In what ways can fiction films be said to have ethnographic value?
2018
Anthropology has been adamant to represent reality and truth through ethnography, aided by modern technologies such as the camera. Yet, there is an ongoing conflict in anthropology between, on the one hand, the belief that film offers an indexical account for scientific data collection and, on the other hand, the relativist realisation that all ethnography is to some extent subjective (Clifford, 1986). This conflict saturates a Western logic of difference that ensures hierarchical dichotomies between reason/emotion, objective/subjective, and thus also fact/fiction. Anthropology as a discipline has also been mobilised by this binary rhetoric, primarily concerned with representing a distinct Other in relation to the Self. Surprisingly, such a strict claim to absolutes has failed to confirm a definition of ethnographic film, and MacDougall has vaguely concluded that “one can only say some films are more ethnographic than others” (1978: 405), but that ultimately they “reveal one society to another” (1976: 136).
Ethnographic film oscillates between fact and fiction, failing to realise that the problem is not so much to do with epistemology, but a Western ontological hygiene that overlooks the representational possibilities outside of these dichotic categories. I take as my starting point Nanook of The North (1922), which paved the way for ethnographic film but also indigenous peoples as the ultimate ethnographic ‘Other’. Indigenous peoples have long been misrepresented and slotted into stereotypical, reductive and historical categories, primarily due to non-observable and extra-scientific phenomena that resist Western codification. Although anthropology is aware of its position in colonisation, it is less aware of the socially constructed nature of images, and the discipline’s visual imperialism. Visual sovereignty is crucial if anthropology is to be truly revealing, as anthropologists are limited by their own ontological ethnocentrism.
I seek to explore these ontologies, through three interrelated ‘fictive’ tools - the monster, science-fiction, and the future. Science-fiction (SF) offers a productive possibility between the extremes of heterology and tautology, albeit not as a polite collaboration between fact and fiction, like ethnofiction, but rather as a paradoxical disruptive force that negates, rather than combines, the distinct notions of what fact and fiction have come to mean. Indigenous peoples have long been condemned to the past; represented as cultures at risk of extinction under the threat of modern ‘Western’ technology. Thus, indigenous science-fiction, known more commonly as ‘indigenous futurism’ (IF) (Dillon, 2012), appropriates what has largely been regarded as a Western genre by negating and juxtaposing common themes of the monstrous Other, race, colonialism, time and technology. Additionally, I utilise a theory of monstrosity, wrongly condemned to fiction films, to understand the conflict between the Self/Other and Science/Fiction. Monstrosity, like fiction, is not just a category to be read, but is a way of becoming; an ontology beyond the Western paradigm.
This essay hopes to unsettle the existence of fact and fiction as categories, and other concomitant dichotomies that saturate anthropological discourse, in order to reveal how “the location of anthropology’s Other may reside less in another culture than in the anthropological unconscious” (Nichols, 1991:32). In doing so, I hope to suggest how anthropology can form a more accurate and empathetic understanding of the complexity of culture and cultural difference (Ginsburg, 1995). Furthermore, the aims of self-conscious representation parallel those of anthropology, revealing the value of IF for ethnography. Afterall, “Anthropology as social science is the study of alien encounters” (Nelson, 2003: 250).
The Enlightenment in the eighteenth century established a positivist ocularcentrism that privileged observation epistemically. What was seen was understood to be real, and thus equated to truth. Science and rationality were based on the hierarchical separation of what could be universally verified through visual data collection, the objective, and what could not, the subjective. This encouraged the observer to renounce subjectivity in favour of a detached and unbiased approach to their object of study (Ruby, 1991). The invention of the camera aided this framework, as its mechanical nature overcame limitations of human subjectivity and guaranteed accuracy over other methods of representation: “[W]atching ‘actuality’ on the screen is like watching the needles dance on the physiograph: the apparatus becomes transparent; the documentary becomes scientific inscription” (Winston, 1995: 137; Minh-Ha, 1991; Bazin, 1960; Vertov, 1984). The image was understood to have an iconic and indexical relationship to its referent, whereby its very ontology was physically dependent on a pre-filmic reality (Plantinga, 1997). Bazin (in Bazin and Gray, 1960) acknowledged that the essence of film was the photographic image, and thus film was able to similarly reveal the world. Early anthropology mobilised the camera as a tool for scientific inscription in order to give objective value to ethnographic accounts. Truths were formed on the observation of cross-cultural physical differences and images came to form “our most immediate experience of the culture” (Metraux 1953: 343).
