Review: David Attenborough's Africa

David Attenborough's latest series shows we're not so different from the beasts.

The BBC have impeccable timing; just as the nation prepares for the onset of a case of January Blues, national treasure David Attenborough arrives on our screens, bringing with him a glorious display of animals and nature both industrious and wild.

Africa is a six-part series exploring the wildlife of the rich continent housing vast rainforest, savannah and desert. As well as being educational, last night’s series opener captured some amusing comparisons between us and our wilder counterparts. We share the same instincts of survival and the quest for love, as well as some remarkably similar social reactions.

Belligerent alpha male giraffes sparring in a Western-style showdown made for gripping viewing, with the upper hand changing unpredictably; an unnerving reflection of our society where two testosterone-fuelled youngsters might lock horns over a lady rather than a watering hole.

The featured Golden Wheel Spider epitomises most humans’ natural instinct in times of danger. After numerous attacks (by a wasp of all things) the arachnid cuts his losses and does what any self-respecting being would do: he curls up in a ball and cartwheels down the sand dune to safety.

The interplay between the Black Rhinos was at first extraordinarily intimate, using the latest photographic technology to capture never-before seen night-time interactions. This, however, quickly descends into something comical. We witness one Lothario trying his luck with an unsuspecting female, who at first seems open to the idea of cavorting in the dark - but upon her suitor’s below average performance, she pretends to be asleep. As David Attenborough points out, 'a girl can only put up with so much'.

It is unsurprising that this masterpiece took more than four years to shoot, so intricate are sequences like the Pompilid Wasp foraging for water in the expanse of the Kalahari Desert. As ever, Attenborough’s familiar, soothing and gently enriching narration aids Africa's intrigue. Menial, routine activities such as stalking prey and caring for young become fascinating and frequently amusing. The understanding of nature he has after 60 years is unrivalled, and his passion is endlessly apparent.

Majestic and enlightening, with quirky editing and some astounding shots, the series brings to light new creatures and explores new sides to those which are so familiar. David Attenborough told the New Statesman in 2011, “If you remove the licence fee, it would be gone in a decade”. As long as programs like Africa continue to be made, the fee is worth every penny.

Read the New Statesman's latest interview with David Attenborough here.

Black Rhinos. Photograph: Getty Images
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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt