The Wonder of Brian Cox

by Ben Falk

  Despite the rigours that went into making the four shows, he felt they had come up with something that he and the BBC could be proud of. ‘It’s the [show] I wanted to make,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a good relationship with the production team at the BBC. I don’t know how to make films but I have a clear view of what I want to have in them. If it was down to me, I’d force the content level up too high, but they need to make something accessible and beautiful.’ He was very conscious of trying to keep the show grounded, despite its lofty themes and the fact that it discussed locations many millions of light years away – not exactly accessible on a BBC budget. They had dazzling graphics, but he was keen to reiterate that this was not just a big CGI fest.

  ‘The ambition of the series is to try and get away from using too many graphics, if possible,’ he said. ‘You obviously have to use some graphics because we are talking about quite esoteric concepts, but we tried to put these things “on earth” by using real physical things to talk about the processes. What we did, we went inwards into the prison and at each layer, we said here’s where the hydrogen fuses to helium and here’s the shell where helium goes to carbon and oxygen, and another shell all the way down to iron at the centre of the stars. That’s the way stars are built, so we used this layered prison to illustrate that and then collapse it. That’s a good example of what the ambition of the series was.’ This was demonstrated in the first episode. ‘I like to use simple things,’ he explained, ‘so in the first episode, I used a sandcastle, literally a sandcastle, to explain something. The posh name is the second law of thermodynamics, but to us it’s everything falls to bits eventually.’

  Though grand in scope, the four Wonders of the Universe shows came down at their heart to simple ideas. The first, titled Destiny, was one of the more downbeat opening episodes to a science series, explaining the end of the universe and life as we know it through the theories of entropy. While eager not to repeat himself, the basic structure remained the same as Solar System: long intro, lots of epic time lapse photography and helicopter shots, as well as the camera concentrating on Cox experiencing all this in a personal context. It was, as he had laughed about during the making of his 2008 Horizons, all about a journey.

  The second episode was called Stardust and examined many of the ideas he had shared with the makers of Sunshine. It was its own kind of creation story, explaining how humans were made among the stars. Part three – Falling – revisited a familiar topic. Accompanied by a Bobble Head toy of Albert Einstein, Cox explored his predecessor’s Theory of Gravity. To finish, Messengers discussed light and used photon energy as a conduit into the Big Bang. As a series, it was cleverly put together, starting with the end of the world and working backwards. With its portentous title and apocalyptic outlook, Destiny saw Cox traverse from an abandoned diamond mine in the Namibian desert (the scene of the sandcastle) to a Patagonian glacier. An ancient temple in a far-flung corner of Peru made him think of home, only in the sense that he joked about building a similar kind of solar calendar-based edifice in his back garden. The word ‘profound’ got a thorough workout, as did long establishing shots of Cox staring into the distance or at some impressive sight.

  Stardust was more upbeat, with lots of interesting take-home knowledge. Travelling to Kathmandu to observe a Hindu cremation ceremony may perhaps have been overdoing it, but Cox’s explanations of how the Himalayas are essentially made from long-dead and crushed sea creatures (in the limestone) were fascinating, as was the knowledge that all the gold mined in the world would only ever fill three Olympic-sized swimming pools (which seems rather far-fetched).

  He also got to indulge his playful side, blowing bubbles to illustrate nuclei joining together and throwing sodium in a bottle of water until it exploded – a childish experiment that made him giggle. The Rio prison demolition sequence was suitably filmic, a style that was repeated through the series. Though aesthetically bombastic, in a science documentary (and not Spooks), it felt a bit silly, as did an action movie-style montage sequence while he prepared to step into a centrifuge à la James Bond in Moonraker in Falling. Managing to accelerate to 5G before he cut it off, emulating the gravity he would have faced on some of the universe’s exo-planets, this was the only thing that managed to make the professor appear actually older than his years, an experience he described understatedly as ‘quite unpleasant’.

  The final show, Messengers, spun history all the way back to the Big Bang. ‘Understanding the universe is like a detective story,’ he said, and that’s how he approached it, going back through the evidence that led scientists to understand light from billions of years ago. He travelled to Tanzania to take a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy and looked at rainbows over Victoria Falls in Zambia. At Carnak Temple in Egypt, he watched the sun rise on the morning of the Winter Solstice, just as the Pharaohs had done, 2,000 years previously. Whether breaking the sound barrier on a Hawker Hunter jet fighter, or examining some of the oldest fossils of complex life ever discovered in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, this was the apotheosis of what the Wonders series was all about: big theories, large numbers, the sun flaring into the camera lens, projectors on a deserted African savannah, extravagant set-ups, B-roll sequences that resembled a French film from the 1960s, poetic language; also grand, if something non-sequitur-style music – and Cox at the centre, a benevolent presence laying out what it all meant for the audience and the world around them.