However, transformations in anthropological knowledge production occurred in the early twentieth century that sought to reclaim anthropology as a social science rather than a natural science. Malinowski advocated ‘participant observation’, rather than mere observation, as a means of conducting ethnography and revealing “the native's point of view” (Malinowski 1961: 24-25). At the same time, Flaherty was conducting fieldwork for a film amongst the Inuit of the Canadian Arctic that coincided with Malinowski’s ethnographic rhetoric. The result, Nanook of the North (1922) is considered the first ethnographic film as it clearly conveyed differences between the Inuit and the West. Flaherty spent an extensive amount of time with the Inuit, and his use of long takes and depth-of-field constituted a new filmic style that was both spatially and temporally truthful: “the [actual] length of the hunt is the very substance of the image, its true object” (Bazin, 1971: 27; Ruby, 1991). However, Flaherty used narrative, reenactment and romantic realism in order to emphasise what he saw as the essence of the Inuit existence; their daily struggle for survival in a harsh environment. Although it has been argued that these stylistic devices compromise the objectivity, and thus value, of the film, Flaherty believed that “just to set up his camera and record scenes … was not sufficient to dramatize the struggle for survival … something fundamental was lacking” (Barsam,1988:16). Flaherty acknowledged that, in contrast to scientific rationale, a single “scene of this and that” was not enough to communicate the totality of culture (Flaherty in Ruby, 2000: 75; Ruby: 2000).
Ultimately, Nanook can be defined as ‘salvage ethnography’, in which cultures that were ‘vanishing’ as a result of their technological ‘underdevelopment’, were represented in order to preserve traditions that may have already been lost (Ginsburg, 1995; Rony, 1996). Most visual representations of indigenous peoples were confined within this rhetoric, whereby filmmakers were heroic for preserving cultural traditions that would have been lost without their intervention (Anderson, 2003). The Inuit acted in character and recreated scenarios in which they were shown to have minimal contact with the West. For example, Nanook is shown using traditional spears instead of the guns normally used. The pinnacle of the film in which Nanook battles to kill a seal to feed his ‘starving’ family, was wholly staged for the film (Rony, 1996). Flaherty’s approach to filmmaking appears as a predecessor to the documentary convention, which Grierson (1933: 8) defined as “a creative treatment of actuality”. ‘Creative’, however, did not redefine the film as fiction but rather highlighted the ‘negotiation’ between filmmaker and reality, legitimising salvage ethnography by maintaining a distinct boundary between ‘making’ and ‘making up’ (Bruzzi, 2006: 186; Clifford, 1986; Geertz, 1988; Winston, 1995).
The risk, however, of anthropology losing its epistemic legitimacy, authority and claim to a hierarchical position of the objective over subjective knowledge mobilised a move toward conventions that would re-confirm the camera’s position as a realist tool. This involved the transformation of the filmmaker “from creator to facilitator” (ibid.: 258) and the initiation of an anti-aesthetic, seen as the “most suitable” account of reality for anthropology (Ruby, 1975: 108). Although cinema conventions have shifted from the neo-real, to direct cinema, and cinema verite, ultimately they all rely on the development of a Bazinian aesthetic; seeking a “faith in reality” and foregoing abstraction in favour of particularity (Bazin, 1971: 24).
Echoing Flaherty's creative manipulation, all ethnographic films were argued to include narrative elements that compromised the image’s indexicality (Tagg, 1993; Suhr & Willerslev, 2012). Resultantly, Ruby (1975: 109) argued that ethnographic film “must include a scientific justification for the multitude of decisions that one makes", for example long takes that more accurately represented real time, wide-angle shots that included more data, and no extra-diegetic images or sound that would cause the “subjects’ world [to be] smothered by demonstrations of technical or aesthetic virtuosity” (Henley 2004: 114). This also involved the filmmaker introducing elements of reflexivity by revealing themselves on camera in relation to their subjects in order to explain and legitimise their decisions. Objectivity remained prioritised, and was understood as “conveying official versions with a minimum of scepticism and doubt” (Nichols, 1997: 243). A dichotomy was re-established between fact and fiction in line with scientific rationale, such that “any film which deviates from the most conventional modes of inquiry is accused of betraying anthropological principles’’ (MacDougall, 1976: 141).
