Documentary Review: Eating our Way to Extinction (2021)

 Eating Our Way to Extinction: The Food Documentary That Pulls No Punches

This documentary does not mess around. Released in 2021 and narrated by Kate Winslet, it's the film that says what other food documentaries only hint at: our current food system isn't just unsustainable, it's actively destroying the planet.

Unlike feel-good food docs that focus on individual choices, this one goes straight for industrial agriculture's role in climate breakdown, deforestation, and mass extinction. Four years later, watching it feels like reading a news report that's aging way too well.

This film is willing to connect dots other films treat separately. It shows how livestock agriculture drives Amazon deforestation, creates ocean dead zones, and accelerates climate change all at once. The film takes viewers from burning Brazilian rainforests to polluted North Carolina waterways, showing how dinner plates connect to environmental destruction thousands of miles away. When you see Indonesian forests burning for palm oil plantations that feed cattle, the environmental cost of cheap meat becomes impossible to ignore.

In 2025, the film's warnings about accelerating environmental collapse feel unnervingly accurate. The documentary predicted increasing extreme weather, continued deforestation, and mounting food system pressure - exactly what we're experiencing. The film's emphasis on antibiotic resistance from industrial farming has proven particularly prescient. We've continued seeing drug-resistant pathogens emerge from factory farms, just as warned. What's changed since 2021 is that alternative proteins the film highlighted have scaled dramatically. Plant-based meat, cultivated meat research, and regenerative farming have accelerated faster than the filmmakers probably expected.

The documentary's message is stark: dramatically reduce animal consumption and transform agriculture, or eat ourselves into ecological collapse. It's not uplifting, but it's probably honest. The film doesn't just blame consumers - it shows how subsidies, lobbying, and trade agreements created a system prioritising cheap production over sustainability. The problem isn't just individual choices, it's systemic.

In 2025, we're seeing the film's predictions play out in real time. Extreme weather disrupts food production globally, while the solutions it advocated gain mainstream acceptance. Plant-based eating moved from fringe to normal, and even conservative farming communities adopt climate-smart practices. The documentary's argument that food system transformation is essential to climate action has become conventional wisdom, even if implementation remains challenging.

"Eating Our Way to Extinction" isn't an easy watch, but it's probably necessary. It treats food system change as seriously as renewable energy for planetary survival. Whether that message resonates depends on how ready you are to hear it, but in 2025, ignoring this conversation is getting harder every day.

Documentary Review: 2040 (2019)

2040: The Climate Documentary That Actually Made Me Feel Good

I needed a break from climate doom, so I decided to watch "2040" - and it might be the most refreshing environmental documentary I've seen in years. Directed by Damon Gameau in 2019, this isn't your typical climate film. Instead of spending 90 minutes telling you how screwed we are, it asks a simple question: what if we actually implemented all the climate solutions we already know work?

The premise is brilliant: Gameau writes a letter to his young daughter about what the world could look like in 2040 if we scaled up existing technologies that are already working somewhere. No science fiction - just proven solutions applied globally.

It portrays relentless optimism backed by evidence. The film takes viewers to places where climate solutions are already happening: regenerative agriculture in Australia, seaweed farming that removes carbon while producing food, and rooftop solar programs transforming energy access in developing countries. Gameau's approach is refreshingly honest about the scale of change needed while maintaining it's achievable with existing technology. The documentary doesn't pretend change will be easy, but makes a compelling case that it could improve most people's lives rather than requiring sacrifice.

Six years later, many solutions highlighted in 2040 have scaled dramatically. The film's emphasis on renewable energy has proven prescient - solar and wind are now the cheapest energy sources globally. Regenerative agriculture has gained mainstream adoption, and seaweed farming for carbon removal has become a serious area of climate investment.

What I loved was the focus on solutions addressing multiple problems simultaneously. Urban planning for people instead of cars doesn't just reduce emissions - it creates healthier communities. Food system changes don't just sequester carbon - they produce more nutritious food and support rural livelihoods.

