John Hurt

When you’ve worked in television for over 20 years you get quite used to meeting and working with famous people.  There are very few encounters that have ever really fazed me.  One exception was meeting George Michael in a studio at the height of his solo career in the early 90s and, more recently, literally bumping into David Beckham behind the scenes at the O2 in London, with a beefburger in my mouth. 

Well, a few weeks ago I was in another recording studio in Hampstead, North London waiting to meet one of our most truly talented British actors.  I spotted him as he came through the door of the studio canteen and, as I walked towards him, a vast array of movies and characters flashed before me.  Here was “The Elephant Man”, ” The Naked Civil Servant”, Harry Potter’s eccentric wandmaker and finally that stomach bursting scene from “Alien” leapt into my mind!  Yes, it can now be officially confirmed that John Hurt is the voice of “Human Planet”.  And what a voice!  As soon as he shook my hand and said a simple “Hello, nice to meet you”, I just couldn’t wait to start our voice record session.

We spend months in edit cutting the pictures, crafting the films visually but we listen to the programmes with what we call scratch voices on them.  At this stage, the script is usually recorded by the episode producer or, sometimes, the picture editor.  They always do a great job but when the script is finally locked and we finally get to put on “the voice of the series”, a instant transformation occurs.  The narrator gives it a unique identity.   John’s resonant, commanding yet warm voice wraps itself around the pictures and draws you into the action and the characters.  As I expected John was a consummate professional and we all worked incredibly hard, recording the voice-over for both the Arctic and Oceans episode.  This is not an exact science but every line, every word is scrutinized.   John had six sets of professional ears, including his own (which was usually the most critical), making sure everything was perfect. 

What I loved was John’s dry sense of humour.  In the Arctic script we do a scene which is effectively written as a pastiche of a television cookery show, of which we have many in the UK.  Here was John Hurt doing his own wonderful interpretation of Delia Smith, or one of that ilk, reading out a recipe for how to prepare Kiviak, a Greenland delicacy, made from unplucked Arctic birds and a sealskin.  A classic moment I will never forget.

The Music Planet team – engineer James Birtwistle, Andy Kershaw and producer Roger Short – look at the wrong camera while on the job in Papua New Guinea

Yes indeed, as Andy Kershaw tells us on his promo video, filmed recently in Papua New Guinea, he and Lucy Duran are currently travelling the globe for a new eight-part series of world music programmes.  Music Planet will be a companion series for BBC One’s major new natural history project Human Planet, presenting the music of some of the cultures featured in the TV series. 

As I write, Andy is on his way to Thailand, there to join producer James Parkin and engineer James Birtwistle for a trip that includes Laos and Burma; tomorrow Lucy Duran and I, with engineer Martin Appleby, head off on a rather shorter haul to Galicia in northern Spain – this is for a feature on how the local traditions are influenced by music from across the sea (and did you know there was a mass migration of Britons buying villas in northern Spain in the sixth century, bringing Celtic culture to that part of the world?).

Andy Kershaw with friends in Papua New Guinea

Just as Human Planet shows how people relate to their landscape and environment, in Music Planet, we’re showing how all this is reflected in the local music.  So far Lucy has visited Madagascar, Kenya, Greenland and Mali, and Andy has been to the Solomon Islands as well as Papua New Guinea.  There’s plenty more before the series broadcasts early next year.  If you’re interested, we’ll let you know how we get on…

Just about handling the 40 degree heat

Morocco is a land steeped in a history as rich and as colourful as one of its most prized commodities - leather.  We made our way to the ancient city of Fes (or Fez) where men have been tanning leather for over six centuries. This elaborate process has barely changed in those six hundred years and we were lucky enough to be guided through the many processes by Tammy, a young man already immersed in the art.

The Contrasting beauty of the Tannery with the Lime pits in foreground

The Tannery itself is a collection of vats, dedicated to the different processes of tanning animal hides.  There is a vast area of vats filled with liquid lime, in which the hides are immersed to soften them.  This is an extremely dangerous process and the tanners go about their task with the barest of protection from the skin-burning lime.  The crew survived unscathed except for the odd splash but this was enough to make us extremely wary.

