Timothy Morton theorises that ecology is about “collapsing distances between human and animal, society and natural environment, subject and object,” expanding on Felix Guattari’s argument that environmental issues must be dealt with from an ethico-political articulation, considering environment, social relations, and human experience [1] Such perspectives abide by the notion of ecology without nature, avoiding reference to ‘nature’ as a social construct; a fantasy of the human mind that implements the distance between the human being and the environment.[2] Hence, this essay will abstain from using the term, instead referring to specific landscapes to recognise the key role they play both onscreen and in real-life. This ideal will be explored through an analysis of Free Solo (2017) and Fire of Love (2022), both of which are feature-length Academy Award winning documentaries associated with National Geographic. Not only cohesive in their production contexts, but also in their themes of love, both between two humans and between human and landscape; love triangles which provide a framework for understanding ecology in the Anthropocene. Hence, beginning with a close analysis of the chosen texts utilising Bill Nichol’s Introduction to Documentary, the modes of representation, characterisation and narratives employed within Free Solo and Fire of Love will be compared and contrasted to explore how these documentaries engage with eco-philosophy. This analysis will be indite literature by, but not limited to, Donna Haraway, Martin Lefebvre and Rie Karatsue to articulate how these films depict the landscapes as metaphors for understanding human relationships.

Released in 2017, Free Solo is a feature-length documentary following Alex Honnold as he sets out to free solo climb El Capitan, a 3200ft vertical rock formation located in Yosemite National Park, California.[3] Directors Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin profile Alex as he prepares to ascend the monolith via a route called Freerider, with no ropes or protection equipment. The documentary adheres to a conventional narrative structure: beginning by establishing a problem (Alex’s burning desire to free solo climb El Cap), prior to conveying ‘something of the background to the issue’ (Alex’s childhood and rock-climbing career thus far) and examining the issue’s severity or complexity (how Alex will achieve the climb and how the camera crew will capture the feat).[4] This two-year journey is charted through a series of interviews, archival content as well as footage captured during Alex’s climb; thus, the film demonstrates hybridity in genre as both a participatory and reflexive documentary. A participatory documentary is defined by Nichols in the following manner:

“Filmmakers do interact with their subjects rather than unobtrusively observe them. Questions grow into interviews or conversations; involvements grows into a pattern of collaboration or confrontation.’[5]  

Although documentaries seek to portray real-life subjects, the construction of the film during the post-production process fictionalises the events depicted to a certain extent. Nichols theorises that “the presentation of self in everyday life involves how a person goes about expressing his or her personality, character and individual traits rather than suppressing them to adopt an assigned role”.[6] Hence, the scenes in which Alex directly addresses the camera, and thus the audience, demonstrate his playing or presenting of himself. Along with this, Honnold often provides his own voiceover, rendering the film autobiographical and serving as a personal diary. He candidly speaks of his childhood and how growing up within a non-affectionate family caused him to form an emotional bond with the environment via rock climbing, driven by a lack of self-worth and fuelled by a stubborn desire to prove himself. Handheld camerawork highlights the impromptu nature of these conversations, captured within the van which Honnold lives. His persona is evident of a toxic masculinity that desires superiority and dominance, determined to conquer the landscape despite the injuries he suffers whilst trying to do so; a stubborn dedication that interferes and hinders his platonic and romantic relationships, particularly with new girlfriend Sanni McCandless. Honnold states, “Each day, there is a chance you might die. And there’s nothing wrong with that,” actively presenting himself as unemotional and lacking in compassion.[7] Thus, Free Solo is driven by a narrative centring on the tension between Honnold’s relationship with McCandless and Honnold’s relationship with El Capitan. However, his nomadic lifestyle, vegetarianism, and non-profit foundation tackling poverty, demonstrate his capability for love and attachment, albeit in unconventional form. Honnold’s passiveness towards death may indicate a submission to the landscape; a recognition of El Capitan as a symbol of the landscape’s immortality whilst simultaneously rejecting articulations of the Anthropocene. Popularised by scientists Paul Crutzen and Eugene Stoermer, Anthropocene refers to ‘a proposed geological epoch aimed at indicating the transformative impact of human beings on the planet’s ecosystem.’[8] Hence, Honnold’s choice to prioritise his ambitions demonstrates a respect for the natural world as a contingent being; an ambivalence towards the anthropocentric distinction between human and environment. As a result, Free Solo aligns with Timothy Morton’s concept of deep ecology, an environmental movement and philosophy which regards human life as just one of many equal components of a global ecosystem; “insisting that humans are a viral supplement to an organic whole.”[9]