Watching it in 2025, some predictions feel almost conservative. Electric vehicle adoption, renewable costs, and battery storage have exceeded the documentary's projections. Nature-based solutions have become mainstream climate policy, and Indigenous land management practices have gained global recognition.The social changes the film envisioned - community-focused development and local food systems - feel increasingly relevant as people build resilience in their communities.

2040's greatest strength is showing climate action isn't about accepting a diminished future - it's about building a world that works better for everyone. The film demonstrates that many climate solutions are improvements to current systems rather than sacrifices. The documentary doesn't ignore political barriers but doesn't dwell on them either. Gameau shows what's possible and trusts that working examples will inspire broader adoption. Six years later, this strategy seems to have worked.

In a media landscape saturated with climate anxiety, 2040 offers something rare: a vision of success that feels achievable. The film reframes climate change as an opportunity to build a better world rather than just prevent a worse one. If you're feeling overwhelmed by climate news or burned out on environmental messaging that makes you feel guilty, 2040 is the antidote. It's a reminder that we already know how to solve climate change - we just need to do it. And doing it might actually make life better for pretty much everyone.

Documentary Review: Breaking Boundaries - The Science of our Planet (2021)

Why this Netflix Documentary Hits Different in 2025

I finally got around to watching "Breaking Boundaries: The Science of Our Planet" on Netflix, and honestly, I wish I'd seen it sooner. Released in 2021 and narrated by David Attenborough (because of course it is), this documentary does something most climate films don't: it actually explains what "planetary boundaries" are and why crossing them should terrify us more than it apparently does.

Unlike the usual climate documentary formula of "here's how bad things are, feel guilty, maybe recycle more," Breaking Boundaries introduces a framework that's both more scientific and somehow more hopeful. It's based on the work of Johan Rockström and his team at the Stockholm Resilience Centre, and four years later, it feels unnervingly prescient.

The documentary centres on this concept of nine planetary boundaries - essentially Earth's operating limits for things like climate change, biodiversity loss, nitrogen cycles, and ocean acidification. Think of them as the planet's vital signs, and we've already crossed several red lines.

What struck me watching this in 2025 is how the film predicted we'd see accelerating feedback loops, and... well, here we are. The documentary warned about tipping points where environmental changes become self-reinforcing, and we're watching that play out in real time with things like Arctic ice loss and forest dieback.

The film does something smart by not just focusing on carbon emissions (though those obviously matter enormously). It shows how biodiversity loss, soil degradation, and freshwater depletion are all interconnected crises that need addressing simultaneously. This systems thinking feels more relevant than ever as we grapple with compound environmental challenges.

Watching Breaking Boundaries now, the scientific predictions hold up remarkably well. The documentary warned about increasing extreme weather events, accelerating ice sheet loss, and ecosystem collapses - and unfortunately, we've seen all of these intensify since 2021. 

The film's emphasis on biodiversity as equally important to climate stability has proven particularly prescient. We've continued to see massive species decline, and the connection between ecosystem health and climate resilience that the documentary highlighted has become increasingly obvious through recent climate disasters.

What I found most compelling was the film's explanation of how crossing one planetary boundary makes it harder to stay within others. This cascading effect is exactly what we're seeing play out globally - climate change is accelerating biodiversity loss, which reduces ecosystem resilience, which makes climate adaptation harder. The Paris Agreement goals that seemed ambitious in 2021 now look insufficient based on what we've learned about tipping points and feedback loops. But the film's emphasis on rapid, systemic change rather than individual actions has become mainstream thinking in climate policy circles.

The documentary's timeline suggested we had a narrow window to act before crossing irreversible tipping points. Four years later, that window feels even narrower, but not necessarily closed. Some of the technological solutions the film hinted at - renewable energy scaling, nature-based solutions, regenerative agriculture - have actually accelerated faster than the filmmakers probably expected.

What separates Breaking Boundaries from other similar films is its focus on solutions that work with natural systems rather than against them. The documentary showcases examples of ecosystem restoration, sustainable agriculture, and renewable energy transitions that demonstrate change is possible at the scale we need.

The film's argument that we need to become better stewards of the planet rather than just reducing our harm has influenced a lot of current climate thinking. Concepts like re-wilding, regenerative practices, and working with natural carbon cycles have moved from fringe ideas to serious policy discussions.