Working quickly but carefully in a vat of liquid lime

From here the hides are washed in what can only be described as giant skin washing machines, whose constant drone supplies the tannery’s sound track.  The next stage is the part we were especially interested in filming - the process of using pigeon poo to make the hides extremely supple.  The droppings from wild pigeons are the only ones our character Tammy uses as they’re guaranteed to have a high level of ammonia, unlike their caged cousins.  You see working for the BBC teaches you things you never knew you needed to know!

I have somehow managed to skip trying to describe the smell the Tannery emits… but here goes..   It’s like a thick mist, which is invisible to the eye but apparent to the skin, hair and especially nose of the unwary visitor.  Our first day in and our Making Of cameraman, James Aldred, had a few close calls trying to keep his croissants down.   All of us were totally taken aback by just how intense the smell was; it can only be described as smelling of rotting flesh with a tinge of sweetness.   Oh yeah and add 40 degree heat to that recipe as well.

Renee Godfrey and Robin Cox getting close in on the action

We shot some of the sequence in the Medina; this was a magical experience for me as it felt as if I was going back in time.  The Medina in Fes is famous for its many winding narrow streets, the air filled with the smell of exotic spices and the sound of street sellers offering their wares to the haggling masses.  Morocco has left a lasting impression on me and given me the urge to explore more foreign and ancient lands; a road trip across North Africa might be on the cards…Any takers?

Stripy hero peach sits on the market stall

There aren’t many filming trips where you can eat your central character at the end of the shooting period.  Normally contracts, agents and morals put a stop to that!  For the crew filming for the urban episode of Human Planet, however, the only thing stopping us getting our teeth into the central character was over 6000 nautical miles, unpredictable shipping schedules and the untimely eruption of a volcano in Iceland. 

With two cameramen, Mark MacEwen and Kieran Doherty, I had been tasked with filming a story about mass consumption in Barcelona – a sequence focusing on the central character we fondly called “hero peach”, who had travelled all the way from Chile to satisfy the Catalan hunger for fresh produce. 

With flights cancelled due to the volcano, the three of us had the pleasure of getting to know one another over a 900-mile road trip across Europe.  Unfortunately the mountain of time lapse and HD equipment took space priority and we all had to squish into the tiny front seat of our van. 

Hero melocoton is unloaded off the boat

A full day and an unhealthy amount of European truck stop food later, we arrived in Barcelona to find that our “hero peach” had already arrived. They say you should never work with animals or children, perhaps this saying could also be applied to boats and ports! What ensued over the following days was a blur of timelapse and HD filming at one of Europe’s busiest ports to catch a glimpse of the peach.  Kieran expertly used his DSLRs to timelapse the chaos, some of it using a fantastic tilt shift lens, whilst Mark patiently got some beautiful HD shots with the traditional TV camera. 

Beautiful busy Boquería

 

Our “Hero” was literally wrapped up in cotton wool and transported to a market stall in La Boquería Market.  It was absolutely teeming with people so more timelapses were in order for Kieran, whilst Mark struggled to move more than two steps with his weighty Steadicam rig.  Pickpockets came and went, taking with them Kieran’s beloved iPhone and also temporarily our senses of humour.  Lugging kit around and relentlessly battling against the hordes in the heat became even more frustrating.  Each day we started at the crack of dawn and we never finished  until late but at least we always had a delicious Catalan supper to look forward to.  However, there was one sweet pudding we all avoided – peaches and cream! 

At least we could film from a rooftop when the crowds became too much

 

by Cecilia Hue, Assistant Producer, Deserts/Grasslands Team 

This is my last filming trip for ‘Human Planet’ and I am going back to Mali, which has become my second home since I joined the Bristol team a couple of years ago.  The journey starts with the most extraordinary beginning, the stuff of Hollywood movies.  A volcano which no-one has ever heard of, with an unpronounceable name, erupts in Iceland and spews so much volcanic ash into the air that European air space has ground to a halt – the morning we were supposed to fly to Mali!  What would normally take five and half hours by plane ends up taking over 100 hours!  Our production co-ordinator Isabelle Corr cool as a cucumber, as ever, (see photo below!) cunningly devises a roundabout route via ferry to northern Spain, a drive to Madrid and two flights that finally land us in Bamako, Mali. 

