When Monsters Win: Why Prestige Culture Only Rewards Horror on Its Own Terms

The well-behaved monster and the boundaries of respectability.

Awards season is upon us and traditionally, has always had its preferences. Historical epics. Biographical drama. Social realism. Stories that feel weighty before they even begin.

Horror, by contrast, has often been treated as something unruly — too visceral, too commercial, too unserious to sit comfortably among prestige cinema. And yet, every so often, a monster slips past the velvet rope.

This year, with Sinners dominating Oscar nominations and walking away with major wins at the BAFTAs, that old boundary feels more porous than it once did. Creature cinema is no longer automatically dismissed. It can be celebrated. It can be honoured.

But when monsters win, it is rarely on their own terms.

They are welcomed, carefully, once they have been translated.

Jaws – The Shark That Wasn’t Just a Shark

When Jaws arrived in 1975, it was a creature feature. A film about a shark hunting swimmers off the coast of a small American town.

It went on to win three Academy Awards — for editing, sound, and John Williams’ now-immortal score.

Not for the shark. The mechanical animal at the centre of the film was never what the Academy formally recognised. Instead, it was the craft that elevated the material: the restraint of the camera, the discipline of the cut, the tension built through absence rather than spectacle.

The shark became something larger than itself. It became:

Fear of the unseen.
Bureaucratic denial in the face of danger.
Economic pressure overriding safety.

In other words, it became metaphor. But beneath that metaphor, the shark remained something more unsettling. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t political. It wasn’t traumatised. And it was not misunderstood.

It was simply an animal behaving as animals sometimes do (or in this case, how we thought and imagined they did).

That indifference — that refusal to moralise — is part of what makes Jaws endure. Yet the recognition it received was framed around artistry, not animality. The Academy rewarded how the story was told, not the wildness at its heart.

The creature was tolerated. The craftsmanship was honoured.

The Shape of Water – The Monster Who Became a Mirror

Guillermo del Toro’s The Shape of Water went further. It did not merely win technical awards. It won Best Picture. At its centre is an amphibian creature — clearly inspired by mid-century monster cinema — imprisoned, studied, and ultimately loved.

But this monster does not function as predator. He is not unknowable. He is not ecologically threatening. He is gentle, curious, and capable of tenderness.

He becomes a symbol of otherness — of marginalisation, disability, Cold War paranoia, loneliness. The film invites us not to fear him, but to recognise ourselves in him.

The creature wins because he reflects something human. His monstrosity is aesthetic, not existential. Prestige culture is comfortable with this kind of monster. It can be framed as allegory. It can be moralised. And it can be absorbed into the language of empathy.

The wild edges are softened and the teeth are metaphorical.

When the Creature Becomes Backdrop

A pattern begins to emerge. Horror tends to be embraced by institutions when it performs a certain translation. When the monster is:

A political symbol.
A social commentary.
A psychological metaphor.
A vehicle for historical reflection.

In these cases, the creature is not truly the subject. It is a lens through which something recognisably human is examined.

The awards are rarely about the animal itself. They are about what the animal represents. And it’s important to clarify this does not diminish the artistry of these films. Many of them are extraordinary. But it does reveal a preference.

Prestige culture prefers its monsters legible and interpretable. In short, it prefers them to behave.

Horror’s Rehabilitation

In recent years, horror has enjoyed something of a rehabilitation. The line between “genre” and “serious cinema” has blurred. Audiences have matured. Filmmakers have pushed boundaries of tone and form.

Part of this shift is cultural. We live in anxious times. Horror provides a language for uncertainty and a release for it — for systems that feel unstable, for threats that feel diffuse.

But institutions still have conditions.

When horror arrives in formal dress — lyrically shot, carefully scored, layered with symbolism — it is easier to recognise as art. When it aligns with contemporary conversations, it feels urgent rather than lurid.

In other words, horror is welcomed when it demonstrates that it understands the rules of the room. It can be frightening. It can be strange. But it must also be respectable. And the vampires in Sinners are polite, well-spoken, and at the very least, wear respectability as a well-practiced facade as a means to an end.

The Uncomfortable Creature

What remains more difficult to absorb is the creature that resists interpretation. The shark that is simply a shark. The predator that is not secretly a metaphor for capitalism, trauma, or xenophobia. The animal that does not apologise for being non-human.

Ecological horror, the stories that centre real animals behaving according to instinct rather than narrative morality — sits uneasily in prestige culture. There is no catharsis in a force of nature. No redemptive speech. No symbolic resolution.

There is only indifference. And indifference is hard to award. It offers no moral comfort. It does not flatter us by suggesting that even our monsters are secretly about us.

Why This Matters

How we reward monster stories tells us something about how we process fear. We are drawn to creatures, but we often feel compelled to domesticate them. To explain them. To soften them into symbols we can decode.

When a monster film wins, it often does so because it reassures us that the monstrous can be translated into something familiar. But some of the most powerful creature stories resist that translation. They leave the animal wild. They refuse to moralise the teeth.

Those films may not always collect statues. Yet they linger. Because they remind us that not everything in the natural world exists to be understood through human frameworks.

Some things are simply other – the literal force of nature. And perhaps that is what true monster cinema has always been about — not metaphor, not allegory, but the fragile boundary between ourselves and the wild.

Awards season may continue to evolve. Horror may continue to gain recognition. But the monsters that win will likely remain the ones that know how to behave.

The rest — the indifferent, the ecological, the untamed, will likely continue to circle just beyond the light. Popular, but not recognised. Always in the shadows of recognised greatness. And there is something fitting about that.

My novels explore similar boundaries between folklore, wildlife, and fear. The monsters are rarely simple. Find them on Amazon, Kindle, Audible, and iTunes.

From Villain to Witness: How Modern Cinema Rewrites the Monster

Introduction: Monsters, Reconsidered

For much of cinema’s history, the monster served a simple narrative function. It arrived from the margins, disrupted order, embodied fear, and was ultimately removed so that normality could be restored. Whether giant ape, prehistoric reptile, or nameless creature lurking in the dark, the monster existed primarily as an obstacle. It did not need interiority. It did not need explanation. Its presence alone was justification enough.

That simplicity made monsters effective. Fear thrives on clarity, and early cinema rarely asked audiences to question where the creature came from or why it behaved as it did. The monster was the problem.

But in recent years, that framing has begun to feel increasingly inadequate.

Modern monster films still deliver spectacle and danger, but they are far less comfortable presenting creatures as purely evil forces. Behaviour is contextualised. Motivation is explored. In some cases, the monster is no longer even positioned as the antagonist.

It remains frightening, but it is no longer disposable.

The Classic Monster: Threat Without Context

Early cinematic monsters were designed to simplify fear rather than interrogate it.