In 2025, we're living through what many scientists are calling the "decisive decade" for climate action. Breaking Boundaries feels almost like a briefing document for this moment - it explains the scientific framework for understanding why everything feels so urgent and interconnected.

The film doesn't sugarcoat how dramatic the changes need to be. It talks about transforming agriculture, energy systems, and urban design simultaneously while protecting and restoring natural ecosystems. Watching it now, these transformations feel less like distant possibilities and more like the obvious next steps we're already starting to take.

What the documentary gets right is that this isn't just about preventing disaster - it's about creating a world that's actually better than what we have now. Cleaner air, more resilient food systems, healthier ecosystems, and more stable climate conditions aren't sacrifices we're making for future generations - they're improvements we'd benefit from immediately.

Breaking Boundaries succeeds because it treats viewers like adults who can handle scientific complexity. It doesn't dumb down planetary boundaries theory, but it makes it accessible. It doesn't minimise the scale of required changes, but it shows they're achievable.

Four years later, the documentary feels less like a warning and more like a roadmap. We're already crossing the boundaries it identified, but we're also scaling the solutions it highlighted. Whether we can do the latter fast enough to stabilise the former remains the defining question of our time.

If you haven't watched it yet, Breaking Boundaries offers something rare in climate media: a framework for understanding why everything environmental feels so connected and urgent, plus actual reasons to believe we can still navigate this crisis successfully. In 2025, that combination of scientific clarity and realistic hope feels pretty essential.

The Poore & Nemecek Study: A Comprehensive Look at Food's Environmental Impact

I keep seeing this study mentioned everywhere.The "Joseph Poore study" has become shorthand for "science proves meat is bad for the environment," but I realised I'd never actually read what the researchers found. So I dove in, and wow - it's both more nuanced and more comprehensive than what the general consensus suggests.

(Also, I don't have a cool infographic to share with this post because, let's be honest, environmental data visualisations are hard and I'm not a graphic designer. You'll have to settle for words.)

The study I'm talking about is "Reducing food's environmental impacts through producers and consumers" by Joseph Poore and Thomas Nemecek, published in Science in 2018. This wasn't some small-scale analysis - these researchers looked at environmental data from about 38,000 farms across 119 countries, covering roughly 40 different food products that represent around 90% of what humans eat globally.

But here's what made this study different: instead of just looking at carbon emissions (which most food studies focus on), they examined four major environmental impacts - greenhouse gas emissions, land use, freshwater use, and water pollution potential. It's like getting a full environmental report card instead of just a single grade.

The headline everyone remembers is that animal products generally have much higher environmental impacts than plant-based alternatives. Beef topped the charts for environmental damage, followed by lamb, cheese, and other animal products. Plant-based proteins like beans, nuts, and grains consistently showed lower impacts across all categories.

But the researchers found something that often gets lost in the discourse: massive variation within food categories. Some beef operations had surprisingly low environmental footprints, while some plant foods produced inefficiently had higher impacts than you'd expect. The worst plant foods were still typically better than the best animal products environmentally, but there were exceptions.

The numbers that really stuck with me: animal agriculture uses about 83% of farmland globally but provides only 18% of our calories and 37% of our protein. That's a pretty dramatic efficiency gap.

The study calculated that if someone eliminated animal products entirely, they could reduce their food-related environmental footprint by up to 73%. That's a huge potential impact, but the researchers were careful to note this was the maximum possible reduction - real-world results would vary based on what you're replacing animal products with and where your food comes from.

This is where things get interesting from a practical standpoint. The study showed that both how we produce food and what we choose to eat matter enormously. A locally-raised, grass-fed beef operation might have a lower footprint than almonds shipped from drought-stricken regions, even though beef generally ranks higher in environmental impact.

What I appreciated about reading the actual study is that Poore and Nemecek were upfront about their limitations. Data quality varied significantly between regions - they had great data from some places and had to make educated guesses about others. They also didn't account for nutritional differences between foods or the cultural and economic realities that influence what people eat.

The study also couldn't capture every environmental impact. Things like biodiversity effects, soil health changes over time, and the carbon sequestration potential of different farming systems weren't fully accounted for. These aren't criticisms of the research - they're just acknowledgments that environmental impact is incredibly complex.