Isabelle in the office

We are determined to make it in time for an event which only takes place once a year: a fishing festival in the desert, possibly the most dramatic sequence in the Deserts programme.  Once in Mali we still have a two-day journey by road before we get to location.  It is incredibly hot, 45 degrees (which for those who have never experienced it feels like having your head stuck in an oven ), we get  punctures, and an incredible sandstorm which leaves the whole team caked in a layer of orange dust.  We look as if we’ve all been ‘Tangoed’!   

Robin, Andrew & Cecilia after the storm

We finally arrive in the Dogon village of Bamba, built among boulders at the foot of an incredible 500 m high escarpment which cuts through the monotony of the Sahel for over a hundred miles.  Everything here is parched as the dry season reaches its peak, leaving only one sacred pond full of catfish (which have retreated to this last haven as all the rivers dried up).  
It’s 7am on Saturday 24th April.  The day of the fishing festival has finally arrived.  The Dogon are very superstitious.  Women are not allowed anywhere near the sacred pond.  As I am the only woman in the team I am gently ushered away from the scene by my fixer.  I am told that I might lose my fertility if I stay.  Frankly, I am not prepared to take any risks so I join the other women in the village.  They are all busily getting ready for the celebration – braiding their hair and pounding millet for the big feast.  
In the meantime, the crew is preparing to film the fishing frenzy which will last no more than 15 minutes and is unrepeatable for religious reasons. There’s no room for error.  4000 bare-chested men -including our character Amadou – have turned up to the pond the size of an Olympic swimming pool, armed with their cone-shaped fishing baskets, ready to charge in.  They hope to catch a fish or two.  If they do, they believe it will bring good rains and a subsequent abundant harvest for their family and their village.   

Antogo

Antogo

Our character is fortunate to have made it to the festival.  The day before, he almost got kidnapped from the film set by a mob of angry men from the neighbouring village.  We had caused deep offence by bringing his fishing basket onto their territory.  We soon discovered that the basket was a painful reminder of the village’s defeat against Bamba in the battle for control over the pond.  We had made a terrible basket faux pas!  We apologized profusely to Amadou’s arch enemies and were asked to give a small payment to repair the harm. 

To see the full story of the fishing festival, look out for the “Human Planet”  Deserts  programme!

Mamadou is 18 though he’s not sure

Mamadou is our “David”.  He’s  only eighteen, with a small but strong frame, delicate features and a gentle demeanour.  He is perfect for the role.  Our Goliath is an elephant, a bull, one of a herd of desert elephants that share with Mamadou the watering hole of Banzena on which they both depend for survival in Mali’s arid Sahel desert.  His arsenal is just a small handful of sticks.

A year ago Mamadou met his Goliath in a pitched battle on the shore of the lake.  Having been without water for two days, his herd of fifty cows were gagging for a drink but the elephants had got there first, and they were not going to move aside.  What followed in the moments afterwards we fortuitously captured on film.  It was not the story we planned for the shoot, but it was perfect.  Immediately after the battle was won, Mamadou and his cattle had drunk their fill and man and cows vanished back into the Sahel.  Unbeknown to him, our “David” had been cast, and a mission had begun to seek him out and film more of his story.  A search was launched across the many small nomadic settlements scattered over miles and miles of desert.  A photo of our wanted man was presented at each stop and finally, after three days, he was found. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, he was terrified, and he went into hiding for fear that he might be in trouble for his stick missile attack on the elephants.  He was soon found again, reassured and eventually talked into letting us tell his tale.

The Sahel

I am here in Mali a year later to finish the sequence.  Not present on the original shoot, I am introduced to Mamadou.  Like many we have left behind around the world, he has become pretty well versed in the techniques of film making and now, having been able to see the previous year’s results, he is beginning to comprehend what on earth it is that we are trying to achieve.  He knows that when I (the cameraman) say “speed” and the director says “action” it means that he should be doing something. Whether or not we have succeeded in conveying adequately what that something should be is another matter! Most of all he knows that hearing the phrase “just one last time” means it will probably not be the last time and it will most likely be ages before we are happy with the shot.

