Female inhabitants of Antarctica have a saying that goes, "the odds are good, but the goods are odd." Odd is one word for living on the very bottom of the planet, in total isolation. Antarctica's winters are unforgivable and unapologetic, with temperatures dipping unfathomably below zero, and category 5 winds hitting every few weeks. And yet for the people who reside there, it is as much home as where you and I live. Antarctica: A Year On Ice is a thrilling look at the massive continent featured in its title as well as the brave citizens who've elected to live there.
At first, it seems as though much of the film's strength, since it isn't argumentative, comes from the stunning cinematography (director/cinematographer Anthony Powell's nuanced time-lapses are positively gorgeous; in particular, I'm thinking of one instance wherein he tracks the sun's position in the sky for a whole summer day, a 24-hour span of daylight). But in actuality, these images are made more compelling by the clever structure and organization of the footage into a journey. To be clear, it is not noteworthy that A Year On Ice employs narrative techniques in and of itself, but rather, that it does it so well. Powell is as much a storyteller as he is a documentarian, and he is incredibly aware of his audience. Antarctica is as structurally sound as a work of narrative fiction. A group of characters whom we root for, enter a foreign land and are tested by their new world. Most importantly, by the end, these characters have grown and learned something of value – they are fully integrated beings, able to pass freely back and forth over the threshold they initially crossed. The film even takes the effort to show with Antarctic citizens re-assimilating back into life away from the South Pole.
We meet the people who live in Antarctica before we meet the continent itself, and Powell is keen on establishing a relationship between these fascinating individuals and the audience early on. We like these people, and we are delighted that we get to live vicariously through their adventures. Powell includes a brief telling of how he met his wife in Antarctica, and they even had a makeshift wedding with paper flowers and rings made of brass piping from the base. In another instance, we see the members of the Antarctic base drinking and dancing outside at a music festival they've affectionately called "Icestock." These details are important because they endear us to the human elements of Antarctica A Year On Ice, and once the audience has a sense of the quirky, tightly-knit community that calls the continent home, Powell introduces a chilling fact: Due to the extreme cold and 24-hour darkness, air traffic is halted altogether for the winter. From February through August, the population of Antarctica is nearly halved – and those who decide to "winter-over," will be completely cut off from the outside world, in total darkness, until the next plane arrives at the start of summer.
This is the journey we embark on with Powell and his colleagues. While there is much to be learned about the geography, climate, and wildlife of Antarctica, the heart of this film is in the subtitle – A Year On Ice. Powell has placed his focus on exploring how humans cope with the extreme conditions that come with Antarctica's winter season, rather than merely showcasing these conditions themselves. The result, is a film that delicately balances a lot of subject material: nature, procedure, science, diplomacy, love, friendship, love, and loss. So, the true strength of Powell's documentary comes from the warmth and courage of the people he introduces us to, how he chooses to introduce us to them, and the icy cold continent they inhabit.