In King Kong, Kong is awe-inspiring and tragic, but he is never truly allowed to exist beyond symbolism. He represents the unknown, the primitive, the uncontrollable. His capture and eventual death restore order, and the film closes without seriously questioning whether that outcome was inevitable or just.

This structure repeats across decades of monster cinema. The creature is framed as abnormal, its presence an intrusion into civilisation. Little attention is paid to ecology, displacement, or cause. The monster’s destruction functions as narrative closure.

That approach worked for its time. Monsters were metaphors first and beings second. Fear was externalised and contained.

The Modern Shift: Behaviour Over Villainy

Contemporary monster narratives are far less willing to accept that kind of moral shorthand.

In the MonsterVerse, Kong is no longer portrayed as a rampaging aberration. He is territorial, reactive, and increasingly isolated — a powerful animal responding to confinement, intrusion, and displacement. The destruction he causes is not denied, but it is contextualised. The question is no longer simply how to stop him, but why he is there at all.

A similar approach appears in Damsel, where the creature’s violence is rooted in history and betrayal rather than innate malice. The monster is not softened or turned into a companion figure. It remains a dangerous, direct threat. What changes is the framing. Its behaviour is shown to be a response rather than a pathology.

This distinction matters. Explanation does not neutralise threat. It replaces laziness with honesty.

Monsters, Instinct, and the Conservation Lens

This narrative evolution mirrors a broader shift in how we understand real animals.

In conservation and human–wildlife conflict, the language of “rogue” animals and “evil” predators has largely been abandoned. Serious discussion now centres on habitat loss, injury, food scarcity, and human expansion into contested spaces. When a tiger or lion attacks, the focus is not on moral failure but on circumstance and pressure.

The animal is not absolved of danger — but it is removed from moral judgement.

Modern monster cinema increasingly reflects this ecological thinking. These creatures are frightening not because they are wicked, but because they are powerful, stressed, territorial, or reacting exactly as their biology dictates. Instinct replaces intention. Context replaces caricature.

Importantly, this approach does not anthropomorphise the monster. It does the opposite. By stripping away human moral projection, the creature is allowed to exist as something fundamentally other — governed by its own rules, indifferent to ours.

That indifference is often more unsettling than evil ever was.It strips away human moral projection and allows the creature to exist on its own terms.

Why This Change Matters Now

This shift in monster storytelling is not happening in isolation.

We live in an era defined by systems rather than single causes. Climate change, ecological collapse, geopolitical instability — none of these can be explained through simple villains. Audiences have become increasingly attuned to complexity, and stories built on clear moral binaries often feel dishonest.

What unsettles us now is not the presence of danger, but the recognition that harm can be understandable. That violence can emerge from pressure rather than cruelty. That systems, not monsters, are often the true antagonists.

Modern monster films reflect this discomfort. They resist easy answers. They allow fear to coexist with recognition.

The Monster as Witness, Not Enemy

In many contemporary narratives, the monster has become something closer to a witness than an enemy.

Not a punishment sent to restore balance. Not a curse to be eradicated. But a presence shaped by what has been taken, altered, or ignored.

The creature remains dangerous. The threat is real. Yet the story no longer ends with its removal as moral necessity. Instead, the monster exposes the fragility of human systems and the consequences of interference.

The monster has not disappeared. It has become more truthful.

Closing Reflection

We still call them monsters, but we have quietly stopped treating them as villains.

That change does not make these stories gentler. If anything, it makes them more unsettling. A monster driven by instinct and circumstance cannot be reasoned with or redeemed in simple terms. It can only be understood — and sometimes endured.

Perhaps this shift says less about cinema than it does about us. About a growing awareness that fear does not require evil, and that the most frightening stories are often the ones that refuse to offer clean resolutions.

If you enjoy this kind of storytelling, my fiction explores similar territory — where monsters and animals are shaped by instinct, history, and human pressure rather than simple evil.

Movie Monday: Primate, Killer Apes, and the Stories We Tell About Animals

Welcome back to Movie Monday.

This is only the second entry in the series, but the intention is already clear: this isn’t about quick reviews or ranking creature features by body count. It’s about looking at animal-led horror films through a wider lens… asking what they borrow from reality, what they distort, and what impact those stories have beyond the screen.

This week, the focus is a brand new film – Primate, directed by Johannes Roberts. It’s a deliberately confrontational piece of horror: graphic, tense, and unflinching in its depiction of violence. On the surface, it fits comfortably within the long tradition of “killer animal” cinema. But beneath that familiar framework, I think Primate is doing something more thoughtful, and more troubling.

Intelligence as Horror, Not Gimmick

There is a particular kind of discomfort that lingers after watching Primate. Not the fleeting unease of jump scares or gore, but something quieter and more persistent. A sense that what you’ve just watched isn’t entirely fictional and that the true horror sits uncomfortably close to reality.

The film centres on a chimpanzee capable of communicating through sign language. When the animal contracts rabies, its behaviour becomes violently unstable. What makes this premise effective is not the novelty of intelligence, but how seriously the film treats it.

The chimp’s cognition is not there to make it sympathetic, nor to humanise it for easy emotional manipulation. Instead, intelligence becomes an amplifier. The violence is more disturbing precisely because the audience understands this is not a mindless creature lashing out, but a thinking being whose perception of the world has been catastrophically altered.

Rabies matters here. The film resists framing the chimp as evil, possessed, or monstrous by nature. This is disease, not malice. Pathology, not punishment. That distinction shifts the moral weight of the story away from the animal and back toward the conditions that made such an outcome possible in the first place.

The Horror Isn’t the Chimp

This is where Primate brushes up against an uncomfortable truth that horror cinema has often avoided.

The horror isn’t the chimp. The horror is the belief that we can safely domesticate something that was never meant to be ours.

Highly intelligent animals do not become safer through proximity to humans. If anything, intelligence increases unpredictability when an animal is denied its natural social structures, environmental cues, and physical autonomy. Familiarity does not override biology.

Viewed through this lens, Primate stops being a simple killer-ape film. It becomes a story about misplaced control and the human tendency to mistake access for understanding.

Real-world cases have already shown how fragile this illusion is. In 2009, Travis the chimp — raised in a domestic setting and long treated as a familiar presence rather than a wild animal, violently attacked a woman in his owner’s home. The incident was not the result of cruelty or neglect in any simple sense, but of a far more uncomfortable truth: a highly intelligent, powerful animal had been placed in an environment it was never designed to navigate. When something went wrong, the consequences were catastrophic.

Love did not cancel instinct. Intelligence did not equal compliance.

Primate fictionalises this reality, but it does not exaggerate it. The film’s horror grows from the same fault line: the human insistence that proximity and affection can neutralise biology.