Six years later, this research has become foundational to discussions about sustainable food systems. It provided the most comprehensive quantitative analysis we'd seen of food's environmental footprint, and it did so at a scale that previous studies couldn't match. But perhaps more importantly, it shifted the conversation from "should we eat less meat?" to "how do we optimise both production methods and consumption patterns for environmental sustainability?" The study showed that there's no single solution - we need better farming practices AND different dietary choices.

The study gives us a framework for thinking about food choices, not a rigid rulebook. And in a world where environmental challenges feel overwhelming, that kind of evidence-based guidance - messy and complex as it is - feels pretty valuable. Whether you're already plant-based, committed to regenerative agriculture, or just trying to make better choices, this research offers something useful: a reminder that our food choices matter, but that the details of how we implement change matter just as much.

Documentary Review: What the Health (2017)

 What the Health: Seven Years Later, What Still Holds Up?

When "What the Health" dropped in 2017, it sent shockwaves through Netflix queues and dinner table conversations alike. The documentary, produced by Kip Andersen and Keegan Kuhn (the team behind "Cowspiracy"), made bold claims about the links between animal products and chronic disease while questioning why major health organisations weren't sounding louder alarms.

Seven years later, as we navigate an era of increased health consciousness and climate awareness, it's worth revisiting what the film got right—and where it might have overstated its case.

The documentary's central argument—that plant-based diets can significantly improve health outcomes—has only grown stronger with time. The film highlighted research showing lower rates of heart disease, diabetes, and certain cancers among populations eating more plant-forward diets. This wasn't revolutionary science, but the documentary deserves credit for bringing these findings to mainstream audiences in an accessible way.

The film's critique of industry influence on dietary guidelines also feels increasingly relevant. From sugar industry lobbying to conflicts of interest in nutrition research, we've seen mounting evidence that corporate interests have indeed shaped public health messaging in ways that don't always serve the public interest.

However, some of the documentary's more dramatic claims haven't aged as well under scientific scrutiny. The film suggested that eating any amount of processed meat was equivalent to smoking cigarettes in terms of cancer risk—a comparison that oversimplified how epidemiological research actually works. While processed meat is classified as a Group 1 carcinogen by the World Health Organisation, the actual risk increase is much smaller than the film implied.

The documentary also painted all animal products with the same brush, suggesting that any consumption leads to disease. Current research presents a more nuanced picture: while excessive consumption of certain animal products (particularly processed meats) is associated with health risks, moderate consumption of fish, poultry, and dairy doesn't show the same stark correlations the film suggested.

Despite these scientific quibbles, "What the Health" succeeded in something arguably more important: it got people thinking critically about their food choices and the systems that influence them. The film sparked countless conversations about nutrition, prompted viewers to examine their own diets, and introduced many to the concept that food could be medicine.

The documentary also highlighted genuine problems in our food system and healthcare approach. Its criticism of the revolving door between industry and regulatory agencies wasn't wrong, even if some specific examples were oversimplified. The film's call for more emphasis on preventive nutrition rather than just treating symptoms with medication has become increasingly mainstream in medical thinking.

In 2025, we're living through what some call a "longevity revolution"—increased focus on health-span, not just lifespan. Plant-based eating has moved from fringe to mainstream, with major food companies investing billions in alternative proteins. Climate concerns have added another dimension to dietary choices that the film touched on but didn't fully explore.

The rise of personalised nutrition and nutrigenomics has also complicated the documentary's one-size-fits-all approach. We now better understand that optimal diets can vary significantly based on individual genetics, microbiomes, and metabolic profiles.

The documentary's greatest achievement wasn't necessarily in getting every scientific detail right—it was in inspiring people to take agency over their health and question systems that might not have their best interests at heart. In that sense, "What the Health" succeeded exactly where it needed to: not in the laboratory, but in the kitchen, where real change happens one meal at a time.

Whether you embrace everything the film argued or approach it with healthy skepticism, its central invitation remains compelling: pay attention to what you eat, question who benefits from your food choices, and remember that every bite is a vote for the kind of world—and body—you want to create.