Generally we communicate without words and I act things out or use crude signs… faster, slower, closer, quieter, gentler. It’s a source of constant amusement for all.  Much of the communication between us is by facial expression alone.  Amusement, bemusement, anger, frustration, exhaustion and a myriad of other feelings are almost always clear to see in each others faces, with no need for translation.  These things are universal.  With these aids and cheeky smiles, we’ve got to know each other, and had some fun in the searing heat, sandstorms and mud.

Mamadou is in many ways as civilised a young man as you are likely to meet, gracious, kind, and intelligent.  He carries himself with dignity despite a life spent in the desert living a nomadic herder’s life which I can only really describe as “old testament”.  However he is wholly uneducated, quite unwashed and crudely dressed.  Despite all this he is just as much a modern man as any one pacing the streets of London – just without all the gab, garments and gadgets.

On many occasions I have had the notion that I recognise something peculiarly familiar in a person, a characteristic, an inflection in the voice, sometimes combined with a facial expression, and it is like déjà vu.  Today I realised that Mamadou is reminding me of someone.  As he’s the only African cattle herder I know it’s not somebody just like him, but it is somebody just like him.  There’s a theory, so I was once told, that there are only twelve (or was it twenty?) character types in the world.   It’s rather simplifying things I know, and I don’t think anyone has ever successfully catalogued them, but my experiences this year of meeting so many far flung strangers have often borne it out. And Mamadou is reminding me of someone.

This sort of thing happens a lot, yesterday for example….  We’re out in the desert looking for lake-bound elephants when Meddi, our local Mali elephant expert, speaks to us through the door of the car.  His gun is slung over his shoulder, he’s wearing a long cotton gown and a blue turban, his skin is dark, coarse and leathery from the relentless sun, he looks, and is, utterly exotic.  As I listen to the conversation, ears half closed and not understanding hardly a word, I suddenly realise he reminds me so much of an old acquaintance from London, a Glaswegian red-headed accountant.  I recognise him absolutely as being just like him, both the same type, and suddenly I know him so much better.  Of course, the appearance of the two men could not be more different, but they share the same somewhat glazed look in their eyes, they have the same uncertain smile and both speak with a soft but deliberate tone. Their physiques are even alike, as though their flesh has grown upon their character, they are both lean and stringy.  In so many ways they could be brothers.

Meddi the Elephant Man

This phenomenon has happened many times in the past few years with Human Planet and other projects.  I have met a Nepalese porter who is just like my Wiltshire builder, hunted whales in Indonesia with a man much like my uncle Malcolm, met a tribal wife in India who reminds me of a nun from my convent school days and fixed fog nets with a Chilean man who reminds me of Pavarotti!  I’ve begun to seek out the likenesses.  First I recognise something familiar, sometimes instantly, sometimes gradually, then I rifle through the people I know, and have known and try to find the link.  With no visual reference I hold up their characteristics in my mind like a photo, seeking out the person in my nomadic life who I know is just like them, though sometimes they fail to come to mind, like a forgotten tune.  I am still working on Mamadou, but I know I know someone else just like him and I’m sure he won’t be a cattle herder.

I thought I had been to remote places in the past, but this trip proved that there is always somewhere further and more isolated than you think. Two flights, a long drive across politically unstable territory, a choice of a four hour trek through jungle or a three hour trip on a rickety truck.  An experience that we were told (and can confirm) was like your shirt going through a tumble dryer with you still wearing it!  Having trekked for a few hours, it was getting dark and the sound of the truck was music to our ears – or so we thought!  After ten seconds of driving aboard, I instantly regretted it.  It was terrifying.  I lost count of the times I thought it was going to tip over.  Perhaps the chap next to me had the right idea.  Reeking of whiskey, I don’t think he was worried about anything.  Luckily the truck got stuck near the camp and we gladly walked the last twenty minutes by foot.  The truck would later be rescued by our pachyderm friends and brought to its final destination.

Nonetheless we arrived safe and sound in the evening to the camp that would be our home for the next two weeks.  Our fixer had done an impressive job.  We found a selection of individual tents with camp beds, cooking equipment, tables, lights and even power sockets in each one.  Mod cons in the deep jungle.  Not bad at all!

