw that this profession would have a great deal of appeal, especially to men [since] exploration offered an assurance of masculinity. The figure of the explorer came to embody an enviable kind of masculinist identity. (Bloom, 1993: 72) Bloom rightly identifies a standard feature of earlier wildlife texts that also describes an aspect of contemporary wildlife texts, to "entertain with facts", thrills and exoticism that coexists with traditional notions of active, rugged, heterosexual masculinity. National Geographic itself endures as an educational text not from outside Hollywood but from within a multimedia environment that includes Hollywood -- nationalgeographic.com; National Geographic Explorer on MSNBC; the National Geographic Channel, U.S and International; five magazines and numerous books and television specials. [1] An analysis that resembles Bloom's consideration of literary and photographic texts is found in Gregg Mitman's Reel Nature: America's Romance with Wildlife on Film, a survey of nature film and television, most of which blend "scientific research and vernacular knowledge, education and entertainment" (Mitman, 1999: 3). Mitman writes that: Nature on the silent screen within early twentieth-century America [was] framed as the antipode of civilization. Wilderness was a landscape of authenticity, a place where masculine virtues were honed and restored, a place where individual character was laid bare. The camera was a means of recreating this wilderness experience, but only if truthfulness could be assured. (Mitman, 1999: 25) Mitman's comments about early cinema suggest the degree to which earlier wildlife and adventure tropes continue to inform contemporary narratives such as Irwin's, Hurtubise's and their (male) predecessors and contemporaries -- Marlin Perkins, Peter Benchley, Mark O'Shea and Jeff Corwin to name but a few. [2] In each case education and entertainment justify the customary representation of wilderness, authenticity and all things "natural" set against civilization/the domestic sphere, artifice and all things 'technological'. Education and entertainment function as the defining dyad for a trend that I want to call adventure activism; representations that mingle wildlife conservation with dangerous, exciting and sometimes violent human-animal interactions. This mixture of education, entertainment, adventure and activism can be uneasy if the emphasis on filmed entertainment outweighs thoughtful discussion about, and depiction of, wildlife conservation (including natural environments) and/or animal rights and welfare. Problems arise when the spectacular display of the risk-taking male adventurer in pursuit of wild animals, or even action- adventure in general, becomes the standard form of wildlife representation. In Wildlife Films, Derek Bousé raises important questions about just such issues: Research in visual communication suggests that viewers often interpret attributes of film form as attributes of content, for example, mistaking editing speed for event speed. What might be the implications, then of widespread perceptions of nature and wildlife in television terms -- that is, as being characterized by nearly incessant motion, action, and dynamism? Might viewers, especially heavy viewers, see the natural world as dangerous, threatening, even hostile? Might there already be a sort of 'mean world syndrome' in some of our perceptions of it? Consider the techniques of visual intensification used in television advertisement for four-wheel drive vehicles, or in depictions of skiing, snowboarding, and so-called 'extreme' outdoor sports. The effect of the images is nearly always intensified by rapid cutting among sharply contrasting oblique camera angles, as if the worst tendencies of MTV and Outdoor magazine had run amuck. Yet if the contemplative experience of nature (of the sort reflected in landscape painting, for example) has given way to its perception as merely a spectacular backdrop for rapid, heart-pounding action, for a vicarious 'rush,' it seems fairly clearly driven by larger commercial forces. [3] (Bouse, 2000: 5-6) The formal attributes and commercial concerns that Bousé outlines are central to the adventure activist text (though he does not use the term). In turn, Bousé helps describe the manner in which adventure activist texts create narrative tension first and foremost, but do not elide the "educational entertainment value" noted by Bloom and Mitman.