Science in Film: Project Nim

Project Nim, by British film maker, James Marsh, recounts the life of a chimpanzee selected for the privilege of being taught American Sign Language. Removed from his mother when he was two weeks old, Nim was passed from human family to human family at the behest of the psychologist in charge of the research, until he finally ended up in a series of cash-strapped wild animal refuges. Nim learned sign language reasonably well, and then used most of his communication skills to beg for food and urge people to play. By chimp standards, he apparently was not a tremendous intellect, but I must admit I know plenty of humans with similar priorities.

On first impression, the film seems like a balanced view of a controversial time in animal research. The scientists, professors, students and technicians interviewed share their human frailties and unfortunately do not come off particularly well. The first surrogate mother admits to breast feeding the infant chimp; a later caregiver admits to sharing joints with the adolescent Nim. The lead scientist clearly had an eye for the babes at a time when carnal relations between professor and student were not so taboo as today.

In one sad scene, the prof is interviewed on American prime time news, and admits that he considers the 'experiment' a failure. There was no 'Galileo Moment', as one observer put it. We aren't told what the experimenters expected. Did they want philosophical insights into the chimp's dark visions? Did they want Nim to tell jokes? Why did they feel compelled to extract this poor animal from his artificial zoo home and immerse him in dysfunctional human families? Why was this necessary to teach him sign language? There is some mumbling about the hot topic of nature versus nurture, but then, who would do such an experiment with one animal, with no replication? Knowing he would be around human children, menstruating women and family pets, why did they not neuter Nim rather than let his testosterone run wild? By focussing on human failings, the film makers cheat the audience out of the answers to questions about the work, questions most viewers won't realize they should be asking.

The movie brought to mind Sara Gruen's recent novel The Ape House, which I considered a clichéed look at the world of primate research and of science in general. But this movie makes me wonder if I was the naive one. The scientists in this film seem every bit as tunnel-visioned as those in Gruen's fiction. Reading more about the rationale behind the actual Nim project after I saw the movie, the deficiencies in the film itself became clearer. The context of Noam Chomsky's work on the linguistic potential of animals is hardly mentioned. Noam Chomsky... Nim Chimpsky... I'm sure it seemed funny at the time.

When I write grant applications, I check off boxes declaring that reviews of animal welfare, environmental impact or biosecurity are not required. These are always an annoyance; I'm a responsible guy, as are most other scientists I know. After seeing this film, I appreciate more why such reviews are needed.

You have to be careful with documentaries. By hiding behind the viewers' trust, that what the film makers show you is true, it is easy to forget about the cutting room floor. In this film, part of the agenda matches mine: scientists are people too. But there is an insidiousness here, an insinuation that because these are imperfect human beings, that their science is arrogant, misguided and of dubious value. We need these stories, but documentary journalism, like science, should be balanced and should not conceal inconvenient facts.

Let's Trade!

Last night, I dreamed that our group leader was hosting two tall men in suits, and it became clear
that they were trying to buy him, or buy us, for their research institution in Shreveport, Louisiana. The boss handed them over to me, laughing dismissively. "If you can convince him," he told his visitors, "then maybe we have something to talk about." In the dream, there was no follow-up. But I considered uprooting my life to another country for money, for my research, wondering if I could find all the dog's vaccination certificates. Then I realized that the work they were buying me to do wasn't the kind of work I loved, and it wasn't really me they wanted to buy.

In the real world of science, this actually does happen. At least one close colleague moved his whole institute from one university to another, to a different city, staff, students and all. More often, it is a single bright young star they are after, someone who has published something big in Science or Nature or Cell during their doctoral work or as a post doc, someone with the potential to bring in lots of grants (lots of overhead) and students (lots of tuition). Cross border head hunting of this kind is less common but for smaller countries like Canada is a part of our brain drain. Few of our research institutions have the big bucks to put together this kind of seduction for our own superstars, let alone those from abroad.

I have often mused on what life would be like if scientists had more celebrity, and the general public obsessed about us to the same extent that they do about athletes or pop stars. Imagine being traded from one institution to another. You would be called into the director's office unexpectedly and told, "We've traded you for Dr. Berlin's latest PhD student, plus future considerations. Go pack your bags." There would then be a press conference and you would say,"I'll miss my fellow scientists here, but I'm looking forward to joining the new department and helping them win big grants. It's the work that matters, not my personal statistics." Then you would hold back the tears, and the flashbulbs would flash.

Even the most banal pop star gets called back for an encore, but this never happens at a scientific conference. We get the question period, which is like giving hecklers their own time slot after a comedy routine. This tradition usually prevents presentations from being interrupted by data hecklers, but not always. I was once heckled at a conference in Hawaii when the projector bulb went out and I decided to keep going, waving my hands around to illustrate what was supposed to be on the screen. "Show us your golf swing!" a distinguished colleague hollered from the back. Sometimes I actually have a few slides  after my apparent final slide, in case anyone asks for just a little bit more, kind of a mini-encore.

Like being mobbed by bio-groupies, trades and encores are fun to think about, but I'm not sure they would improve the quality of scientific life. There is no red carpet to walk on our way into the conference hall, paparazzi flocking, no reporters looking for that sound bite. Or at least, not at the conferences I go to. If we were celebrities, most of us would be photographed in that tragic pose that fiction writers seem to favour... we have seen the depths of the universe and it's not looking good. We have to be serious after all, not be clowns in beanies or beefcakes with biceps. Considering how the scientists' image with the public could improve, there are few convincing role models. The media, our media, stereotypes everyone, from politicians to children with leukaemia. It is far easier to use shortcuts to evoke emotions than to tell an honest story and hope people will care. It's far easier to employ innuendo than it is to prove facts. Or so I would have you believe.