RIDM 2024: Just Above the Surface of the Earth (For a Coming Extinction) (dir. Marianna Milhorat) | Review

“If your eye were more acute, you would see all things in motion,” said Friedrich Nietzsche. This famous quote could well sum up the ode to sensitivity and sensory awakening put forward by the feature documentary Just Above the Surface of the Earth (For a Coming Extinction), to understand and appreciate the biodiversity that surrounds us.

Marianna Milhorat’s debut feature documentary has enjoyed an interesting festival run before landing in Montreal, having screened at Dokufest in Kosovo, DOK Leipzig, the Cork International Film Festival, the Chicago Underground Film Festival—where it won the Documentary Feature Award—and the Mimesis Documentary Festival, where it received the Moving Creatures Award for Documentary Feature.

Presented in the non-competitive “Panorama – Against the Grain” section of the 27th Montreal International Documentary Festival (RIDM), Marianna Milhorat’s nonfiction debut immerses us from the outset in a delicate, stimulating, and captivating sensory experience. In the darkness of night, flashlights intermittently illuminate the nature surrounding a group of citizen scientists, who are particularly attuned to their environment, until the film’s title is revealed subtly and skillfully.

Mirroring this opening, the film’s direction is poetic and captivating, playing on the boundary between what lies on the surface and what is submerged, between the visible and the invisible. There are few geographical indicators, but we know the setting is in the United States, where we follow passionate scientists and conservation agents conducting surveys on a beach, in the forest, both day and night.

Through its captivating aesthetics, measured and observant rhythm, the film marvelously showcases how these individuals appreciate biodiversity, distinguish colors, and recognize the characteristic shapes of certain insects—which is clearly not the case for everyone. This is ironically exemplified in a scene where two women drive through a rural residential area with an antenna out the window to capture bat signals, which have drastically declined due to white-nose syndrome, a disease originating from Europe. Local residents, unaware of their purpose, speculate they are either trying to steal Wi-Fi or engaging in paranormal investigations.

The film effectively illustrates how those who are attuned to biodiversity are, in reality, quite marginal. It is as if these individuals possess superpowers, allowing them to see and hear what others cannot. Their dedication, curiosity, knowledge, and attentiveness are both fascinating and somewhat melancholic. A notable scene occurs when a group of citizen researchers strain to hear a toad’s croak at night, only for their efforts to be drowned out by a plane passing overhead, obliterating any chance of hearing the toads. Is this a commentary on the modern insensitivity towards ecosystems and nature? At the very least, these individuals possess empathy, a thirst for knowledge, and an acute awareness that biodiversity is a treasure trove of diversity.

This rich and dynamic work is particularly conveyed through an incredibly intricate and abundant soundscape, creating a lush and vibrant sonic envelope that fully envelops the viewer. Brian Kirkbride’s original music further contributes to the film’s immersive experience.

In this sense, Milhorat’s direction aligns perfectly with the finesse of the hearing, attention, and observation of the people she films. The film emphasizes meticulousness, patience, and delicacy in their practices. Where many see immobility or nothing at all, these individuals see and hear much more, their senses heightened, and the film embraces this idea.

Is this the crux of the problem today? The fact that we have become desensitized, unable to see and feel the biodiversity and life around us? We first learn to recognize built structures (houses, buildings, etc.) as landmarks, before noticing trees and biodiversity hotspots often seen merely as complements to the landscape, to be cut down if necessary. This leads us to the sixth mass extinction, an absolute ecological catastrophe.

However, the film seems uncertain of its ability to convey its message solely through its direction, approach, and editing choices, leading to an explicit (yet beautiful and powerful) statement of its title and thesis towards the end: “A wealth of life exists just above the surface of the earth, between blades of grass, under fallen leaves and twigs and stones, on and under the bark of trees, and on the leaves and stem and flowers of every plant. There, creatures that vary in size, from a tiny fraction of an inch to three and four inches live out their lives, unseen by human eyes, never exciting the wonder or the curiosity of the two-legged animals with whom they share this planet, unaware of the vast changes that man has wrought on the face of this earth.” This reiteration underscores the essence of Marianna Milhorat’s endeavor, inviting us to reflect on our own sensitivity to biodiversity. This film, at its core, is about cohabitation—challenging, increasingly unnatural, and destructive cohabitation between humans and life. But the film is far from manichean in its discourse, and, conversely, seems to cherish the hope that humans can reconnect with nature.

In this regard, the filmmaker’s poetic gesture of extending the sound of crickets over the end credits emphasizes that biodiversity extends beyond the film; it is everything, it is everywhere. As the film gives us back our attention, it reminds us that the world we live in is made up of this biodiversity, urging us to start paying attention, right now.

In sum, Marianna Milhorat’s feature-length documentary is a formally rich and captivating proposition, addressing the silent sixth mass extinction through a precise lens: the ability or inability of individuals to appreciate and be aware of the biodiversity around them. It is a conceptual, gentle, and poetic film, executed perfectly, resulting in a thought provoking and refined artwork.

The 27th RIDM is taking over Montreal, Canada, from November 20th to December 1st.