Killer Apes and Cinematic Inheritance

Cinema has a long, complicated relationship with apes. From the earliest monster films through to modern horror, they occupy an uneasy space: strong enough to threaten us, intelligent enough to unsettle us, and similar enough to us to provoke discomfort.

Films like King Kong established a template where apes became symbols of chaos, domination, or fear of the “other”. Too often, those stories leaned on spectacle rather than context, asking audiences to fear the animal without interrogating why it was placed in conflict with humans at all.

Primate inherits that cinematic lineage, but it doesn’t fully repeat its mistakes. The chimp is dangerous, yes, but the film never lets the audience forget that the danger is engineered. Captivity, experimentation, disease, and human arrogance form the backdrop to every violent act.

The animal is not framed as a natural villain. The system surrounding it is.

Misrepresentation, Responsibility, and Modern Horror

This raises a broader question, one that modern creature features can maybe no longer avoid. Can we still make effective animal-led horror without slandering a species?

The answer may lie in perspective rather than restraint. Horror does not lose its power when animals are portrayed honestly; if anything, it becomes more unsettling. When behaviour is grounded in biology, instinct, stress, and environment, violence stops feeling arbitrary and starts feeling inevitable.

Too many older films treated animals as symbols — metaphors for chaos, punishment, or nature “striking back”. In doing so, they often stripped creatures of context, reducing complex species to simple villains. The result was fear without understanding, and spectacle without consequence.

Primate largely avoids that trap. The chimp’s actions are horrifying, but they are never divorced from cause. Captivity, experimentation, disease, and human interference form the framework within which the violence unfolds. The animal is not behaving “out of character”. It is behaving exactly as a compromised, intelligent animal might.

This is an approach I’ve deliberately taken in my own fiction. When I write from the point of view of the creature, it isn’t to humanise or excuse its actions, but to clarify them. To show how instinct, territory, stress, and survival pressures shape behaviour, and how easily human presence destabilises that balance. Horror, in this context, doesn’t come from malice. It comes from collision.

When animals are depicted honestly, the question shifts. The fear is no longer what is the creature capable of? It becomes why did we put it in this position at all?

That, perhaps, is where modern creature-feature horror finds its real responsibility, not in softening its monsters, but in telling the truth about them.

Looking Ahead

Slandering a species has consequences, as Peter Benchley discovered after the unprecedented success of Jaws.

Hot off its 50th anniversary year in 2025, Jaws offers a powerful case study in how fiction can shape fear and how those fears can ripple outward into real-world destruction. In a future Movie Monday, we’ll look at how that film and book sounded a death knell for millions of sharks in the decades that followed, and how Benchley himself later became a vocal champion for their protection.

Because stories about animals don’t end when the credits roll. They linger. And sometimes, they bite far deeper than intended.

🎬 Movie Monday: When Real Animals Became Movie Monsters

Stories have always borrowed from the natural world, sometimes consciously, sometimes not.

Movie Monday is a new, occasional series exploring where cinema, wildlife, and myth overlap: the real animals, behaviours, and biological truths hiding behind some of our most enduring screen monsters.

It sits alongside Monster Monday and Maneater Monday — different lenses on the same question: why certain creatures, real or imagined, refuse to loosen their grip on us.

We like to believe that cinema monsters are born from imagination alone… nightmares made flesh, conjured by writers staring into the dark.

But again and again, the truth is stranger.

Some of the most iconic creatures in film and fiction didn’t come from myth at all. They came from nature, from animals whose behaviours were already so efficient, alien, or unsettling that they barely needed exaggeration.

Filmmakers didn’t invent these monsters.
They recognised them.

👹 Predator: insects, instinct, and a moment at 30,000 feet

The creature in Predator is often remembered for its technology: cloaking devices, shoulder cannons, thermal vision, ritualised hunting codes.

But strip all of that away and you’re left with something far older.

During early development, legendary creature designer Stan Winston was struggling to finalise the Predator’s look. While flying with James Cameron, he talked through the problem, and it was Cameron who suggested a simple, unsettling solution: give it mandibles.

That single idea changed everything.

Designers have since acknowledged the influence of insects, particularly praying mantises, in the Predator’s face and posture. Forward-facing eyes. Mandible-like jaws. A head shaped for tracking and striking rather than expression or empathy.

Mantises already look extraterrestrial to us. They rotate their heads. They calculate distance. They dismember prey with methodical calm.

Even the creature’s voice reinforces this lineage. The distinctive clicking and chittering sounds were created by Peter Cullen, deliberately leaning into insect-like vocalisations rather than anything recognisably mammalian or humanoid.

The Predator doesn’t invent that fear.
It scales it up, arms it, and releases it into a jungle.

What remains, beneath the tech, is an apex ambush hunter — something we instinctively recognise, even if we can’t quite place why.

👽 Alien: nature’s most efficient horror machine

The creature in Alien remains one of cinema’s most disturbing designs because it feels biological. Every stage of its life cycle obeys a logic — parasitic, efficient, and utterly indifferent.

That’s because it draws from multiple real-world inspirations.

One is the deep-sea amphipod Phronima sedentaria, sometimes called the “monster in a barrel.” This tiny crustacean hollows out gelatinous animals, lives inside their emptied bodies, and uses them as both shelter and nursery. It’s parasitism turned architectura.

Then there’s the Alien’s inner jaw, eerily similar to the pharyngeal jaws of moray eels, a second set of jaws that shoot forward from the throat to drag prey deeper inside the body. Watching one in action feels like watching a design error, until you realise how brutally effective it is.

The acid blood? That has uncomfortable echoes of the bombardier beetle, which stores volatile chemicals in separate chambers and mixes them only when threatened, releasing a boiling, corrosive spray with startling precision.

Even the facehugger carries a lineage. Its spidery grip, tail wrap, and underside anatomy closely resemble the ancient horseshoe crab, a creature so old it predates dinosaurs, and so alien it barely seems terrestrial at all.

Alien isn’t fantasy biology.
It’s biology… refined.

🧛 Dracula: when bats became monsters

While working on Dracula, Bram Stoker encountered a New York newspaper clipping describing vampire bats – small, blood-feeding mammals that had been newly “discovered” by Western science and already framed as unnatural horrors.

They didn’t drain victims dry, as legend claimed. But they did feed silently, painlessly, and in the dark. They made small incisions, returned night after night, and relied on anticoagulants to keep blood flowing.

That was enough.

Stoker fused this real behaviour with Eastern European folklore, and suddenly vampirism became biological as well as supernatural. Dracula wasn’t just cursed — he fed, adapted, survived.

Once again, fear took root because it had a foothold in reality.