  As the final clip of him kayaking solo down a large river faded over the credits in a shot almost designed as a hero image, the BBC had clearly found their saviour of science and they were already bolstering his star power. Along with his production team and the BBC Science unit, he had achieved a perfect example of understanding the modern viewer and what they want from a show of this type. ‘The trick, of course, is finding the most effective contemporary means of delivering this message and this is not, as a physicist would say, time invariant. In other words, the techniques of television change with the years,’ he said. ‘It’s always tempting to gaze backwards to an imagined golden age, probably the television you watched when you were ten or twelve years old and bemoaned the inevitable evolution in presentation and editorial style. But for me, the most visceral connection with an audience is achieved when a programme or presenter moves beyond a presentation of the facts and figures, and places the scientific discoveries in their magnificent context. The presentation of ideas must sit at the heart of great TV.’

  Ratings for Wonders of the Universe went through the roof. Each episode was repeated two days after the first showing and the first episode was watched by an incredible 6 million, an extremely high figure for a BBC2 factual programme. The first showing on Sunday nights, for example, received over 4 million – over double the amount something in the same timeslot usually gets. By the end of the series, it was averaging between 5 and 6 million viewers per week, almost soap opera numbers. The reviews were mainly as rapturous as for Solar System. ‘His scientific account of the cyclic nature of the cosmos is an immensely fascinating one, and was especially enlightening to those who wondered just how we know the chemical makeup of astral bodies from unimaginable distances, and Cox explained this in just enough detail without bogging the theory down with overly indulgent sci-babble,’ said Den of Geek. ‘Again, Cox’s practical illustrations of his points were inspired and over the course of the hour, we visited geysers in the Chilean Andes and a Brazilian prison, which was utilised in what must be one of the most satisfying demonstrations of a dying star in educational history. Was it really necessary to show Brian walking away from the explosion in slow motion like an astrophysical Keanu Reeves, though? Only the director (who clearly has lofty ambitions) can answer that, and tropes like this may be the price we have to pay for a programme that does, admittedly, once again look superb. And by the time the hour was up, Cox had explained with commendable clarity and enthusiasm the life cycles of the stars themselves. Fascinating stuff, once again, and Cox imparts these facts with such a love of his sub
ject that you hang on every word.’

  Others, while still heaping praise on the presenter, had a bone to pick with certain sequences. ‘What is it with the BBC and mountain tops?’ wrote Tom Sutcliffe in the Independent. ‘Is there supposed to be some hint at Mosaic inspiration here? Either way, it’s become tediously predictable and it should stop. And it’s particularly unforgivable when you have a presenter, such as Cox, who is actually capable of drawing you in without being marooned on an icy pinnacle, with a BBC safety officer having kittens somewhere just out of shot. Wonders of the Universe is an attempt to take advantage of the success of Professor Cox’s previous series, Wonders of the Solar System, which unexpectedly spun out of low-earth orbit to find a substantial general audience. Like its predecessor, it’s big on cosmic dazzlement and mind-boggling perspectives and full of epic orchestration and screen-saver graphics, most of which are much less successful at conveying the immensity of the ideas involved than one human being talking to you directly. It helps that he doesn’t go too deep. But the point of such programmes is less to explain every detail than arouse a generalised sense of awe that might spin off into further thinking, and Professor Cox is very good at that.

  ‘When he tells you that a photograph of an unremarkable red blob in a field of fuzzy white blobs is “one of the most interesting images taken in recent astronomical history,” you’re inclined to believe him, or at least give him time to explain why. And the final sequence – in which he outlined the unimaginably distant moment when the last star gutters to a cinder and “nothing happens and it keeps not happening for ever” – conveyed a genuine chill of mystery.’ Sam Wollaston in the Guardian didn’t so much review the programme as write a comedic faux diary entry by Cox himself, pointing out his glamorous wardrobe and way with huge numbers. And Chris Harvey in the Daily Telegraph outlined how rare was a presenter of Cox’s ilk, with the seemingly effortless ability to stop confused viewers wanting to switch over. ‘The explanation for why time always moves forward required Cox to make plain the second law of thermodynamics,’ he wrote in his review. ‘The first law, as we all know, stipulates that when a TV scientist tries to slip the phrase “second law of thermodynamics” into a sentence, a large proportion of viewers start wondering what’s happening on MasterChef. Cox is different. Scientists who can capture the popular imagination come along extremely rarely. Those that are also photogenic enough to look good striding along a deserted beach or gazing at a glacier are even rarer.

  ‘The most poetic sequence was probably the one in an abandoned diamond-mining town in Namibia. Founded in 1908, after a single diamond had been found in the sand, it had long been abandoned and was gradually being reclaimed by the desert. Cox used it to explain why the world doesn’t run in reverse, with the help of a sandcastle that he made with bucket and spade. It was an almost perfect snapshot of the combination of academic science and childlike wonder that Cox provides.’

  Ultimately, that was what made the shows so successful – a mix of stunning images and Cox’s unique ability to explain complicated ideas, executed without patronisation, allowing the audience to understand but also feel their way through some of the deeper material. ‘My personal view, particularly when communicating complex ideas, is that simplicity of explanation is probably best,’ Cox argued. ‘In my programmes I feel that I can bring the audience with me on a complex scientific point if I sit down and explain the science as best I can. I also believe that the practice of trying to say absolutely nothing that the audience may find remotely difficult is simply wrong. For me, it’s far better to leave the audience with a few questions rather than have them led by the hand gently through a concept and then repeat that concept again to them in a slow, deep voice in voiceover and then repeat it again in vision just to make sure. If in doubt, my view is it’s better to credit the audience with too much intelligence rather than too little. Challenge your audience a bit and they respond. This is certainly true in teaching and lecturing, so why shouldn’t it be true in TV as well?

