Time and time again, companies will throw millions of dollars at a famous filmmaker to spend one whole year traveling across biomes and accumulating as much random and narrative-less B-roll as humanly possible to create the most ficklest of beasts—a nature documentary. The thing about nature documentaries—works of art that attempt to showcase the uniqueness of the world that exists outside our walled domiciles—is that they essentially recycle the same footage over and over again, just to get lost in a Netflix sea of look-alikes. “Look at this lion roaring.” “Watch this penguin family dive into the ocean one-by-one.” “Look at this same photo of that one tree all alone in the African savanna with Mount Kilimanjaro towering in the background.” Despite attempting to show viewers the hidden beauty of the natural world, nature documentaries have invariably resorted to rehashing a tired narrative format and slapping David Attenborough’s sultry voice on it to soothe the viewer into thinking what they’re watching is good or—at least—saying something meaningful and interesting. Unfortunately, that is hardly the case. That is what is so refreshing about My Octopus Teacher.

My Octopus Teacher begins with our subject, narrator, and underwater cinematographer—Craig Foster—in his pursuit of meaning in the midst of, what appears to be, a midlife crisis. Set near Cape Town, South Africa, where Craig lives in an idyllic seaside villa, the film follows one man’s daily routine of going snorkeling in the ocean to indulge both his sense of wonder and wandering sense of meaning. Craig soon discovers a skittish octopus, who quickly becomes both the subject of his filming and his close friend, companion, and teacher: showing both Craig and the viewers that “man versus nature” is an unnecessary dichotomy that ignores the interconnectedness of all life.

The first thing I thought upon viewing this film was that it was, ultimately, a story about observation, regeneration, and survival—aside from the obvious themes about the interconnectedness of nature and the cycle of life. In the middle of the film—during one of the major emotional apexes—the octopus gets swarmed by sharks, and despite hiding in a crevice, the octopus is unable to conceal its full body, and a shark bites off one of her arms. While this scene is intense, striking, and beautiful, the plot was not what fascinated me the most; Craig, who grew to love and connect with this octopus, just videotaped this attack, in spite of his growing anxiety and fear of harm for his cephalopod companion. There’s a clear internal struggle going on within Craig regarding his admiration for the octopus and admission of knowing the importance of not interfering with nature’s order. His knee-jerk reaction, he admitted, would be to intervene and save the octopus, but he acknowledged the negative effects that might have on the food chain and cycle of life. This is the type of introspection that I applaud from My Octopus Teacher. It differentiates itself from all the other nature documentaries by underscoring larger issues about how we interact with the natural world while simultaneously being a part of it, asking the challenging questions about preservation and human interference.

After 100 days, the arm fully regrows, as well as the octopus’ shattered confidence. While Craig wanted to step in and help the octopus—both during and after the attack—allowing nature to run its course gave him the opportunity to observe and witness the regenerative quality of life, both physically and emotionally: something that every human being can learn and reflect on. My Octopus Teacher teaches its viewers about the power in observing nature. Sometimes, observation can be the most effective method to find meaning in life and connect with the natural world around us, consciously resisting the urge to step in and assert yourself. Craig says that people scolded and questioned him for going to the same place every day and doing the same thing over and over, but he stresses that that’s how he’s able to see the subtle differences in the world and truly understand the wild. The octopus, he said, “was teaching [him] to become sensitized to the other.” Repetition of observation allowed Craig to better understand the inner workings of nature and helped him reach the conclusion that “[he’s] part of this place, not a visitor.” 

Ultimately, Craig Foster’s story is that of a knight-errant—a story about someone learning their ultimate meaning in life through wandering, observing, and finding all of life’s little kernels that are so often missed by an overactive mind, something that truly sets it apart from the other nature documentaries. The only big critique I have about the film is that it didn’t have David Attenborough’s sugary tone whispering in my ear. Instead, it had Craig—a rather bland storyteller who couldn’t relay an emotion if his life depended on it. At the very least, his lack of personality nicely contrasted the life and excitement that the octopus possessed. So, perhaps, his boring demeanor did the film a service.

I will leave you with this, dear reader: nothing in the world—no plant, no animal, no aquatic invertebrate—is too small or insignificant to learn something from. This was refreshing to watch; it attempted to say something about nature and how humans interact with it. Next time you’re itching to watch a nature documentary—presumably when you smoke weed next—make a conscious effort to scroll past Life on Our Planet, Our Planet, Our Planet II, Our Oceans, Our Universe, and Our Living World (just to name a few) and find My Octopus Teacher. Let it catch your eye and pique your sense of wonder.