🦈 Jaws: the predator we misunderstood

Jaws didn’t invent the fear of sharks, but it magnified it catastrophically.

The great white shark is a powerful apex predator, yes. But it is also cautious, energy-efficient, and rarely interested in humans. Most bites are investigative, unfortunate cases of mistaken identity.

In Jaws, however, the shark becomes something else entirely: territorial, vengeful, strategic. It stalks specific individuals. It understands fear.

The exaggeration worked, all too well. The film permanently altered public perception of sharks, contributing to fear-driven culls and a legacy of misunderstanding that conservationists are still trying to undo.

It’s a reminder that when cinema borrows from nature, it doesn’t always give back responsibly. I am working on my own shark-based story, and will have to try and be as respectful as I can with the subject matter.

🍄 The Last of Us and the zombie ant fungus

The monsters of The Last of Us, from the video game and then brought chillingly to life in the HBO series, feel plausible because they already exist.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralis infects carpenter ants across tropical forests. Once inside, the fungus alters the ant’s behaviour, compelling it to climb vegetation and clamp down with its mandibles.

Then it kills the host.

A fungal stalk erupts from the ant’s head, releasing spores onto the forest floor below, perfectly positioned to infect the next generation.

There’s no rage. No hunger. No malice.

Just control.

The horror of The Last of Us lies not in the fantasy of zombies, but in the quiet realisation that free will is not as secure as we think.

🪱 Tremors: ambush predators beneath our feet

The graboids in Tremors feel absurd, until you consider how many real animals hunt exactly this way.

Trapdoor spiders wait motionless beneath the soil, sensing vibrations before exploding upward to seize prey. Bobbit worms bury themselves in sand, striking with astonishing speed, sometimes slicing fish clean in half.

Both rely on:

Vibration detection
Ambush rather than pursuit
Minimal exposure

The genius of Tremors is that it makes the ground itself hostile. The monsters don’t chase — they wait.

Which, biologically speaking, is often far more efficient.

🟢 Slime moulds and The Blob

Slime moulds aren’t fungi. They aren’t animals. They’re something else entirely, capable of learning, problem-solving, and forming efficient networks without a brain.

They flow. They engulf. They adapt.

The creature in The Blob exaggerates this into apocalyptic form, but the unease is justified. Slime moulds already challenge our definitions of intelligence and individuality.

They don’t hunt.
They spread.

Why these monsters endure

The most effective movie monsters don’t break the rules of nature.

They obey them too well.

They feed, reproduce, adapt, and survive. They don’t hate us, they don’t even notice us! And that’s what makes them frightening.

Nature doesn’t need motivation.
Only opportunity.

Wherever possible, I use freely available images sourced from platforms such as Unsplash and Pexels, or other royalty-free image libraries, in accordance with their respective licences. In cases where images are not sourced from these platforms, I make every effort to credit the original photographer, artist, or rights holder where attribution information is available. Some imagery may be used under fair use principles for the purposes of commentary, critique, education, or illustration, particularly in relation to wildlife, history, film, folklore, or cultural discussion. No copyright infringement is intended. If you are the rights holder of an image used on this site and have any concerns, or would like an image to be credited differently or removed, please get in touch and I will address the issue promptly.

The Best (And Worst) of 2022

As a writer, I consume a lot of material – either in the name of research, as a way of switching off, or whilst working. I’ve compiled a list of some of the best things that I’ve read, seen, and listened to, over the last twelve months. I thought it may be of interest to you, dear reader, where I’ve found some of my inspiration and what stirs my interest outside of monsters. I also know the podcasts I listen to have sparked genuine interest when I’ve mentioned them, or in the case of a few here, have been lucky enough to appear on.

Unlike what I’ve caught at the cinema, the books I’ve read aren’t necessarily specific to 2022 releases. As tends to be the case with books, I have discovered them as and when, often by spending too long in bookshops – second-hand or otherwise.

So, without further ado, here’s my favourites of the year. With books and podcasts, you won’t find any ‘worst’ picks, as I genuinely didn’t read any books I didn’t enjoy, and my podcast choices are all personal favourites. But there were a few stinkers on the big screen that I wanted to mention from a story-telling perspective.

Books

Beast: Werewolves, Serial Killers, and Man-Eaters – Gustav Sanchez Romero.

This is a book that explores the history and legends surrounding the ‘Beast of Gevaudan’, a seemingly unstoppable killer wolf, (or wolf-like creature), that plagued a province of rural, pre-revolutionary France. I have always wanted to visit the region and investigate this real-life monster story, but Gustav Sanchez Romero has done a very comprehensive job, saving me the trouble, or spoiling my fun depending on your point of view.

In the foothills and plains of the Margeride mountains, France, between 1764 and 1767, it is estimated between 130 to over 200 men, women, and especially children – were killed by a marauding animal. Its identity has never been known for sure, but its rampage is a matter of record. Its story has seeped into novels, movies, and folklore. This book tries to uncover the facts shrouded by fiction, and sets out the case in a logical, linear series of investigation and explanations.

A Richness of Martens – Polly Pullar

This is one of the books I discovered by accident, taking my purchases to the counter in a bookshop, and seeing this being put aside for another customer. They say never judge a book by its cover, but that’s exactly what I did. Pine martens are one of my favourite animals and I was smitten at first sight.

It didn’t take long to feel whisked away to the Ardnamurchen peninsula with author Polly Pullar, whose descriptive language and wildlife-filled stories enchanted me from the very go. The book reveals how citizen science helped provide new insights into marten behaviour and the complex relationships they form – shooting down many preconceptions more so-called established naturalists had presumed for decades.

The Living Mountain – Nan Shepherd

This short memoir is simple, beautiful, romantic writing that paints a stunning picture of the Cairngorms, their people, and its wildlife. It simply made me want to disappear into the hills and breathe in what I’d been reading. You can probably pick up on my draw to Scotland in some of these choices!

Honourable Mention – Jack Carr’s James Reece novels, State Monsters series – David Weatherly

Sometimes, you need fast-paced fiction to help escape work or just the real-world in general. Look no further than Jack Carr’s James Reece novels – the first of which (The Terminal List) is now also a series on Prime Video, starring Chris Pratt. Somewhat in the mould of Jack Reacher, these books follow a Navy Seal commander who is betrayed by the government, and then sets out on a mission of revenge. What I really like about the books is that there is a genuine character arc, including redemption, challenge, and growth.

David Weatherly is a workaholic author. He is nothing but prolific. I think I’ve read three of his books that have hit the shelves this year, making it impossible to single out just one. If, like me, you have an interest in monsters and folklore, these books will satiate your appetite. Weatherly has dedicated each volume to a single state – and I have torn my way through Utah, Indiana, and North Carolina in recent memory, and I’m sure there were a few others. Weatherly’s journalistic approach and dedicated research is clear on every page, delivering the facts and letting you draw your own conclusions.