Furthermore, Nichols theorises the reflexive mode as an “intensified level of reflection on what representing the world involves”, constituted by “the filmmaker’s engagement with us, speaking not only about the historical world but also about the problems and issues of representing it.”[10] The reflexive nature of Free Solo is evident, for example, in interviews with co-director Jimmy Chin, who employs direct address to discuss the logistics of capturing footage whilst rock climbing, the ethical dilemma of profiling such a dangerous feat, and his feelings towards witnessing a close friend risk their life. The inclusion of candid conversations demonstrates the documentary’s relevance, not only as an asset of ecological cinema, but also as a reflection of the current socio-political climate. Chin incites discourse surrounding the proliferation of ‘easily accessible and available on demand’ screen violence, exacerbated by video-sharing platforms and social media sites such as YouTube, Twitter and TikTok.[11] An influx of studies within the past decade indicates growing concerns about the impact of violent media on viewers, of which Chin presents a personal incarnation through ‘the lived experience of actual people that we happen to witness’; questioning the voyeuristic nature of film-viewing and why audiences readily consume media that is prone to displaying human injury and death.[12] The multi-camera shooting set-up incites such glorification, injecting the film with a hyperreal, instantaneous feel, with match-on-action cutting and high-angle shots reminiscent of Tom Cruise’s iconic plane stunt in the fifth instalment of the Mission Impossible franchise.[13] Like thriller films of this calibre, the stakes are high and microscopically zoomed close-ups capture shaky footage of Honnold’s feet and hands – aptly representing the fragility of the situation.

However, whilst sensationalising Honnold’s achievement, the cinematography also reflects the film’s marketability and audience appeal. Produced and distributed by National Geographic Documentary Films, the film received a budget of $2 million, eventually winning Best Documentary Feature at the 91st Academy Awards. The use of long-focus lenses ensure the cinematography is heterogenous, providing a myriad of perspectives to prevent the climbing scenes from becoming visually repetitive, maintaining engagement even from viewers possessing no prior interest in free soloing. Meanwhile, the generous budget allowed for the use of IMAX cameras capturing wide angles and birds-eye view shots emphasising the vastness of the rock face in comparison to Honnold’s tiny figure during his climb (Appendix A). These shots liken his figure to that of an ant, an example of zoomorphic realism that echoes Jacob von Uexküll’s concept of Umwelt, in which “both the organism and its surrounding objects assume their identities in their formative relations to one another.”[14] Aligning with discourse surrounding screen violence and incarnations of the Umwelt as typically found in creaturely cinema, allowing for the recognition of living bodies as vulnerable and perishable, the documentary raises ethical questions regarding the depiction of non-human animal deaths on screen and whether these bear the same weight as human deaths. Raising such moral questions about the viewer’s relationship to the environment, the expansive frame, governed by a 1.43:1 aspect ratio, serves to remove “another layer of separation and reveals with more clarity how utterly terrifying the climb is.”[15]  Although his writing focuses on fiction films, Martin Lefebvre’s work provides a useful framework for exploring these ideas, including his understanding of the cinematic landscape as a powerful mode of representation “in support of plot and realism”.[16] In Free Solo, El Capitan is forged as a backdrop for exploring the human psyche and the meaning of love. The film depicts “a ‘dialogue’ between the actor and the rockface in which the representation of space is of equal if not greater significance than the presence of the human figure.”[17] For example, this dialogue is evident in the close-up shots that frame Alex fingers and feet as they grip the rockface, demonstrating a trust with the landscape that overrides his fear of death (Appendix B). Meanwhile, the wide shots tracking Alex as he ascends El Capitan showcase the methodical and rigorously planned route; a dance routine choreographed by the landscape. Chin and Vasarhelyi thus seek to actively subvert anthropogenic ideology through the cinematography, demonstrating a visual collapse in the separation between human and landscape, highlighting El Capitan as an “incredible geological form, countless millennia in the making, reduces to insignificance the physical and temporal scales by which humans exist” and Honnold’s deep understanding of this entity; providing a model for how humans and landscapes should exist alongside one another.[18]

