Hugh Allen is a London-based documentary filmmaker whose films have been screened at the Jackson Wild Summit, Pridelands Festival, NaturVision, GreenScreen, and more. He’s spent the last 6 years as an independent content creator in several countries and continents and is a graduate of the National Film and Television School. His recent projects, like The Thin Green Line, and Faces of the Cloud Forest, focus on anthropogenic stories from across the globe. Hugh is committed to merging his creativity with his passion for wildlife, people, and the environment by telling compelling narratives about humans’ intricate relationship with the natural world.
WMJ: What sparked your interest in visual storytelling and filmmaking?
I’ve always had an appetite for stories, whether it be literature, film, or music. It began with books – I would read and find myself adapting the characters and events in my head, mostly of Old English countryside novels like The Wind in the Willows, Winnie the Pooh, or Watership Down. Growing up, I was hooked on visual media and studied it for both my undergraduate and postgraduate degrees. Film has an incredible ability to render these fantastical new worlds to the viewer. But when I started watching more documentaries – the work of Errol Morris, Werner Herzog, Josh Oppenheimer, Adam Curtis, etc. – I began to realize that there were these breathtaking stories that existed adjacent to me. They didn’t need to be invented, they could simply be explored. I think that’s what makes documentary all the more challenging and rewarding – there’s a commitment to an essence of truth in the story you tell. You can’t rely on techniques available to the fiction artist; you can’t simply conjure up characters, theme or action – you have to search for them. There’s something forensic and inquisitive about this process – you have to identify narrative arcs, find where history has rhymed, look for recurring imagery, highlight emerging motifs – all from what’s already there. On top of all this, you should be doing what every good story does: entertain people, excite them, move them, inform on something. It’s no small task, which makes it all the more impressive when it’s done effectively.
“I began to realize that there were these breathtaking stories that existed adjacent to me. They didn’t need to be invented, they could simply be explored. I think that’s what makes documentary all the more challenging and rewarding – there’s a commitment to an essence of truth in the story you tell.”
Hugh Allen
Documentary Filmmaker
WMJ: How has your experience influenced the development of your unique style and approach in your career?
I used to work in the music-video industry, which fostered an understandable fixation with aesthetic and style. Then after that, I began to write for short-fiction films and branded content, where a much greater focus is placed on story. Now, moving into the world of science and natural history documentaries, I’ve found that informing and educating an audience is often the central purpose. Recently I’ve been trying to effectively balance and harmonize these three approaches. With every project, I try to establish a plot, identify the message, and then determine a coherent visual language. I think the mistake is to neglect any of these processes. In our field people can place a lot of importance on scientific content, which is commendable, but sometimes we can get caught up in the granular and the literal, and forget a wider appeal. It’s good to be concerned with how you communicate facts but your audience is watching a film, not reading a scientific journal. I think many people, including myself, engage with complex information much better when it’s presented through a visual narrative. We can comprehend the real-world consequences of research or data, how it affects people or wildlife, and we can empathize accordingly. Whether cave paintings or TV, humans have only really been making sense of the world through visual storytelling, that’s not going to stop anytime soon.
WMJ: Who are the individuals or creators, past or present, that have significantly influenced your artistic vision?
I try to have a broad range of influences as a documentary filmmaker. Because we’re often restricted to the real world, our methods tend to be a tad homogeneous and we should strive for greater variety. Like many of my peers, I can’t help but love the blue-chip, natural-history productions of my youth, the Blue Planets and Planet Earths from David Attenborough. But more recently, I’ve been enjoying observational pieces about where our natural and human worlds intersect – films like Honeyland, Alex Pritz’s The Territory, and Shaunak Sen’s All That Breathes. I’m also extremely lucky to be constantly motivated by the work of my friends and peers, filmmakers like Cam MacArthur, Dan Green, and many more.
WMJ: Can you share a specific piece of work or a moment from these influencers that impacted your approach to storytelling?
I remember watching Tamara Kotevska and Ljubomir Stefanov’s Honeyland for the first time, which completely transformed my approach to documentary filmmaking. It’s an astonishing accomplishment for sheer commitment to production. The crew spent three years in remote North Macedonia and then initially edited the film without sound to ensure that the narrative could be followed visually. It paid off because every frame and sequence feels intentional. You open with this seemingly contained story about a lone honey farmer, but her growing struggle with external forces becomes this cautionary, allegorical tale about greed, sustainability, and the future of our world. It’s so remarkable in its scope and yet so small in its setting. Ever since watching it, I’ve become a big believer in the idea that no story should ever be simply about itself. What I mean is that, no matter how specific or niche a subject is, it’s crucial to find what makes it universal, relatable, and applicable to people elsewhere. What does it say about the human condition? What emotions does it speak to? Is it representative of something more global? These are some of the questions I ask myself now before even considering or developing ideas.
WMJ: What inspired you to create The Thin Green Line, a documentary about the demilitarized zone in Cyprus, and what was your initial vision for this project?
With The Thin Green Line, we knew we wanted to explore something hopeful. It’s often hard exploring conservation stories in depth because the resounding conclusion of so many of them is basically, ‘ecological devastation is unavoidable.‘ It can be depressing. So when I came across the story of Iris and Salih in Reuters, I was just blown away by how uplifting it was. The demilitarized zone itself has an eerie mysticism to it, as it’s been free of human presence for over fifty years, but we very quickly realized that this story was about so much more than this no-man’s land. It was about more than just Cyprus. Here were two ecologists, from different sides of an ideological and geopolitical divide, working together to study the very area that separates their island. It’s a story about collective action that transcends borders, how nature can unite people in the protection of a shared environment. Towards the end of the film Iris says, ‘The climate crisis that we are facing is an issue for the whole of humanity, it’s not going to be one group getting away with it whilst another suffers – the only way to deal with this is for humans to be able to cooperate with each-other.’ Her statement sums up our final vision better than I ever could.
The Thin Green Line was nominated for a 2023 Jackson Wild Media Award, I’ve followed Jackson Wild for many years now, watching some of the finest natural-history films from the best emerging filmmakers, so to be included amongst their number was such an incredible honor.
WMJ: During the filmmaking process, what were some unexpected challenges or discoveries you encountered, and how did they shape the final documentary?
One of the biggest obstacles was of course getting into the demilitarized zone to actually film. Initially, we thought would be practically impossible, but the United Nations Peacekeeping Force in Cyprus was so accommodating. The demilitarized zone is patrolled and monitored heavily by armed forces on either side of the line, so entering with a UN presence is crucial. They provided us with a security contingent to ensure we were safe, considerate, and that we didn’t wander into one of the many landmines that are still active in the buffer zone. I am still in awe of how supportive they were to the ecologists, and how committed they were to normalizing relations between the two communities. Thanks to them, the 50-year military divide became the least of our worries, especially since COVID-19 was constantly erecting hurdles. My experience shooting through the pandemic likely resembles many other films from 2020/2021 – canceled flights, fluctuating regulations, magnum opus risk-assessments. My heart goes out to anyone who created something during that chaotic period. The only silver lining is that we’re now well equipped to handle any complications future productions might throw at us!
WMJ: Considering the rapid advancements in technology and storytelling methods, what significant changes do you anticipate in the field of filmmaking in the near future?
It’s a fascinating time to be entering wildlife film and TV – not all for good reasons. The COVID commissioning bubble, the strikes, cinema closures, the decline of broadcast TV and the rise of streaming – all of it has put the community through a bit of shock therapy. It could possibly be a blip, but to most of us the instability feels existential. We’re in this transitional period and I think it gives the industry an opportunity to correct some of its more egregious excesses and practices. Better pay, longer contracts, or greater job security could lower the barrier to entry, which is already restrictively high for many people. In wildlife film, a lot of the key talent remains in the UK, but I’m unsure this is necessary, especially as the capital (and the wildlife) comes from elsewhere. There’s been this history of flying European/American presenters and crews halfway across the world to capture wildlife on someone else’s doorstep. Not only does it feel tonally outdated, but in the era of the carbon footprint it seems counterproductive at best and extractive at worst. Investing in local crews and production houses could provide livelihoods and give homegrown filmmakers ownership of their industries, all whilst saving budget and the planet. It’s something I know individuals like Fiona Tande, and organizations like Filmmakers For Future are striving for. In a business that focuses so much on animals, I feel like we too often forget the well-being of the humans involved.
WMJ: How do you think these industry changes will affect the way stories are told and experienced by audiences?
I suppose on the subject of humans, I think the era of natural-history film only documenting untouched habitats is at an end. As we hurtle into the Anthropocene, showcasing a world without humans makes less and less sense, especially as our presence is acutely felt across nature. There’s a tacit reluctance about this from some in the industry, but I think the consumptive habits of the younger generation show immense appetite to see new stories and different perspectives from underrepresented backgrounds, and I think this can only be a good thing. It’s certainly something I aspire to in my own projects, showing the ways we’re inextricable from our environment, and centering the experience of the people closest to the wildlife we care so much about. I think the emergence of new funding models and media platforms have given a voice to independent films about activists, scientists, and indigenous peoples; those at the frontlines of the climate crisis and holocene extinction. I find myself increasingly impressed with the work showcased on WaterBear and NewYonder, by filmmakers at Earthrise Studios, Mongabay, and more. Despite the scorn it often receives from some industry professionals, I think YouTube has provided an avenue for the growth of short-form documentary content, democratizing the means of production/distribution to let some truly talented storytellers find an audience. Even if there are few avenues to get our work on networks or big streamers, it’s comforting to know that there’ll always be digital spaces to showcase what we’ve made.
WMJ: As you look to the future, can you share insights into any new themes or subjects you’re eager to explore in your upcoming projects?
We’ve got a film coming out this year, Faces of the Cloud Forest, that documents the work of a fantastic organization in Southwestern Uganda called Conservation Through Public Health (CTPH). They work closely with Mountain Gorillas and adjacent human communities to limit the conflict between the two, simply by improving health and lifestyle standards in the local area. It’s one of those fantastic success stories that demonstrates the value of addressing conservation issues holistically, really focussing on the root cause of species collapse as opposed to merely the symptoms of it. I can’t wait for more people to see it. After that, I’m interested in exploring narratives about climate refugees found in the unlikeliest of places. I think there’s something ubiquitous about notions of home and family, the idea of losing those things evokes powerful emotions in all of us, which makes it all the more heartbreaking that these are increasing realities for many in the coming decades.
WMJ: How do you see the art and technique of storytelling evolving in the next decade, especially considering the rapid technological advancements and changing audience preferences?
Beyond the tools of cinema, I know everyone’s rightly worried about AI and its implications on the workforce. I’m also fascinated by the future possibility that, upon growing affordability and popularity, VR and 360 technology could become a prominent medium in the next 20 years. When people hear VR, they either think of it as a quick gimmick or a dystopian nightmare. There’s this idea that it’ll inevitably lead us away from reality, but the truth is that it could capture and render the world far better than fixed display technology ever could. We use all our senses to gauge reality; there’s an expanded field of view in VR, most of the high-end rigs include dynamic binaural – that is, 3D – audio, fully 360 spatialized soundscapes, and that’s all before considering haptic feedback that replicates the experience of touch. When it extends beyond providing digital safaris and visual petting zoo experiences, virtual reality stories could make us feel connected to people and habitats previously unreachable in a lifetime, in ways that feel instinctive and authentic. Because that’s what the technology enables: showing life as it really is, bringing us closer than ever before and enabling us to understand, embody and care about the worlds we inhabit. Of course it’s not without its dangers, but much like with AI, the tech itself is merely a tool, how we use it is up to us.
WMJ: Any words of wisdom for aspiring visual storytellers and filmmakers?
Whenever I’m working on a project, or I just need to remind myself why I’m doing what I do, I recall this Roger Ebert quote (so I hope it helps!):
“For me, films are like a machine that generates empathy. They let you understand a little bit more about what it’s like to be a different gender, a different race, a different age, a different economic class, a different nationality, a different profession, with different hopes, aspirations, dreams, and fears. They help us to identify with the people who are sharing this journey with us. And that, to me, is the most noble thing that good films can do and it’s a reason to encourage them and to support them and to go to them.”
🎞️ The Thin Green Line & Faces of The Cloud Forest will be on Waterbear, Ecoflix & other streaming platforms later this year!
🎥 Follow Hugh’s journey via his website and on Instagram @hugh.allen.wildlife and @aspiring_corpse.