However, anthropology remained naive to the implications of postmodern, and adjacent postcolonial theory, and the authority of the anthropologist in the production of cultural knowledge about the Other remained intact. Trained, mostly Western, anthropologists went out into ‘the field’ to record exotic Others, taking with them their reflexively justified cultural assumptions (Ruby, 1991). The Other is still ‘something’ to be ‘experienced’ within a hierarchical symbolic order, and thus the Cartesian division between subject/object, and the Self/ Other were untouched by postmodernist criticisms (Nash, 2011:231). Moreover, reflexive ethnographic films actually worked to emphasise and preserve alterity through the visible distinctions between anthropologist and the ‘Other’. Similarly, Nicoll (in Ginsburg, 1994: 336) reveals that terms referring to indigeneity, such as, ‘Aboriginality’ are “a colonial field of power relations … always defined in opposition to a dominant ‘non Aboriginal culture’”.
The denial of agency to the Other in visual representation was a result of stereotypes that believed indigenous peoples to be unequipped with the technology to represent themselves. Ginsburg (1991) describes the ‘Faustian contract’, wherein indigenous peoples were thought to be unable to assimilate media and technology into their cultures, or if they were able, it would compromise their “authentic cultural practices” (Weiner in Ginsburg, 2016: 582). This belief condemned indigenous peoples to the past, as technology was seen as the means to achieve modernity. The trading scene in Nanook depicts the white trader paternalistically providing technology, medicine and food, and can be understood within a nexus of discourses of colonialism, race, and modernity wherein the trader is seen as fundamentally superior (Rony, 1996). It depicts Nanook naive about the gramophone technology, such that he bites the record in an attempt to understand it. Ironically, however, Hopkins (2006) claims that not only was this scene staged, but Nanook and the Inuit fully understood the ‘Western’ technology, not only as they used it themselves, but because they fixed Flaherty’s equipment when it broke in the harsh weather conditions.
Anthropology mobilises the camera’s ability to “snatch” the image from time in order to create an atemporal ethnographic object positioned outside of the linear development of modernity (Bazin & Gray, 1960: 4; Rony, 1996). The ethnographer as heroic savour was in fact salvaging their own perceptions of dominance, using a “culture that would never change, … as a self-congratulatory reference point against which Eurocentric society could measure its own progressive evolution.” (Winter & Boudreau, 2018: 39). Similarly, Rony (1996: 123) quotes Kunuk, the head of the television station where Nanook was filmed who, recalling the fictive nature of the film for the Inuit, claims “it was a film for white people”, revealing the different conceptions of fact and fiction through cultural differences.
Postmodern and poststructuralist critiques undermined the universal objectivity of scientific positivism and the image; revealing them to be nothing more than ideological tools that excluded certain modes of thought in order to legitimise Western authority over passive, immutable objects (Latour in Edwards, 2014). Tagg (1993) claimed that there was no direct ontological relation between the signifier and the referent, as the image was a communicative tool; they “are not reality, they form part of the language of culture.” (Desnoes in Wells, 2003: 291). Indigenous representations, rather than being indexical, are always symbolic or allegorical, and refer only to a hegemonic regime of truth (Clifford, 1986). Although indigenous peoples recognise the falsity of their representation, “these pictures and the still shots are the only pictures of that time in this region” and thus they come to redefine and monopolise indigenous peoples’ own histories (Nowkawalk in Rony, 1996: 124). Resultantly, “[I]t is not enough to call these beliefs metaphors when they shape actual historical behavior.” (Poole 2011: 25).
Monster Theory (Cohen, 1996) helps to uncover the distinction between the Other and the Self in indigenous representation by depicting an embodiment of the abject; that which was understood to be antithetical to the civilised man; a "primal repression" (Kristeva, 1982: 10-12). Monster's are understood to be cultural constructions that place limits on societal perceptions of the Self. Cohen (1996: 8) recounts how in early American history, indigenous peoples were understood as monster's in order to strengthen Puritan exceptionalism and a “political machine of Manifest Destiny” that justified their extinction. Indigenous peoples were referred to as ‘savage’, or more so as “projection[s] of natural evil and the id; [his] red men are therefore treated essentially as animals” (Christophersen in Weinstock, 2014: 43). Echoing Regnault, Rony (1996) explicitly contends that ethnographic film is “above all a cinema of the body” in attempt to maintain a hierarchical distinction between white/non-white, and mind/body that mapped onto civilised/primitive. Indigenous peoples in Nanook are represented as animalistic when eating raw seal meat, and also by the fact that they live ‘with’ dogs rather than having mastery over them (MacDougall, 1976).