Fire of Love is an independent documentary written and directed by Sara Dosa, chronicling the lives and work of French volcanologists, Katia and Maurice Krafft, who died in a pyroclastic flow caused by the 1991 Mount Unzen eruption in Japan.[19] Unlike Free Solo, which adheres to the documentary genre’s conventional form of organisation, Fire of Love avoids presenting a narrative dilemma and dramatizing the events by, instead, embodying the visual format of a home video recording; depicting a love triangle between Maurice, Katia, and the volcanoes they study. Dosa draws largely upon archival footage to tell this tragic love story, conforming to Nichols’ definition of the poetic and expository modes: ‘The filmmaker gathers the necessary raw materials and then fashions a meditation, perspective, or proposal from them’.[20] The raw materials in Dosa’s case were photographs and 16mm footage shot by the Kraffts, as well as “etched illustrations from nineteenth-century books and original animation sequences, which tie together the tropes of geology, travel, and volcanic activity.”[21] In order to piece such elements together, editors Erin Casper and Jocelyne Chaput employ montage editing, collage-like transitions and “temporal and spatial leaps of logic” to craft a hand-stitched visual love letter to the Kraffts and the landscapes they dedicated their lives to.[22] Anchored by performance artist Miranda July’s whimsical narration of the film, which provides a ‘voice-of-God’ commentary directly addressing the viewer, the film abstains from including talking heads; keeping focus on the beauty of the volcanic image. The film begins and ends on the day of the Krafft’s death, 3rd June 1991, signifying the end of their story with “a shot of their final volcano erupting, as captured by a camera abandoned by a fleeing journalist.”[23] The non-linear narrative and experimental style of Fire of Love – inspired by the French New Wave – ultimately presents a stark contrast to the polished style of narrative-driven Free Solo as a big budget National Geographic production. The expansive frame seen in Free Solo stands in contention with the tight framing of Fire of Love, which was largely shot by Maurice on 16mm film. The reduced aspect ratio and tight framing of the moving-image function as a window gazing upon the mythologised lives of Maurice and Katia Krafft, their passion and love articulated through volcano imagery – they were married to each other and married to volcanoes. The selection and combination of archival footage and voiceover echoes the belief that personal and intimate filmmaking of this manner “provides a means of self-expression for women to whom other avenues were closed”.[24] As a result, linking this back to Nichols’ understanding of the poetic mode as “visual and acoustic rhythms, patterns”, the mediation that evolves from Dosa’s avant-garde construction of the film employs memory and nostalgia to present the landscape as an avenue of self-expression and comprehension of human emotion; the volcano as a mainstay of collective memory.[25] The film envisions “still possible pasts, presents, and futures” in which human and landscape co-exist harmoniously.[26]

As a documentary largely created by women, Fire of Love possesses an inherently feminine voice demonstrating an intrinsic link between feminism and ecology (ecofeminism). The casting of multi-media artist and activist July as the documentary’s narrator is particularly notable, given her involvement in the riot grrrl scene, a subcultural movement that emerged in the United States in 1990 combining feminism with politics and punk music. Her project Joanie 4 Jackie harnessed the commitment within second wave feminism to ‘collaborative art and media-making practice between women’ and she strived to make ‘the work of established women artists and filmmakers more universally available, especially to young women.’[27] Although Rie Karatsu discusses feminist filmmaking and environmentalism in relation to Naomi Kawase’s films, her ideas are applicable to Fire of Love. Set in Japan, Mourning Forest engages with cultural mythologies of the forest to represent the landscape as a boundless space for humans to find themselves and forge connections with others. The film’s narrative follows Shigeki, an elderly man suffering from dementia and grieving for his late wife, who strikes up an unlikely friendship with Nurse Machiko, who is grieving the loss of her child. On a day trip from the care home in which they reside and work, the pair find themselves lost in a forest as they seek the grave of Shigeki’s deceased spouse.[28] Thom van Dooren posits grief as a way of understanding our connection to the natural world as “it is not just human people who mourn the loss of loved ones, of place, of lifeways; other beings mourn as well.”[29] Similarly, Dosa deals with the themes of death and love through an engagement with Japanese mythologies of volcanoes:

