microcosmos and primitive anthropomorphism

Directed by Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou, Microcosmos (1996) asserts its positions regarding insects’ relationship to humans through visual representations and a multi-modal vocal and instrumental soundtrack rather than voiceover narration. Yet, as Janet Maslin of The New York Times declares, “Not content merely to let the spiders spin and the bees buzz, they also play with anthropomorphism wherever it can be found” (1996). Despite the fact that the film includes only two voiceover sequences to begin and end the film that nearly mirror one another, “heightened sound effects and nimble editing help shape the film into something other than a passive view” (Maslin, 2006). In fact, the film suggests that our macro-world is mirrored in the “unseen” world the filmmakers have constructed for us beneath tall grasses and trees in their creation of this categorical documentary. In Microcosmos, insects are anthropomorphized on multiple levels, but in Microcosmos the emphasis is on an authentic visual representation that builds sympathy for this micro-world, perhaps encouraging a more biotic perspective on the natural world that sees human and nonhuman nature as part of an interconnected web.

Microcosmos most blatantly connects humans with insects in relation to a primitive psychology level of anthropomorphism that highlights parallels between how they meet their basic needs. For example, the opening tranquil female voiceover establishes a peaceful tone for the morning scenes of insects’ very human-like ablutions. As the camera pans down from hills to long grasses a boys’ choir heightens its rhythm. On the surface below, however, the music ends, and only background noises and bird whistles accompany the variety of insects that seem to be preparing for a new day. The voiceover heightens the comparison of these insects to awakening humanity: “Imagine a morning somewhere on Earth … [where] even the smallest pond becomes an ocean. Time passes differently here. A passing season is a lifetime. Listen to its murmur.”

It is the creation of this miniature insect world, however, that most effectively connects insects with humanity, illuminating how their everyday rituals align with ours. As Roger Ebert explains, “The makers of this film took three years to design their close-up cameras and magnifying lenses, and to photograph insects in such brilliant detail that if they were cars, we could read their city stickers” (1997). In close-up, a spider web shimmers with morning dew as various insects prepare for the day. A wasp polishes its face. An ant drinks water from a drop on a leaf, its reflection disappearing as the water evaporates. The tiny world is both contrasted and compared with the larger world above when the camera pans up to trees and then back down to the ground, where a praying mantis washes its leg and a bee wipes its stinger and wings.

           

After their morning baths, these insects eat breakfast, just like other animals, including humans. A bee searches for nectar in a poppy field. A ladybug climbs up a thorny twig and eats grubs. Ants feed their infants on the same twig after chasing off the ladybug. A caterpillar emerges from its cocoon and eats its own shell as its first nourishment. When a grasshopper jumps into a spider web, a single drum erupts, and when other percussion instruments join the rhythm, the spider wraps it in webbing. Another grasshopper feeds, as well. At a water hole, ants feed water to their young. Others pull seedpods and carry flower stems to their anthill. The mound of food grows tall. In a wasp hive, adult wasps feed larvae, who, when they emerge from their pods, clean themselves, dry their wings and begin feeding other wasps. Their basic needs are met just as ours are, and the camera amplifies the primitive rituals on display.