  ‘It’s my view that the true beauty and therefore the attractiveness of science is only available when it’s presented accurately. How can it help the audience to truly understand and appreciate something if you skip over necessary information in the misguided cause of simplification? Science is compelling, but only if you have the facts in front of you.’

  One of the perils of a high-profile show is that while you reap the rewards, you also become open to more criticism. Most of this was angled not at Cox himself, but the way the programmes were put together. Much of it emanated from less high-profile peers, who while happy he was bringing science to the mainstream, still had reservations about the format of the show. ‘Grumpy old cosmologists (i.e. people like myself) who have watched [the series] are a bit baffled by the peculiar choices in location – seemingly chosen simply in order to be expensive, without any relevance to the topic being discussed – the intrusive (and rather ghastly) music and the personality cult generated by the constant focus on the dreamy-eyed presenter,’ wrote one blogger. Another said: ‘Television companies and/or commissioners of programmes like to pad out science documentaries with material such as pictures of landscapes, images of the presenter, fast-moving computer graphics and background music. I’m sure that Brian Cox would prefer to be able to make programmes without so many of the less relevant additions, but media culture would make this difficult on mainstream channel.’

  Cox in turn addressed the attacks on style over substance, saying to Discovery.com: ‘The thing I learned – because I’m interested in two things really, music and science – is that when I make TV programmes, I’m not only interested in making a show that has a lot of scientific facts in it. Obviously I want there to be a scientific narrative and I want people to understand things about the universe but I like to make programmes that look beautiful, for example, where the music works in the programme. So I have a dual interest in making something that looks nice, that’s a piece of film really, as well as a lesson. It helps [that I’ve got a musical background too], because I have an aesthetic appreciation of what I want to do.’ He was unapologetic, adding: ‘It is my view, the best way to use television to build a more scientific world is to make TV programmes that celebrate science, that present the facts accurately to be sure, but also place upfront the beauty, emotional power and profound implications of the scientific worldview because science is, at its core, a deeply human pursuit. It stems from that most human desire to explore and explain the world around us.’

  Not everyone agreed. For many viewers, one particular sticking point was the volume of the background music by Sheridan Tongue, a freelance composer who scored both series. BBC’s Points of View revealed that 118 complaints had been made to the Corporation, saying the music made the narration impossible to hear. One person wrote: ‘You don’t have to dumb everything down by pretending we’re all in a nightclub.’

  Wonders executive producer Jonathan Renouf bowed to public pressure and reduced the volume, saying: ‘There’s enough volume of complaints over this. I think we clearly have made an error of judgment so we are re-mixing the sound for all of the films, to pull down the music and effects levels when Brian is talking.’ Cox was furious at the BBC kow-towing to what amounted to a small minority, arguing: ‘It should be cinematic experience – it’s a piece of film on television, not a lecture.’ But several disabled charities praised the move. A spokeswoman for the Royal National Institute for the Deaf said: ‘RNID welcomes the BBC’s decision to lower the level of background music on the Wonders of the Universe, which will make this already dramatic and engaging programme more accessible and enjoyable for people with hearing loss.’

  With hindsight, Cox was slightly more amenable to those who might have a problem with the way the programme was shot and suggested there would be a rethink before embarking on the inevitable follow-up, which had tentatively been titled Wonders of Life. ‘I accept some criticisms of the series,’ he told interviewer Stuart Jeffries. ‘I think th
e days of standing alone on a mountaintop while a helicopter circles round me are over. We’re not going to do that again. But it’s a challenge to suggest the epic, awe-inspiring nature of the universe. When Carl Sagan made Cosmos, he got a lot of stick. So do I. But it’s hard: how do you keep the body of the documentary and remove all the visual clichés? To be honest, I’m a little bored of the grandiose thing and I want to move on.’

  In fact, viewers were already comparing him favourably to his idol, especially the younger ones. ‘Brian Cox’s presentation style is right on for a large fraction of the under 25s,’ wrote teacher Rhodri Evans. ‘I find the style of the programme superficial compared to Cosmos. But, last year I showed the opening ten minutes of Cosmos to my students and I could see from their faces that many had switched off. Carl Sagan’s eloquence is too verbose for young people of today, 30 years on. My 14-year-old son would also find Cosmos too ponderous, but loves Wonders.’

  Not only was the series a smash hit, but so too was the book accompanying it. The BBC had used the same vehicle with Wonders of the Solar System and liked texts to appear in Tesco and Waterstones alongside their flagship shows. Co-written with BBC commissioning editor Andrew Cohen, it even reached the top of the non-fiction charts. Cox was especially happy. ‘You know what I’m pleased about?’ he said. ‘It displaced One Direction’s biography because it’s gone from One Direction and now it’s a physics book. I love One Direction – great band – but it says something about culture, doesn’t it?’