“The relation between volcanoes and love has a long history in Japan, as hundreds of lovers and spurned lovers have leapt to their deaths in the fiery depths of Mount Mihara for centuries.”[30]

Dosa combines such cultural understandings with the “myth-making that the Kraffts themselves were engaged in”, including the speculation surrounding the circumstances of their first meeting.[31] All that is known is they bonded over their love of Etna and Stromboli. This demonstrates adherence to the narrative archetype of ‘star-crossed lovers’, a term coined in the prologue of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet referring to two characters who are destined to meet; the inevitability of their meeting and the outcome of their relationship as doomed to end in tragedy. For example, a cameraman filming Maurice on the day of his death says, “The volcano is ready, waiting for us” demonstrates an engagement with such mystification. Hence, from the beginning, Dosa constructs a story in which the Kraffts are destined to die in the Mount Unzen eruption, a sacrifice that needed to happen in order for humans to appreciate and fathom the power of the volcanic landscape. Considering van Dooren’s ideas, the Kraffts’ death demonstrates “how the world has changed, and how we must ourselves change and renew our relationships if we are to move forward from here.”[32] The romanticisation of this tragedy not only celebrates love, but affirms it, rendering the volcanologists’ burning passion a framework for thinking about human ecology. Whilst Free Solo depicts death as associated with trepidation, Fire of Love articulates dying as a natural aspect of life. The recurring use of the ‘unknown’ as a verbal motif suggest humans fear death in the same manner as volcanoes, they constitute entities the human mind cannot entirely comprehend.

Miranda July’s description of “Katia as a bird and Maurice as an elephant seal” evidences the film’s engagement with zoomorphic realism, whilst Maurice’s videography provides the landscape with its own agency; an example of anthropomorphic representation.[33] Still shots depict different forms of vulcanicity, such as molten lava bursts, ash fallout and pyroclastic flows, in both a wide and close-up capacity, representing the landscape as a dynamic entity with its own behaviour and routines (Appendix C); inviting the viewer to gaze upon and observe volcanoes as they do other humans.[34] Dosa’s film depicts an intense relationship to the volcanoes, between filmmaker and subject, and encourages the same connection between audience and subject. In Animal Life and the Moving Image, Georgina Evans theorises that “film offers a dissolution and reimagining of the spectator’s self” that constitutes a “contemporary loss of ego.”[35] The inclusion of these shots encourage the viewer to form a sympathetic relation with the volcanic subjects and hence bears resemblance to Microcosmos, which seeks to depict insects in the same manner as human actors and characters.[36] For example, a montage of the creatures cleaning themselves suggest that non-human animals begin their day in the same way humans do; the lack of explicatory commentary allows the film to avoid dramatization and the false construction of action to ‘reveal the everyday.’[37] In doing so, Microcosmos directors Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou encourage an emotional identification with the animal subjects, criticising the use of the term ‘documentary’ due to its disenchanted connotations and instead opting for the term ‘poetic drama.’[38] Although Fire of Love employs commentary, the absence of interviews, montage editing and July’s introspective narration subvert the typical tropes of films about the natural world. For example, July describes how the ‘breath of the volcano changes’ prior to an eruption, embodying the style of poetic drama and encouraging alignment with the volcanic landscapes through personification. And, during a rare occurrence in which Maurice directly addresses the viewer, he states: “You can’t classify a volcano. Each has a unique personality.”[39]