Sumir washing Ramprashad after a hard day's logging

The next day we met some of the elephants for the first time and carried out a recce of the area for filming spots.  I had never been this close to these animals before and was instantly struck by their majestic grace.  Wary of our presence, you could tell they knew something was up. We also had the pleasure of meeting the elephant contractor.  With his penchant for whiskey and the way the others behaved around him, it was clear he wanted to be perceived as the boss.  During our numerous encounters with him, we would find ourselves having to respect his customs and offers of whiskey, whilst listening to his thoughts on what the world would be like without water?!?  On the subject of water, it had started to rain.  Monsoon season was round the corner and the chances of nicely backlit elephants working in harmony were looking slim.

Sumir & Ramprashad (elephant) our protagonists, setting off to work

It was amazing to see how these creatures worked. They can understand up to 65 commands and push heavy logs around as if they were twigs.  Each elephant has its own mahout, a young man who perches atop the elephant and ‘drives’ him. Using commands and pressure with their feet, the mahout can direct, steer and command the elephant at a remarkable pace.  Keeping up with them wasn’t easy and it’s clear that using the elephant is the only way to get the job done.  Ramprashad was our main elephant and he was an impressive size.  Whilst slightly apprehensive of us at first, he soon warmed to us and even let us ride him for a bit.  In fact all the elephants seemed to accept us quite quickly.  At one point I remember standing on a track in a melee of elephants that were trying to push a laden truck up a muddy slope. All I could see was wrinkly skin.  I looked at Robin Cox, our cameraman, (to whom I was tethered).  He was breathing in deeply and arching his back, desperately trying to fit into a gap between the dense jungle face and an elephant’s belly.

Elephants loading up truck at the start of track, to be taken out of the forest

What I found remarkable is the mutual understanding between the mahout and elephant.  The elephant will only work for a few hours and if it doesn’t want to do something it quite simply will not.  The mahout diligently washes and feeds him each day, which strengthens the bond between the two of them.  Each evening the elephant is released into the jungle to roam free. The next day the mahout must look for the animal, which, despite its freedom, won’t have gone far.  The chains go on and the elephant knows it’s back to work, a true example of beast and man working in harmony.  It was a real privilege to see this unique and rare tradition in action.  You’ll get to get to see the reason why we were filming this partnership in 2011. Hopefully we provided a good story for the series!

Ramprashad aligning logs, before they're rolled up onto the truck

Mihali passing camera to Robin Cox (cameraman) to get shots from atop Ramprashad

Well… Life working on “The Human Planet” has been quite revelatory.

Since working on Human Planet I have been repeatedly astounded by images of
human resilience from around the globe…  stunning visuals of men taking casual strolls on seabeds (without breathing apparatus!),
stick fighters, Arctic hunters and rainforest bridge builders have
filled my computer screen daily with inspiration.

As it is my job to score this wonderful 8-part series, I find myself
constantly suspended between disbelief at the possibilities of
environmental adaptation and exhilaration at the prospect of scoring
arguably the most profound documentary narrative ever broadcast.

Creating the musical vocabulary for such disparate programmes is no
easy feat, however.  Besides attempting to musically express the arc
and nuances of each individual episode, it has been my task to also
find a cohesive musical language for the entire series as a whole.
Over the next few months I will be scoring and orchestrating epic
scenes for the National Orchestra of Wales, various specialist
musicians and singers and most importantly attempting to find the soul
of this beautiful tale of human determination.

Dale Templar, series producer, is acting as my guide and mentor over
this period, helping me to navigate my way around the individual needs of directors, the meticulous executive review process and that search
for motifs, ideas and a musical vocabulary worthy of such classic
scenes.

I will be updating you as I go, not only on all of this but also the
ongoing discussions over Human Planet – Live!

Cheers

Nitin

Papua New Guinea has the feel of the Wild West.   Because it’s a mountainous tropical island it doesn’t physically resemble a Spaghetti Western, but the larger than life characters and the ever-present threat of violence make it a frontier.   This could be a set for Clint Eastwood– with a pierced nose.

