Ari Mark, co-founder of US indie Ample Entertainment, discusses the making of Netflix’s new natural history series Kangaroo Valley, and the challenges of natural history filmmaking in a post-Covid, economically challenging era.

Kangaroo Valley aims for a serious tone but with a certain lightness

How did Ample Entertainment get started in the natural history genre?
At Ample, we’re trying to be in as many genres as possible, so we sat down and were talking about different areas of content that we’re not in that we want to be in. Mostly that’s to flex creative muscles and identify new business opportunities. The natural history space was interesting to us because it matched the two principles we try to build the company on: quality and ‘does it matter?’ On the quality side, for blue chip natural history there is a really high bar, so we know automatically it’s going to play into our cinematic sensibilities. For the ‘does it matter?’, I think natural history programming matters now more than ever and audiences are starting to come to understand that.

Tell us about the origins of this project, Kangaroo Valley?
We met a woman called Kylie Stott, who comes out of the [David] Attenborough camp, and she had recently moved to the US. We told her we wanted to start this division and it turns out she’s an incredible triple threat in that she is someone who has a keen development mind, hustles a lot with real sales energy and has a deep and genuine education in the natural history world. It’s not the sort of genre where you can just figure it out – you have to know your stuff because there are real lives at stake, frankly. You’re dealing with actual nature and living things.

Kylie [now senior VP development at Ample] is from Australia and when we got into programming ideas with her I did say, ‘I know you’re going to hate this idea, and it seems like such low-hanging fruit, but has anybody ever done a kangaroo natural history project?’ They’re very expressive and it’s an animal that really travels as far as literature and popular culture is concerned – it’s a beloved creature. It felt like something we should at least explore.

Ari Mark

To become a new player in the natural history space you have to distinguish yourself, you can’t just come in and do what everybody else is doing. There are vendors who specialise in fantastic, beautiful, very well produced natural history content, so why do you need us? Just the fact we’re American isn’t enough, much as we like to think it is as Americans. Using narrative elements in natural history doesn’t sound new – because, of course, there are narrative elements in everything – but taking some of the more familiar storytelling elements and applying them to the real non-fiction natural world, the collision of those two things with a blue-chip approach, a celebrity presence as narrator and a Hollywood screenwriter suddenly starts to feel like a recipe for newness.

It’s not necessarily about reinventing natural history, because that’s a tall order and these things take time, but to be able to take some of those baby steps and feel like we’re evolving the genre – from the narrative, the music with Sia, the writing – is very rewarding.

With the proliferation of natural history programming and its long history, I would imagine it’s difficult to capture new behaviour on film. So, is the way to move it on and distinguish yourself in the genre now all about new approaches, narrative arcs and tech rather than trying to capture an animal behaving as never seen before?
We did actually capture some new behaviour in this series, and we were extremely excited to get it. But you’re right, relying on capturing new behaviour, and assuming that’s going to be enough to carry it if you do, is probably a no. I would put it up there with any other genre, especially in the US. We’re not out there pitching straight factual content. It’s not enough to have something just be told as a straight linear story. We actually need to bring this other way in, another layer, or frame something in a new light for us to get it off the ground in the first place. Whether that’s point of view, framing or new technology, ideally you’re bringing all of those things to the table because these are not easy investments for networks to make so if they are investing it’s in something that feels special.

We’re bringing new technology, we’re capturing new behaviour, but on top of that we’re suggesting here’s a narrative approach to a space that doesn’t typically co-exist with that. It has put us more on the radar of natural history buyers.

Does going down a more narrative arc, character-driven route risk dumbing it down?
Dumbing it down is not really an option; the tone has to feel sophisticated. If you’re going to have a point of view or approach that’s blue-chip, big and expansive and makes the world gorgeous, you’re going to need to have it coupled with a tone that is serious. There is a lot of lightness in this film – and natural history would benefit from some more lightness in my view – but by ‘lightness’ I don’t in anyway mean jokey.

How do you introduce climate change into these series without turning the audience and commissioners off?
It’s so ever-present in all of the natural world that it’s hard to avoid. If you find yourself going out of your way to avoid it then that’s a problem, it should be embraced. The TV producer part of me says the changing natural landscape is great for stakes and stories, and the human side of me knows this matters and time is running out. Addressing it head-on and saying, ‘This is disappearing and won’t be here tomorrow’ risks turning people off. But having it presented in an organic way, baked into the narrative – why the hell is there a snow storm in Kangaroo valley? – the audience is savvy enough to put the pieces together and know it’s a big threat.

Was natural history the dream Covid genre, involving small, very isolated crews, or a nightmare because of the international travel?
Initially we were thinking, ‘What have we done?’ because Australia was very rigid with their Covid mandates. It was very challenging for the crew on the ground. What it forced us to do was be particularly nimble and identify local filmmakers who know the terrain, which really benefitted the show. While it was challenging for the director and [directors of photography] to work with the quarantine laws, I think it did form a creative bubble and allow us to extend the production to a more local place. This land, territory and the history behind it really matters to people there – they care about the land and it’s very apparent. You weren’t getting work-for-hire people, they live this content, they really do. That opened my eyes a bit more to the passion in that space.

Will that local-crews element stick around post-pandemic?
Yes, 1,000%. The visuals in these types of projects are so important and the framing and treatment of that is not something you can just pick up, but yes, I do think there will be more local filmmaking in the natural history space. The issue is if you don’t have the a-list DP, someone who’s really savvy to what the networks expect, you can land yourself in trouble. Having a little bit of both is nice – an expert from the outside with the locals.

As budgets become tighter and economic issues mount, how does a genre with long lead times and big budgets face into those headwinds?
I don’t think the budgets need to be as high as they are, but they are definitely higher than most, because you need to put in the time on the ground to capture the right behaviour and you can’t short-change that. I do think there is room there and we can do it for a little bit less than some of our competitors. Coproductions is another way I have seen networks soften the blow a little bit. They love the genre, know the audience is there and it’s great for co-viewing, so there is this appetite for it. I think there’s a big opportunity for partnerships in this genre.