These instances of anthropomorphisation are supported by the documentary’s opening credits, which credits several volcanoes as starring in the film including Mauna Loa, Nyiragongo, Krafla and St. Helens. Mount St. Helens in Skamania County, Washington erupted in 1980, constituting a series of volcanic explosions and pyroclastic flows that were captured on film by Katia and Maurice Krafft. The eruption caused approximately 57 casualties, including the death of their volcanologist friend David A. Johnston. However, despite the role volcanism played in the death of the Kraffts and their peers, the opening credits demonstrate the film aligning volcanoes with humans, immediately rejecting interpretations and previous representations of volcanoes as villainous entities prone to destruction. Furthermore, the film’s marketing included a poster depicting a singular image of a lava burst, void of human imagery and involvement. Hence, through the film’s depiction of the planet in action, Sara Dosa proposes a vision of the Chthulucene. For example, the film includes a soundbite of Katia saying, “Volcanoes must destroy to create, but must this unruly cycle take human life?”, posing the question of how humans can exist peacefully alongside the natural world. Haraway considers the Chthulucene a “needed third story” providing hope and optimism through “ongoing multispecies stories, and practices of becoming-with in times that remain at stake, in precarious times, in which the world is not finished and the sky has not fallen – yet.”[40] In establishing this definition, Haraway negates the use of the terms Anthropocene and Capitalocene as they “lend themselves too readily to cynicism”. Dosa articulates this argument through the inclusion of footage from the aftermath of the Nevado del Ruiz stratovolcano eruption in Columbia during November 1985. The eruption caused lahars (mudflows) that swept through the nearby town of Armero, killing approximately 22000 people, and causing “the second-deadliest volcanic disaster of the 20th century.”[41] July’s commentary, utilising the Kraffts’ own writings, describes how they warned the populace about the eruption days before it happened but were ignored by authorities. The documentary thereby posits the event as a foreseeable tragedy exacerbated by human error,

rejecting cynicism that seeks to misrepresent volcanic landscapes as malign; instead establishing volcanoes as functioning by necessity, not evil. They are not to be feared as long as the human population is educated on their behaviour. Jenna Kamrass Morvay theorises: “Even though the consequences of these educations include death and difficulties (…) offers hope for learning to move away from the world as it is, to a world that might be.”[42] Although Fire of Love may not be a film explicitly about climate change, Dosa’s direction consistently engages with such ideas to envision a world where humans accept and recognise the all-powerful existence of volcanoes; seek to understand and study the natural world rather than conquer it, as Alex Honnold does through his climb in Free Solo. Here, “human beings are with and of the Earth, and the biotic and abiotic powers of this Earth are the main story.”[43]

To conclude, Free Solo and Fire of Love offer two distinct frameworks for understanding relationships between human and landscape, albeit both media texts employ similar themes of death and love to do so. Free Solo primarily focuses on human achievement as Honnold navigates a new romantic relationship and rock climbing as mutually exclusive entities, a love triangle between man, woman, and landscape. In line with this Morton and Uexküll, this presents an anthropogenic depiction of man vs. landscape, likening Honnold to a non-human animal whilst also representing landscapes as opportunity for exploration of the human psyche. In comparison, Fire of Love engages with ecofeminism to explore the wider implications of the Kraffts’ work, translating a romantic love and burning passion for studying volcanoes into an exemplary desire for humans to understand and co-exist with the natural world. Sara Dosa’s intimate depiction of two star-crossed lovers tragically killed by a volcanic entity is encoded with a feminine sensibility that ultimately envisions Haraway’s Chthulucene through an anthropomorphic recognition of the omnipotent natural world.

Appendix A

A still taken from Free Solo (2018), directed by Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, evidencing the use of wide shots. Source: Disney+.

Appendix B

A still taken from Free Solo (2018), directed by Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, evidencing the use of extreme close-up shots. Source: Disney+.

Appendix C

A still taken from Fire of Love (2022), directed by Sara Dosa, evidencing the use of still shots to anthropomorphise the volcanic landscape. Source: Disney+.

Bibliography

Antrim, Taylor. “Fire of Love is the Date-Night Documentary We Need Now.” Vogue, July 6, 2022. https://www.vogue.com/article/fire-of-love-documentary-review.

Augliere, Bethany. “Benchmarks: November 13, 1985: Nevado del Ruiz eruption triggers deadly lahars.” EARTH, October 20, 2016. https://www.earthmagazine.org/article/benchmarks-november-13-1985-nevado-del-ruiz-eruption-triggers-deadly-lahars/.

Cook, Pam. “The point of self-expression in avant-garde film.” In Theories of Authorship, edited by John Caughie. London: Routledge, 1981.

Evans, Georgina. “A Cut or a Dissolve? Insects and Identification in Microcosmos.” In Animal Life and the Moving Image, edited by Laura McMahon and Michael Lawrence (London: BFI, 2015); 108.

Gandy, Matthew “The Cinematic Void: Desert Iconographies in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point.” In Landscape and Film, edited by Martin Lefebvre. London; New York: Routledge, 2006.

Guattari, Félix. The Three Ecologies. London, Continuum, 2008.

Hale, Michael. “Free Solo.” Sight & Sound (January/February 2019).

Haraway, Donna. “Tentacular Thinking: Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene.” In Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. New York: Duke University Press: 2016.

Hicks, Luke. “’Free Solo’ in IMAX: Thinking Twice About the Social Implications of Alex Honnold’s Death-defying Climb.” Accessed April 25, 2023. https://nonfics.com/free-solo-imax-review/.

Hoffman, Alison. “The Persistence of (Political) Feelings and Hand-Touch Sensibilities.” In There She Goes: Feminist Filmmaking and Beyond, edited by Corinn Columpar and Sophie Mayer. Detroit: Wayne State University Press: 2009.

Lefebvre, Martin. “On Landscape and Narrative Cinema.” Canadian Journal of Film Studies 20, no. 1 (Spring 2011): 61-78.

Morton, Timothy. “Imagining Ecology without Nature.” In Ecology without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Harvard: Harvard University Press, 2009.

Morvay, Jenna Kamrass. “Learning response-ability: What the Broken Earth can teach about crafting a Chthulucene.” Journal of Curriculum and Pedagogy 18, no. 2 (2021), 154-167.

Nichols, Bill. Introduction to Documentary, Third Edition. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2017.

Pick, Anat. “Animal Life in the Cinematic Umwelt.” In Animal Life and the Moving Image, edited by Laura McMahon and Michael Lawrence. London: BFI, 2015.

Rose, Deborah. “Keeping faith with death: mourning and de-extinction.” Thom van Dooren, November 2, 2013. https://www.thomvandooren.org/2013/11/02/keeping-faith-with-death-mourning-and-de-extinction/.

The Lancet, “Screen Violence: a real threat to mental health in children and adolescents” The Lancet Regional Health – Americas 19 (March 2023).

Wei-Haas, Maya. “Volcanoes, explained.” National Geographic. Last modified January 15, 2018. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/article/volcanoes.

Zottola, Angela and Claudio de Majo. “The Anthropocene: genesis of a term and popularisation in the press.” Text & Talk 42, no. 4 (February 2022).

Filmography

Dosa, Sara. Fire of Love. USA; Canada: National Geographic Documentary Films, 2022.

Kawase, Naomi. The Mourning Forest. Japan: NHK, 2007.

McQuarrie, Christopher. Mission Impossible – Rogue Nation. USA: Paramount Pictures, 2015.

Nuridsany, Claude and Marie Pérennou. Microcosmos. France: Guild Pathé Cinema, 1996.

Vasarhelyi, Elizabeth Chai and Jimmy Chin. Free Solo. USA, National Geographic Documentary Films, 2018.

[1] Timothy Morton, ‘Imagining Ecology without Nature,’ in Ecology without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 2009); 154.

[2] Félix Guattari, The Three Ecologies (London, Continuum, 2008).

[3] Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, Free Solo (USA, National Geographic Documentary Films, 2018).

[4] Bill Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, Third Edition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2017); 15.

[5] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 137-138.

[6] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 6.

[7] Free Solo, directed by Elizabeth Chin Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin (USA: National Geographic Documentary Films, 2018).

[8] Angela Zottola and Claudio de Majo, “The Anthropocene: genesis of a term and popularisation in the press,” Text & Talk 42, no. 4 (February 2022): 453-454.