Films

Best

Top Gun: Maverick

There simply isn’t another choice. I saw Top Gun: Maverick more than once at the cinema, and a lot more once it became part of my film collection. This movie aced its storytelling, simply by not trying to be anything else. It didn’t try to ‘buy’ itself into an audience, end with a third-act CGI slugfest, or divert from its narrative to impose an opinion. It stuck to character-driven story, with a clear layout of the perils, the promise, and the payoffs we would get. As this YouTube video explains, it’s a masterpiece of storytelling.

One liners, slick action, clearly defined stakes, and a character we root for because we understand his flaws, all turned a sequel we didn’t think we needed into the blockbuster of the year.

Honourable Mentions: Jaws, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

It says a lot about the state of cinema, when two of the surprise hits (and certainly my favourites), were films between 40 and 50 years old, released either in a new format (IMAX and 3D in the case of Jaws), or celebrating its 40^th anniversary (Wrath of Khan). However, the chance of seeing them on the big screen was incredibly welcome, not to say special.

Jaws has always had me wanting to write a UK-based story in the same ilk, which may be coming sooner than you think. This is the film that established the summer blockbuster and Spielberg’s status as a Hollywood heavyweight, not to mention a universal fear of the water.

Khan could be seen as a little hammy, but it’s a film that saved a franchise, and watching a brilliant stage actor like Ricardo Montalban savagely chew the scenery with Shatner is a delight to this day.

Documentaries

Small Town Monsters has delivered another incredible year of investigations into the unexplained. All of their documentary films can be purchased directly from the website, or can be found on Prime Video and Vimeo. American Werewolves was a standout for me, alongside the addictively good Bigfoot: Beyond the Trail series on YouTube.

Panthera Britannia has shot to the top of the list of documentaries covering big cats in Britain. With compelling footage, stoic investigation, startling evidence, and expert commentary, a better case for the ongoing presence of big cats in the UK is yet to be presented. It is also now available on Prime Video.

Worst

Thor: Love and Thunder

Marvel has certainly been less than marvellous since the end of the Infinity saga, but Thor: Love and Thunder was an insulting mess that lacked story, respect, and appeal (for me). In the character of Thor, we’ve explored complex storylines and issues, like mental health, betrayal, revenge, and love. And whereas I felt the balance between comedy and story was right in Ragnarök, Love and Thunder played only for laughs – and cheap ones at that. Thor became a clown that played second fiddle to other characters like Korg, Valkyrie, and Jane Foster. And somebody, please tell Russel Crowe that he cannot do accents. Ever.

Where the Crawdads Sing

Loved the book. Loved David Strathrain’s performance. Didn’t care for much else. It left huge parts of the story out, including essential scenes that would have showed us the character of Kya and who she was. The book delivers in so many ways that the film fell short of. I’d still like to live in Kya’s cabin though.

TV

Yellowstone

I don’t binge watch much, but let’s just say I discovered Yellowstone late in the year, and I’m completely up to date. I am hooked and practically addicted. What I love about the storytelling is, primarily, these are not nice people. You’re not rooting for heroes. Almost all the characters have done horrible, unforgiveable things. Yet, they abide by personal codes of right and wrong that we understand and completely buy into.

Kevin Costner, Kelly Reilley, and Cole Hauser play standout characters in John Dutton, Beth, and Rip respectively. Together, they defend their ranch, family, and way of life through murder, savagery, and brutal payback to any slur. Yet, they’ll defend the weak, stand up to bullies, stop to help you change a tyre, and won’t break their word. But they’ll gun you down without hesitation if they need to. It makes for compelling viewing.

I’m yet to catch the prequel series’ of 1883 and 1923, but with the likes of Sam Elliott, Harrison Ford, and Helen Mirren starring, I’m sure they’ll be just as good.

Podcasts

All of the podcasts should be available on your podcatcher of choice but are definitely available on iOS Podcasts and Spotify.

Big Cat Conversations

Big Cat Conversations is hosted by Rick Minter, an author and researcher based in Gloucestershire – one of the UK’s hotspots for big cat sightings and activity. The podcast acknowledges that sightings of big cats have been recorded across the UK for decades and gives witnesses and the topic a much-needed voice. From exploring the implications of living alongside apex predators for the first time in millennia, to sharing incredible encounters, the podcast is a steadfast and grounded approach to the phenomena.

Honey + the Hex

Honey + the Hex is a podcast hosted by sister-duo Tatum Karmen Swithenbank and Tansie Swithenbank. Their fascination for folklore and spirituality oozes out of every episode as they discuss magick, traditions, myths, rituals, and realms less travelled today.

Monsters & Mysteries

Monsters & Mysteries brings you weekly interviews from across the Fortean field, from authors and researchers to fellow podcasters and devotees. I am always impressed with host Paul Bestall’s dedicated research and genuine interest that always comes across.

Into the Fray

Into the Fray is a riveting ride into the world of cryptids and strange phenomena. Each week sees eyewitnesses to UFOs, bigfoot, the paranormal, and more, discuss their encounters with host Shannon LeGro. A staple of my working week is tuning in to Into the Fray.

WIP Wednesday – Rogue: Chapter Four

Artwork: Stephen Meyer, Yeti concept. Featured in line with fair use.

In last week’s Work-In-Progress Wednesday, you were introduced to a new character who will be appearing in my upcoming book, Phantom Beast. That character was Nina Lee, a Forest Ranger, who will be getting her own spin-off series, the first of which is titled ‘Rogue’.

Rogue is another America-set story with a cryptid at its heart. This time however, it is the legendary sasquatch, aka bigfoot, that will be stalking the forests. I won’t give much else away, but I hope you enjoy this first introduction to both Nina Lee and Rogue

CHAPTER FOUR

Nina Lee took a deep breath, glancing at her cup of coffee that had gone stone cold. She waited for the sobs to reside at the other end of the line. She stared back over the missing persons form. Jake Sutton, nineteen years of age, last heard from three days ago as he hiked south, away from the Pacific Crest Trail and along the eastern border of Mount Rainier National Park. He had abandoned a group of elderly hikers he’d been with, and hadn’t picked up the supply pack waiting for him at the forestry post he’d been scheduled to stop at yesterday. It had now been 24 hours, so he could officially be listed as a missing person. His hysterical mother sounded like she had been counting down the seconds before picking up the phone.

People went missing all the time up here. Some even wanted to. That’s what the families sometimes failed to grasp. After finishing the phone call and completing the report, she filed it and printed out the missing person poster for the board. Whilst there, she took down the outdated ones, the oldest, to make space.

Nina had been with the forestry service for just over five years, joining straight from the University of Washington at Tacoma. Despite majoring in Wildlife Ecology and Management with a minor in Forestry to boot, her aspirations of working with wildlife had quickly been grounded. It was mainly campers, timber firms and water treatment that took up her days. She walked through to the morning briefing. The call had held her up, and she was the last to enter.

“Now that we’re all here,” barked the agent at the front of the room.

The unidentified agent wore darkened glasses and looked like Chuck Norris’s fatter, meaner brother. Nina ignored his stare and took a seat. The guy had already waltzed in like he was the President, not even bothering to tell the lowly rangers which agency he and his suit-clad partner were from. Whoever they were, they seemed to make the chief and the other supervisors nervous. They didn’t seem like the usual Law Enforcement and Investigations Unit types. Although his partner could easily pass for FBI, fat Chuck most certainly couldn’t. With long red hair, a denim sleeveless jacket and a dirty camouflage tee underneath, he looked more like one of the truckers that might occupy any of the local sheriff drunk tanks. He dressed like a hillbilly and spoke like an asshole, that’s all Nina knew.

“Anyway,” stammered Marty Johnson, her boss, standing up as he did so. “North of the Resolute Campsite is currently out of bounds, and will remain so while these men are in the area.”

“I’m still not clear on that,” another ranger spoke up. “Who are these guys and how come they have that kind of authority?”

Travers was young, but spoke his mind. Nina knew everyone else was thinking the same.

“Fuck you, that’s who I am, son,” growled the Chuck Norris wannabe.

Nina glowered in her seat silently. She really didn’t like this guy.

“This grizzly is nothing like you’ve dealt with,” said the agent in the suit, changing tact. “We’re here to help and sort it out. We’re operating a curfew and closing most of the trails for the time being. You’ll also be paired up for the remainder of your patrols until we clear the area, just to be on the safe side.”

“Excuse me,” Nina interjected. “But most of us are hunters, from native backgrounds. We also deal with aggressive bears and other wildlife all the time. Why the extra precautions?”

“He’s a killer,” snapped the Chuck wannabe. “And the reason he’s a killer is because some little sweetheart like you in the Forestry Service took a pot-shot at him. We’re clearing up your mess.”

“And the fact that none of us here have seen neither hair nor hide of this supposed grizzly?” Nina challenged.

“Trust me darlin’, that speaks volumes,” chimed Chuck smugly.

Nina sat back, bristling at the man’s rudeness. She was Skokomish on her mother’s side and Navajo on her father’s. She’d probably known more about tracking and handling wildlife by the time she’d turned five than this guy would ever know. She was certain his attitude stank as much as he did, and looked at Marty for back up. She couldn’t believe he was standing for this. Marty failed to notice, as he was too busy staring at his feet. The meeting appeared to be over.

As the rest of the Forest Service officers got up and began to make their way back to their desks, Nina hung back. She noticed she wasn’t the only one. Scott Travers was too. Concerned his youth and brashness would get the best of him, she was determined to get to Marty and the two agents before him. She walked over, hurriedly.

“The others may be prepared to put up with this anonymous juris-my-dick-tion crap, but I won’t. I want to know who you guys are, I want to see your shields, and I want to see written authority. Until then, you, especially you,” she declared, pointing at fat Chuck, “can check your egos in the parking lot, whilst I run your plates.”

The look of panic Marty fixed her with did little to dissuade her. She couldn’t believe that a few seconds ago she had been worried about Travers being too blunt.

The agent in the suit stood up, a half smile on his face.

“Okay, settle down, I get it. My partner here can be a little forthright. My name is Special Agent Gregory Smith. This is Agent Cordell Jones,” he explained, nodding towards Chuck.

“Agents Smith and Jones…I’m seriously meant to believe that?” Nina exclaimed.

“Believe what you like, it’s the truth. And it’s all you’re getting,” Jones growled in her direction, stepping forward.

“What department are you with?” Nina asked, ignoring him. “You guys aren’t LEI, that’s for sure.”

“We’re…from a branch within the Bureau for Land Management,” Smith replied.

“That’s even harder to believe,” said Travers, who had walked up behind Nina as they were talking. She realised he was making it clear she had back up, but was keeping a respectful distance. He wasn’t stepping in, but he was prepared to. She appreciated the gesture.

“The Bureau for Land Management are investigating a grizzly bear attack?” Nina continued.

“Imagine if you can, there may be shit you don’t know,” Jones grinned.

“What I can imagine,” shrugged Nina, “is that’s a two-way street.”

Marty met her gaze. He seemed more in control now, but his glance still warned her to back off.

“Maybe they can be of help,” Marty suggested to the agents. “You’ve got a lot of ground to cover, a lot of people to talk to. Maybe it’s a case of many hands make light work.”

Smith gave a nod signifying his approval to Jones, who didn’t seem quite as taken with the idea. Then, smiling smugly, he reached behind him and grabbed a large pile of manila files from the table.

“Well, seeing how good you are at running your mouth n’all, maybe you can carry out some interviews,” he sneered. “It’ll keep you out of our hair, and we won’t have to waste our time with a bunch of drunk natives.”

Nina glowered at the man. She was on the brink of losing control of her temper. She imagined darting forwards and slamming her elbow into his face, breaking his nose. It would be easy, and satisfying. But she guessed Marty was nervous for a reason. She clenched her fists, only a little shake in her arms hinting at her pent-up fury. She snatched the files from him.

“Happy to be of help,” she replied, turning her back.

“One more thing,” Marty said, calling her back. “The patrolling in pairs thing is mandatory. Take Travers with you.”

“What?” Nina exclaimed. “Marty, there isn’t a thing in these woods I haven’t come across on my own before. I can handle it. Plus, up on the res, I can’t vouch for his safety, especially among them drunk natives,” she scowled, staring at Jones.

“My partner was out of line before,” Smith offered, “but you’re close to being the same way. It’s our way, or no way. If you want to be involved, this is it.”

Nina looked at Travers. He shrugged. He was trying to look nonchalant, but he clearly wanted in. She sighed. It seemed like a hopeless fight anyway. And Travers wasn’t a terrible choice of partner. Despite his youth, he was tall, well built, and could handle himself. He was a little impetuous and thoughtless, but nothing she couldn’t keep in check. And he knew not to push his luck with her, which was a major plus. As soon as her demeanour softened, his bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously. She often teased him that he had only been recruited because his brown hair matched the uniform, but compared to everyone else, she knew they could at least work together.

“Come on you big lug,” she sighed.

Travers followed her out of the room back to her desk. As she flipped through the files, she saw some familiar names. Some she dismissed, shuffling them to the bottom of the pile. Others she took an interest in and brought them to the top.

“Well, it might not be a dull day after all,” Nina quipped, looking up at Travers. “We’ll head up to the reservation like they want us to, but we’ll do some sightseeing on the way.”

“Where to?” Travers asked.

“First, there’s Lucas Christian,” Nina replied, raising an eyebrow.

“The writer?”

“The very one. Bought a huge piece of land out in the forest and built a luxury house out there. Rumour is that it’s less writing retreat, more fortress. I don’t know about you, but I’d like a look around that place.”

Travers nodded, impressed.

“Then there’s Patwyn Dalton, owner of Dalton logging. He’s been complaining about guys from the res moving stuff around his camp, damaging equipment and such like. And he just happens to have been the guy who sold the land to Lucas Christian.”

“Think that’s just a coincidence?” Travers asked.

“I think it’d be interesting to see how they’re linked to each other, that’s for sure.”

“Isn’t it like you said, guys from the res causing trouble with chunks of the forest being sold off?”

Nina smiled. “No, I don’t think so. But I think you’re right about one thing. I think it’s about territory. Let’s go find out.”

X-Files: The best monsters of the week

The latest series of the X-Files is currently on UK screens (Channel 5, Mondays at 10PM), and tonight sees the arrival of the always greatly anticipated “monster of the week” episode. In season eleven’s “Ghoulie”, two teenage girls attack one another, each believing the other to be a monster. The episode plays with cultural references such as Creepy Pasta, as it explores the myth of the “screaming skull” as well as what the real definition of a monster could be.

But as we shall see, the X-Files has a long and much-loved history of flirting with cryptids and creatures. I’m going to ignore the many human (ish) monsters that have made their way into the X-Files, and just stick to those that most of us would recognise as the real deal.

S1: E19 – Shapes

This is probably the X-Files episode that both scares me the most, and I have watched the most. Although we never really see the monster clearly, we do see it’s bulging, amber eyes and hear its panting breaths as it watches its prey from the shadows. A spate of gruesome murders brings Mulder and Scully into the jurisdiction of the Native American Tribal Police, and the legend of the Manitou – or werewolf to you and me.

In the episode, an elder explains that the curse revisits every eight years. Oh, how I wished it was a case that was returned to at a later date, but alas, it was never to be.

S2: E2 – The Host

AKA as the flukeman, The Host sees a humanoid, parasitic organism using sewage systems to live in seclusion, away from humans. But when confronted, its predatory nature quickly comes to the surface.

S3: E22 – Quagmire

Another firm favourite, Quagmire sees our dynamic duo searching for a beast similar to the Loch Ness Monster, in a lake in Georgia. I love this episode, as it keeps you guessing all the way through, and there’s a lovely little Easter Egg right at the end too. Not an episode for dog lovers though…

S5: E4 – Detour

A quintessential monster in the woods story gives Mulder the perfect excuse not to go to a team-building seminar, and instead drags Scully, and the two agents unfortunately (for them) hitching a ride, literally into the woods. Several disappearances and a boy’s tale of something invisible attacking him, leads Mulder to believe nature may be taking a vengeful turn against people.

S6: E13 – Agua Mala

As a hurricane bears down on the Florida coast, a contact asks Mulder and Scully to investigate the disappearance of two marine biologists. This episode is a controversial choice among X-Files die-hards, as it’s considered too funny to be scary – but it was great for two reasons. First, humour and the monster of the week episodes quickly became hallmarks of the series, and two, the late great Darren McGavin returns as Arthur Dales. Third, there’s a sea monster on the loose!

“Don’t sneer at the mysteries of the deep, young lady. The bottom of the ocean is as deep and dark as the imagination.”

Arthur Dales

S6: E16 – Alpha

A cryptozoologist and a canine biologist import a rare Chinese dog that kills those transporting it and seems to show supernatural cunning in its behaviour. More evil glowing eyes in this episode, and an interesting twist too.

S7: E12 – Cops

A clear example of how humour and the monster of the week episodes worked well together, the crew of hit show “Cops” follow Mulder and Scully as they investigate a neighbourhood monster.

S8: E19 – Alone

In season 8, it took a full-blown reptilian creature to drag Mulder back into the X-Files for a guest appearance. Just remember that folks, it was a monster of the week that brought Mulder back. You’d be watching Robert Patrick right now if it wasn’t for that scaly SOB.

S10: E3 – Mulder & Scully meet the Were-monster

This episode was greatly anticipated by show fans, not for just being the only monster of the week of the newly emerged season 10, but also for the return of writer Darin Morgan. The one-liners come thick and fast, and the twist is almost as funny.

So, although I couldn’t quite make it to ten, perhaps tonight’s “Ghoulie” will make the list. Are you sitting comfortably? Yes? Obviously, I want to believe you, but you can’t possibly be watching the X-Files then! And remember, just like the truth, the monsters are out there.

The Best (and worst) of 2017

So, as 2017 draws to a close, I’m taking a look back at some of the best and worst books, films, and TV that I had the good (and bad) fortune to fall for over the last twelve months. There may be some mild spoilers ahead, so be warned if you want to watch or read in blissful ignorance when it comes to any of my choices.

Books

Few and Far Between by Charlie Elder was one of the most entertaining and well-written books I’ve read in years. Told from the everyman’s perspective, the plight of some of our rarest animals and birds is explored with incredible charm, humour, and concern.

Talulla Rising by Glen Duncan is the second in the Last Werewolf trilogy. This no-holds-barred tale of Talulla and her child taking on the malevolent forces looking to rid the world of werewolves and other creatures is an absolute riot of blood, slaughter, violence, and mayhem. A great read.

The Invention of Nature by Andrea Wulf is a love-letter of a book, putting a well-deserved spotlight on the work and life of Alexander von Humbolt. As one of the first scientists to truly understand ecology and the connections between all living things, not to mention having more species of flora and fauna named in his honour, this book rightly puts his achievements back under our noses.

On the other hand, Hominid by R.D. Bradly just rubs our noses in it. After a promising start and a horrifying childhood encounter, bigfoot turns out to be a gentle forest giant with super powers.

Monster of the Mere by Jonathan Downes follows the exploits of the Centre for Fortean Zoology as they try to establish if a giant fish could really call one of England’s greatest nature reserves home. The premise is intriguing, but unfortunately the delivery doesn’t quite live up to the expectation. I am all for self-publishing, and I realise that costs can be prohibitive – and I can also forgive the occasional spelling or grammatical error. But averaging one a page tends to detract from the reading experience. The same lack of editing also means that Downes is free to explore wild tangents at leisure. The actual account of the investigative aspects of the ‘expedition’ could be reduced to a handful of pages at best. Perhaps its apt, given the CFZ journeyed from one side of the country to the other, but this book really goes all over the place.

If you really want to be depressed whilst reading a book, then pick up a copy of Hold the Dark by William Giraldi. From characters you can’t possibly like, to pretentiousness that’s hard to ignore, this was a perfect example of why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Films

Without doubt, my top film of the year was Logan. This gritty, sombre, emotionally violent finale to the wolverine movies gives the X-Men’s anti-hero the sendoff that not only he deserves, but the one we wanted to see. And catch it in the ‘noir’ version if you can for even extra atmosphere and a little bit of extra class.

And when it comes to emotional strings being tugged, Bladerunner 2049 should have received an award for best use of original music ever. If you’re not welling up by the time you hear ‘tears in the rain’ pierce the score, then you may want to question your own humanity, let alone Decker’s.

And in joint third place, we have both Star Wars: The Last Jedi, and Thor: Ragnarok. Both have their flaws, and both have proven controversial with their loyal audiences.

Star wars was probably my most anticipated movie of the year, and I personally find the running out of time storyline a huge improvement over ‘have to blow something big up’. There is some bold story telling along with impressive character development, but it is almost inexcusable that the line “I have a bad feeling about this” didn’t make the script. Director Rian Johnson says it is in there, but it is either uttered by a droid or a wookie, which is either pretentious, or more likely, sounds awfully like they forgot (if you’re not aware, it has been uttered in every single Star Wars movie to date). There are also some horrendous Disney-esque scenes, but I loved it.

Thor on the other hand, kills off a whole host of characters we have spent the last two films getting to know with explanation or ceremony, and leaves out one key character altogether, but makes up for it by squeezing every drop of comedy the God of Thunder has to offer. Both films are skirting dangerously close to getting it wrong, but have gotten away with it, at least for now.

But for an example of a film that flirted with the line of where not to go, crossed it, took a dump, and then kicked it in the general direction of the screen, look no further than Alien: Covenant. Just awful. Shockingly bad acting, a storyline that makes no sense and which took the advice of critics to ignore Prometheus a little too literally, plus some of the worst creatures and visual effects to grace the cinema ever, let alone 2017.

Other cinematic catastrophes included The Mummy, where Tom Cruise runs a bit and forgot he wasn’t making a Mission Impossible film. Russel Crow turning up as a certain Dr. Jekyll is amusing, but no where near as funny as what is meant to be his English accent.

And Underworld Blood Wars was a film where not even Kate Beckinsale wrapped in leather could distract from quite how bad things were getting for that particular franchise. Unfortunately, the tiresome war between vampire and werewolf needs a stake through the heart and a silver bullet to the head just to be sure.

Honourable mentions should go to Beauty and the Beast, John Wick 2, Wonder Woman, and Murder on the Orient Express, and even Justice League, all of which I enjoyed.

But dishonourable mentions should be awarded to xXx: The Return of Xander Cage, The Great Wall, Ghost in the Shell, and Transformers: The Last Knight. All were terrible, but not quite in the league of insult as those mentioned above.

TV

I’ll stick to the good stuff on the small screen, as I tend to only catch the stuff I know I like.

Let’s start with Billions. This is without a doubt one of the best written, most griping bits of television out there. A warring hedge-fund ‘king’ and a District Attorney get to grips with what real power can do, only to discover what it does to the people surrounding them.

And of course, winter eventually arrived and Game of Thrones delivered dragons on a scale we were never expecting. Unfortunately, we will have to wait until 2019 to find out how it all ends, as it’ll almost certainly beat the long awaited book to the finish line.

So, there you have it – my 2017 in books, film, and TV. On to new discoveries in 2018!

Not Finding Bigfoot

I have a confession to make. I watch Finding Bigfoot, and I enjoy it. Though when I say I enjoy it, I mean it makes me laugh and I find it amusing, as any actual investigation and research is as absent as the hairy hominid itself.

Picture the scene if you will. Sir David Attenborough quietly and stealthily approaches a large male silverback gorilla in the forests of Rwanda. The entire crew and the game rangers accompanying them hold their breath at this cautious and historic attempt at first contact. Fingers reach out, an unsure grunt and warning is issued. Everyone freezes, and relaxes as the alpha bruises over and gently begins to groom Sir David’s flaxen hair. Suddenly, the gorillas look up collectively, startled by the arrival of a drum line trooping through their feeding ground to a particularly good rendition of the Radetzky March. Dave has his arms ripped off in the ensuing panic and the gorillas charge, using the pulped bodies of the little drummer boys to beat the now silent percussion skins. The game rangers look to the crew in horror, who shrug and explain they had it on good authority this was a standard way to look for big monkeys.

And that good authority comes in the form of the presenters of Finding Bigfoot, Matt Moneymaker (clue in the name folks), James ‘Bobo’ Fay, Cliff Barackman and Ranae Holland. Other ways of stealthily approaching primates include organising fireworks displays, performing rock concerts, shouting as loud as you can into the woods, and if you’re Bobo, falling down a lot and generally crashing through the timber like a wrecking ball. It will come to you as no surprise, that despite the show’s title, Bigfoot is yet to be found.

That said, what really draws me in to the show are the witness encounters. These often come across as very genuine, although the dodgy reconstructions less so it has to be said. Cliff and Ranae are definitely my preferred half of the team, Cliff being an experienced field researcher who seems to put up with the shenanigans because he gets to do his thing on TV, and Ranae being a research biologist who thinks they’re all nuts, but amusing.

Matt in particular makes some amazing claims biologically for an animal yet to actually be discovered, and its behaviour observed officially. I have growled at the TV more than once as he has casually explained Sasquatch’s ability to make its eyes glow red – something not just biologically unheard of, but frankly impossible. We’re not talking about eye-shine or reflection here; he means the full on, self-igniting superman-style laser vision, apparently available at will and not catalogued in any other primate, scratch vertebrate, ever discovered. They should use the bats they keep handy for tree knocking on him every time he says something unquantified, but that would mean he’d get hit in the head a lot, which some suspect may already be the case anyway.

Bigfoot is one of my favourite cryptid creatures, and I think of all the things that might be out there, it’s one of the more likely. Even famed primate expert Jane Goodall has gone on record to say she is fascinated by the accounts and won’t deny they exist and hopes very much they do. There are good examples of evidence and some very good research being done, but you won’t find it on Finding Bigfoot most of the time.

A great source for material on all things Bigfoot can be found at the relatively new Sasquatch Chronicles website, where you can also listen to their podcasts and read their blogs. Be warned though, just like me, they don’t think the big fella is all that cute and cuddly!

http://www.sasquatchchronicles.com