The monster, like the image, is a double fiction, as it emerges at the conjuncture of the falsity of science and anthropology. Ethnography remains ambivalent as it oscillates between naive realism and extreme relativism; between Self/Other, subject/object, fact/fiction. Recognising this, filmmakers, for example Rouch and Marshall, have attempted ‘speaking along, or speaking with, rather than speaking for or about’ those represented (Ruby, 1991). Similarly, it would be more naive to believe that ethnographic subjects had no autonomy or power to speak back to this visual imperialism; N!ai: Story of a !Kung Woman (1979) includes N!ai recalling how “The white people scorn me … Don't look at my face …” (Ruby, 1991: 44). Speaking with or alongside through ethno-fiction, however, was developed on the understanding that “scientific inquiry consists of hypothesis testing rather than the search for eternal truths … scientific knowledge can be understood as a dialectical process” (ibid.: 46). Attempts to restore scientific or ethnographic authority through dialectics reinstates an either/or ‘antagonistic dualism’ that mirrors Hegelian master/slave dialectics and so fail to overcome the antithesis between subject/object (Haraway, 1991). Dialectics also requires equal involvement from both parties, and although successful attempt could be seen in “Challenge for Change” on the Fogo Island in Canada during the late 1960s, Worth (in Ruby, 1991: 52) argued that “teaching others to make and use film was essentially teaching white middle-class values”. Collaborative ethnography maintains a hierarchical explication of knowledge and technology that serves to sustain unequal access to representation (Ruby, 1991: 58; Ranciere, 2007); in fact, Nanook is considered an example of ‘shared anthropology’.
Visual sovereignty is crucial in order to ethically produce images that resist Western ideology and also prevent representational ambivalence. Sovereign self-representation “when other forms are no longer effective … offers a positive means … for reproducing and transforming cultural identity” (Ginsburg, 1991: 94; 1995). However, this must involve an autonomous denial of the Western ontological distinctions so that “Otherness becomes empowering critical difference when it is not given, but re-created.” (Minh-Ha 1991:70-71). This is easily done when we consider the position of the indigenous person as a monster that embodies Freud's ‘Heimlich Unheimlich’, the uncanny; wherein they are both the Self (as human being) and Other, human and animal, fact and fiction. The uncanny is a contradiction that reveals the fragility of modernist categorisation by violating dichotic boundaries; “[the monster] defies the human desire to subjugate through categorization” (Mittman, 2016). The paradoxical monster, like the reality of indigeneity, is not a descriptive position to be read, but an ontology that refuses to participate in Western dialectics; it is a manifestation of Derrida’s ‘supplement’ whereby it disregards either/or in favour or or/and (1976).
Bogdan (1988: 3) believed that monster's emerge from the impossible middle of science and fiction, and thus it follows that indigenous sovereign representation could mobilise the SF genre (Weinstock, 1996). Traditional SF, as a predominantly Western genre, has been used to explore Orientalist and colonial tropes, including ‘alien’ races that threaten, mainly white, humans, and how “it is generally up to white American men … to save the planet and prevent extinction” (Weinstock, 2014: 51). Furthermore, SF champions modernist tools of technology, progression and violence in the future of the ‘white human race’. Indigenous SF, otherwise known as indigenous futurisms (IF), appropriates these tropes in an imaginative space for resistance in order to “know difference differently" (Nichols 1994:73). SF is a particularly useful starting point for IF, given that stories have historically been important mediums, not just for descriptive ‘show and tell’, but also for indigenous peoples to analogise colonial violence (Sium & Ritskes in Winter & Boudreau, 2018). Moreover, SF as a hybrid storytelling device echoes the benefits of Nichol’s performativity (1994: 94), wherein it “joins the abstract to the concrete, the general to the particular, the individual to the collective, and the political to the personal”.
File Under Miscellaneous (2010) is an IF set in a dystopian future in which the metropolitan cityscape serves as the location for a First Nation indigenous Mi'kMaq man’s struggle to shed his native identity and assimilate into the ‘whites’. The director, Barnaby recounts the psychological and linguistic colonisation of his own experience as a child that forced him to move away from his community so that he “understood what it meant to be white or in the least not be Indian” (in Lempert, 2014: 171). Attending to “the horror of being Indian in the 20th century” (ibid.: 172), the film is visceral to this mental and physical pain, depicting the main character, Gould, going to a clinic to get his tongue and skin removed and replaced with white versions. The pinnacle of Barnaby’s metaphor is the willingness and self-assimilation of the Mi’kMaq people in order to depict the extent that indigenous peoples are willing to go in order to overcome their subordination as the Other. Based on Barnaby’s past, it reiterates Dillon’s claim that “the Native Apocalypse, if contemplated seriously, has already taken place.” (2012: 8).
Conversely, many IF take a more positive approach by emphasising the benefits of indigenous culture for resistance. For example, IF subverts SF tropes of post-apocalyptic dystopian environments by revealing how indigenous lifestyles and technologies offer a more harmonious balance between humans and nature. Pitman (2018: 2), reiterating Haraway (1991) describes her desire to negate the modernist bias of technology, “[and] develop new folksonomic affinities and loose rhizomatic metaphorical associations that might insinuate alternative ways of seeing the world and relating to one another”. Haraway (2016) advocates emancipation through the cyborg; a hybrid of human (or animal) and machine that can be achieved through an active pursuit of ‘cyborg consciousness’. Haraway’s ‘Cyborgology’ (ibid.) mobilises the Native American concepts of ‘trickster’ and ‘coyote’. The trickster was required for provoking laughter during times of transformation, but also represents uncertainty and inconsistency (Winter & Boudreau, 2018). Loft describes how “Technology exists as shape shifter (not unlike the Trickster himself) neither inherently benign nor malevolent, but always acting and active, changing, transformative, giving effect to and affecting the world” (Loft in ibid.: 40).
Sandoval (1999) claims that indigenous peoples have already achieved cyborg consciousness, illustrated by the parallels between indigenous storytelling and film technology. Becker (in Lempert, 2014: 168) acknowledged the similarities between SF and indigenous storytelling in relation to the unobservable symbolism and mysticism of origin stories and the supernatural. Inuit filmmaker, Kunuk, similarly saw film as closer to Inuit cultures and their emphasis on oral history (Hopkins, 2006; Rony, 1996). Francis and Long’s Future Warrior (2007) depicts the journey of the ‘last hope’ of his community in rebutting the ethnocide against indigenous peoples. The protagonist is equipped with martial arts and ancestor’s spirituality as weapons in battle. The film seamlessly weaves together old/new, science/fiction, not only through its paradoxical title, but by setting the film 200 years in the future and maintaining “the wisdom of many generations” through “the technobiological spirit”; contrasting Ginsburg’s ‘Faustian contract’ (1991) and stereotypical perceptions of indigenous technology. Barnaby’s Rhymes for Young Ghouls (2013) similarly depicts a Mi'kMaq girl mobilising traditional and Western technologies, but also encountering human ghosts and spirits embodied as animals; destabilising the human/animal dichotomy by widening it to include machine/human/animal/spirit. These films reiterate a response from the a Kayapo filmmaker; “Just because I hold a white man's camera, that doesn't mean I am not a Kayapo … if you were to hold one of our head-dresses, would that make you an Indian?” (Ginsburg 1994: 9). Haraway summarises: “a cyborg world might be about lived social and bodily realities in which people are not afraid of their joint kinship with animals and machines, not afraid of permanently partial identities and contradictory standpoints” (2016: 13).