[9] Morton, ‘Ecology without Nature’, 195.

[10] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 125.

[11] The Lancet, “Screen Violence: a real threat to mental health in children and adolescents,” The Lancet Regional Health – Americas 19 (March 2023) https://doi.org/10.1016/j.lana.2023.100473

[12] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 35.

[13] Mission Impossible – Rogue Nation, directed by Christopher McQuarrie (USA: Paramount Pictures, 2015).

[14] Anat Pick, “Animal Life in the Cinematic Umwelt” in Animal Life and the Moving Image, ed. Laura McMahon and Michael Lawrence (London: BFI, 2015).

[15] Luke Hicks, “’Free Solo’ in IMAX: Thinking Twice About the Social Implications of Alex Honnold’s Death-defying Climb”, Nonfics, accessed 25 April, 2023. https://nonfics.com/free-solo-imax-review/.

[16] Martin Lefebvre, “On Landscape and Narrative Cinema,” Canadian Journal of Film Studies 20, no. 1 (Spring 2011): 62.

[17] Matthew Gandy, “The Cinematic Void: Desert Iconographies in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point” in Landscape and Film, ed. Martin Lefebvre (London; New York: Routledge, 2006); 316.

[18] Michael Hale, “Free Solo,” Sight & Sound (January/February 2019); 103.

[19] Fire of Love, directed by Sara Dosa (USA; Canada: National Geographic Documentary Films, 2022).

[20] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 132.

[21] Catherine Russell, “Fire of Love,” Cineaste 47, no. 4 (Fall 2022); 47.

[22] Russell, “Fire of Love”, 47.

[23] Russell, “Fire of Love”, 47.

[24] Pam Cook, “The point of self-expression in avant-garde film” in Theories of Authorship, ed. by John Caughie (London: Routledge, 1981); 272.

[25] Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 150.

[26] Donna Haraway, “Tentacular Thinking: Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene” in Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Duke University Press: 2016); 57.

[27] Alison Hoffman, “The Persistence of (Political) Feelings and Hand-Touch Sensibilities” in There She Goes: Feminist Filmmaking and Beyond, ed. Corinn Columpar and Sophie Mayer (Wayne State University Press: 2009); 23-24

[28] Mourning Forest, directed by Naomi Kawase (Japan: NHK, 2007).

[29] Donna Haraway, “Tentacular Thinking”, 38.

[30] Russell, “Fire of Love”, 47.

[31] Taylor Antrim, “Fire of Love is the Date-Night Documentary We Need Now.” Vogue, July 6, 2022. https://www.vogue.com/article/fire-of-love-documentary-review.

[32] Deborah Rose, “Keeping faith with death: mourning and de-extinction” Thom van Dooren, accessed 25 April 2023. https://www.thomvandooren.org/2013/11/02/keeping-faith-with-death-mourning-and-de-extinction/.

[33] Russell, “Fire of Love”, 47.

[34] Maya Wei-Haas, “Volcanoes, explained”, National Geographic, last modified January 15, 2018. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/article/volcanoes.

[35] Georgina Evans, “A Cut or a Dissolve? Insects and Identification in Microcosmos” in Animal Life and the Moving Image, ed. Laura McMahon and Michael Lawrence (London: BFI, 2015); 108.

[36] Microcosmos, directed by Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou (France: Guild Pathé Cinema, 1996).

[37] Evans, “A Cut or a Dissolve?”, 111-113.

[38] Evans, “A Cut or a Dissolve?”, 111.

[39] Fire of Love, 2022.

[40] Haraway, “Tentacular Thinking”, 55.

[41] Bethany Augliere, “Benchmarks: November 13, 1985: Nevado del Ruiz eruption triggers deadly lahars” EARTH, October 20, 2016. https://www.earthmagazine.org/article/benchmarks-november-13-1985-nevado-del-ruiz-eruption-triggers-deadly-lahars/.

[42] Jenna Kamrass Morvay, “Learning response-ability: What the Broken Earth can teach about crafting a Chthulucene,” Journal of Curriculum and Pedagogy 18, no. 2 (2021): 154.

[43] Haraway, “Tentacular Thinking”, 55.