Marcus Paringu, Andrew Pangian, me and George Fingu

As our small airplane nears its destination—Wewak town– we fly over the mighty Sepik River.  Braided into a wide Delta of graceful interlocking ox bows, this is how rivers used to look hundreds of years ago.   No channels or dams or bridges.  The wildness is just a taste of what is around the corner.

On our descent, we are treated to a breathtaking overview.  Wewak town is in the shadow of Mt. Turu, a 1600-metre high peak covered in dense jungle.   But the real story—the one we have come to film—lies beneath the canopy, where literally hundreds of tribes make their living on the steep mountain slopes.   My burning question is—exactly who have we come all this way to film?

In Papua New Guinea there are over 700 distinct tribes,  in the East Sepik province (which is half the size of Ireland) there are 88 distinct languages spoken.  Around this one single mountain– Mt. Turu– we counted 7 different ethnic groups. In terms of people, this place is wildly diverse.

Marcus Paringu, the bat hunter

This is the home of cannibalism and many say there are still tribes in the mountains that cannibalise each other. As recently the 1970s, four Dutch families were killed and eaten.  Two years after that a priest and his 12 companions were killed.

Possibly more worrying for a BBC film crew, Wewak is famous for cargo cults.  Prior to this trip, I had never heard of such a thing, but evidently during WWII the Japanese and Americans flew a lot of supplies—cargo– to the region. Once the war ended, the cargo stopped coming.  In an attempt to get it back, local tribes evolved religious rituals that mimicked the activities of soldiers, such as wearing “headphones” made of wood and speaking into “radios” woven out of straw.   You’d think they would have got tired of waiting for cargo by now, but evidently not.

When I suggested our original plan to fly to our location using helicopters, the image of us arriving from the sky with dozens of boxes of film equipment filled our local fixer with dread.   “Are you crazy? You cannot come out of the sky carrying boxes of what looks like cargo—that would cause big trouble.”   But, as we are about to find out, “big trouble” is coming anyway, in a different guise.

It starts on our first day.   We had just loaded the vehicles with our filming equipment when the hotel owner enters and announces that a week ago, there was a jail-break in Port Moresby’ maximum security prison.  Twelve of the most notorious criminals in PNG had escaped, including the most notorious of all—William Kapris.  The hotel owner goes on to say that someone has just hijacked a 4×4 vehicle earlier this morning.   Since William Kapris grew up near Wewak, the inference is that Kapris is back and is collecting 4x4s to escape into the mountains.

Two of the best 4×4 vehicles in town are ours– parked in front of the hotel, full of our gear.   We debate our options.   Some are suggesting that a BBC film crew would make a useful bargaining tool for a desperate criminal gang.   Do we keep filming?   Or do we hide in the hotel and watch the armed guards patrol the perimeter, while we put our feet up and drink beer?   The decision falls to me.

I look at the sky which is moody and dark—this is the rainy season, and if we don’t leave now there’s a real chance that the roads will get so muddy that we will never reach our location.   So I say, “let’s go filming, but keep our eyes and ears open.”

Patrick Murray sets up a cable dolly

Of course, the minute we leave the hotel, everyone is a suspect.  That man by the hedge—does he look like a mass murderer?   That boy playing with his football against the wall—is he going to phone Kapris and tell him the 4x4s are on the way?  On the road, the woman with her bag of vegetables—I imagine she is William’s sister who eventually liaises with the international hostage negotiators, saying “Don’t you think a BBC Producer’s life is worth a little more money than that?  Pay up.”

Our visit to the local police is not encouraging.   The Commander in Chief sees the BBC coming, and seizes a press opportunity.   “Everything is under control—we have shoot to kill orders, and we are sure that we will find him and he will die.”   I wanted to tell him, “We don’t care if you catch Kapris or not—we just don’t want us to be shot in some kind of crossfire confusion,” but I bit my lip.

We drive to our location without incident.   At the village we are welcomed by the elders, and by our fascinating hero, Marcus.   Marcus is a Yangoru Boiken hunter, but to the locals, he is a man feared for his magic powers.

To get our gear out to Marcus’ hunting grounds requires 40 some porters.   So the whole village it seems comes under our employ.    Our fixer AJ, who has done this before, makes a clear list of everyone’s names, and what we will pay them.   And we set off.