Claiming sovereignty over visual representation symbolises the simultaneous claim to virtual space in avoidance of the subordination within a virtual/real world dichotomy, in which the virtual is seen as more progressive and thus superior. Digital space provides an arena wherein “multiple layers of Indigenous knowledge systems – from the dream world to the topography of real or imagined landscapes” exist together (Raheja in Winter & Boudreau, 2018: 43). This reiterates another benefit of SF to indigenous representations: the ability to overcome indigenous subordination to the past. SF is future oriented, whilst IF seeks to reveal how indigenous futures exist simultaneously in the past and present. Becker (in Lempert, 2014: 168) insists on the avoidance of ‘utopian’ tropes that imply linear development processes, and concomitant underdeveloped pasts, arguing instead for cyclical time in many indigenous cultures. This is clear in ?E?ANX/The Cave (2009), a Tsilhqot'in IF in which the protagonist moves through a wormhole to another realm, but when he returns he realises he has travelled through time to the future. Dillon (2012: 3) explains that the film reflects “time as pasts, presents, and futures that flow together like currents in a navigable stream”. IF exploits the camera’s potential as ‘kino-eye’; “free from the limits of time and space” … “for the exploration of the chaos of visual phenomena” (Vertov, 1984: 5 & 1). IF also makes clear that, although anthropology may have renounced its role in colonisation, indigenous ‘pasts’ are equally powerful in the present.
TimeTraveller™ (2006) is a machinima, web series that explores Mohawk and First Nation contemporary identity through the past and the future. The artist, Skawennati uses fictive devices to go back to a time before cameras existed in order to reveal key events in indigenous history between 1490 and 2121, including the death of Mohawk saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the Dakota Sioux Uprising of 1862, the Oka Crisis of 1990. In the 10th episode, the TimeTraveller, Hunter, materialises in 1880 when the Potlatch Ban attempted to assimilate indigenous peoples by prohibiting certain ceremonial traditions. Hunter meets the spirit ‘Opimâchitasow’ and together they intercept indigenous artefacts before being appropriated and stolen by Westerners and anthropologists. At one point, Hunter claims “If there’s one thing every Indian knows, it’s this: when it comes to history, always get a second opinion”. Attempts to regain sovereignty over cultural artefacts and histories was also exhibited in the more mainstream SF Black Panther (2018), wherein Killmonger, from the fictional African state of Wakanda, contradicts the white museum curator on her claim that an artefact came from Benin: “It was taken by British soldiers in Benin, but it’s from Wakanda,” he argues before taking the artefact. When the curator contends that it is not for sale, Killmonger claims “How do you think your ancestors got these? Do you think they paid a fair price? Or did they take it”. Although staged at a non-existent museum it explicitly critiques the British Museum and anthropology and their claim to authority over non-British identity. Although I am not intending to conflate indigenous cultures with African cultures, it is worth noting the prominence of Afrofuturism as a similar representational resistance.
The enduring distinction between fact and fiction in ethnographic film tells us more about the nature of anthropological knowledge, and its role in authorising and legitimising a modernist regime of truth, than it does about anthropological subjects (Rony, 1996). Although postmodernism provided a useful critique against the fallacy of the neutral anthropologist and their object of study, attempts to move away from the dichotomies of Western positivism cannot be done by Western anthropologists. Postmodernism is just a ‘state of mind’ that refuted the promise of technology for liberation, and thus overlooked practical potentials (Lyotard, 1991: 34). Images will always be tools for invention, rather than representation, and thus sovereign modes of representation that exploit the camera’s potential beyond mimesis are crucial. IF is a productive possibility for undermining naturalised stereotypes of indigenous peoples whilst also “[investing] metaphors with new and different meanings which undermine ostensibly clear-cut distinctions between self and other” (Wolmark, 1994:2). A historical look at indigenous representation reveals that fiction and non-fiction have always inhabited one another in ethnography. SF, however, offers itself not just as a hybrid between fact/fiction, civilised/primitive, subject/object but as a “new form[s] capable of doing justice to the complexity of our historical moment . . . [that] neither long for the past nor merely re-present the present” (Schoback, 2000: 146). Furthermore, IF reveals the modes of existence beyond the dialogic, for example by introducing the Future into past/present, or the Monster into Self/Other, revealing the potential for ethnography beyond the dialogic through heteroglossia.
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Filmography
Barnaby, J. dirs. (2010) File Under Miscellaneous
Barnaby, J. dirs. (2013) Rhymes for Young Ghouls
Coogler, R. dirs. (2018) Black Panther
Flaherty, R. J. dirs. (1976). Nanook of the North.
Francis, J., and Nigel Long Soldier, dirs. (2007) Future Warrior
Haig-Brown, H. dirs. (2009) ?E?ANX/The Cave
Marshall, J. dirs. (1979) N!ai: Story of a !Kung Woman
Skawennati. Dirs. (2006) TimeTraveller™ Available online at: http://www.timetravellertm.com/episodes/ [Last accessed: 06/01/19]