Townspeople of Wamain Village volunteering to help carry 40 cases of equipment up the mountain

On the way we are told never to stray from the path—not even to pee. Evidently, people from rival tribes will hide in the bushes, and then will leap out and stab you with a syringe filled with the poison of the giant centipedes that live here.   Apparently it’s a very painful death.

Why someone would want to randomly murder you is not made clear. When I ask, the only answer that comes back is “witchcraft”.   In the end I conclude that it is an effective way of controlling us—like telling children ghost stories so they don’t go wandering off at night.

We eventually film our sequence—which is a wonderful gothic tale that has never been filmed before.   Marcus and his fellow hunters try to catch the giant fruit bats that fly over the canopy in the dead of night. How they catch them is ingenious and you can find out the whole story when you watch the mountains episode of Human Planet.

We get to a point in the filming where we need to move locations to a different gap.   It means a change in location, and a change in porters. So we are paying the porters and the trouble starts.   Most people understand that in order to get paid, they need to have put their names on a list when they carried a load for us.   But a few shifty looking men (who none of us had ever seen before) declare that they had worked for us but their names weren’t on the list.   It gets heated.   People are slamming fists, arguing with each other and with us.   I can see the violence escalating.

So we decide to pay everyone double.   And leave quickly.  This puts a huge hole in our finances, but at least no-one has been hurt.

At our new location, there are more fees to be negotiated with the landowner.   And we’re low on cash.   But we make a deal, and begin filming.   Then after about half a day, a man comes crashing through the jungle with a few henchmen wielding machetes.   He declares that we are on his land, and he needs payment, or he will take action.

Marcus hanging up bats away from insects and ants - until he has a moment to cook them

We explain that we have a deal in place with one person who owns the land.   So who is this new guy?  He says, “I am Joseph, tribal chief and the elder brother of the landowner.”  Which makes Joseph a more senior landowner.   And Joseph wasn’t informed about our project, which is against the tribal law.  We immediately halt filming.   We are back at the negotiating table.

Joseph has a remarkable command of legal sounding phrases, like “grievance” and “landowner rights”.   And he wants money—a lot of it. And if we go home now, we can’t finish the film.   Joseph seems to know this—he has a highly intuitive grasp of the art of blackmail.

Throughout the negotiations, I wryly note that Joseph’s younger brother—who we made a deal with in the first place—keeps schtum.  He sees the possibility of more money coming his way, however indirectly. We are stuck, without enough cash to pay up, and with a half shot film.

Eating bats after they've been seared on open flames and boiled with jungle leaves

Then, a few of our porters come over with a suggestion.  They don’t like the blackmail that is going on, and they’ve never liked Joseph.   He does this sort of thing all the time, and keeps all the money to himself.   So they helpfully offer to get Joseph “drunk.”

“Oh that’s a nice gesture,” I say, “but it won’t really solve this predicament, will it?”  They go on to explain that “getting someone drunk” is a euphemism for taking them into the woods and chopping them into bits with machetes.   I can’t contain my horror—“Lord, no, don’t get him drunk! I don’t like the old codger, but that’s going way too far!”

In the end we compromise on a reduced fee for Joseph that pretty much ensures our “end of filming celebration” will be us drinking a round of tap water in the airport lounge.   And Joseph is so pleased that he managed to squeeze more money from us that he invites a bunch of his friends to come watch us film.   Every time he catches my eye, I wince, and it amuses him immensely.  But we get the job done.

On our return journey I catch wind of a radio programme.   It’s an English language call in show, and a voice speaks to the host.  “This is William Kapris.”  I am stunned by the meekness in his voice.  To this day, I have no idea if this is a true story or just a prank, but the man claiming to be Kapris explains that the whole jail- break was organised by the government so that they could execute him on sight.  It seems he knew some things about high-ranking officials that they didn’t want to come out in his trial.   Now he’s on the run—maybe in Wewak—wanted dead or alive.

Like I said, Papua New Guinea is a bit of a frontier, and Wewak town belongs in the Wild West.  Kapris is Jesse James. Joseph is Billy the Kid. And we are just a bunch of Westerners whose pockets were easily emptied.