Humans

A true-crime series on IMDb TV takes a slightly too po-faced look into a theft from an invertebrate zoo where things weren’t quite as they seemed

Humans

23 March 2022

By Elle Hunt
Bug Out reveals the world of insect collectors like Steve LamondCourtesy of IMDb TV
Bug Out
Ben Feldman
IMDb TVAdvertisement
ONE morning in August 2018, the chief executive of an insectarium and butterfly house in Pennsylvania arrived at work to find all his live exhibits had disappeared. “Shelves and shelves and shelves that should have been filled with creatures aplenty were empty,” says John Cambridge.
As tales of true crime go, the “Philadelphia bug heist” was immediately intriguing, not least because of the obvious question: what could anyone want with thousands of insects?
Now, the hunt for the perpetrators has been given the Tiger King treatment in a four-part documentary series for IMDb TV. As with the 2020 sensation featuring Joe Exotic, the most eyebrow-raising moments in Bug Out come care of its subjects that walk on two legs.
The Philadelphia Insectarium & Butterfly Pavilion grew out of a 1970s pest-control business called Bug Out that was run by an ex-cop who would display his “catch of the day”. Over the years, the displays got more elaborate and eccentric, and insect enthusiasts were drawn to them like moths to a porch light. It grew into the US’s first invertebrate zoo and, until the robbery, was a family-friendly attraction that chugged along seemingly without incident.
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The series follows a broadly chronological structure, starting with the theft before spiralling out into the strange (and surprisingly endearing) world of hobbyists, collectors and traders of creepy-crawlies. On one level, it is an eye-opening insight into an unfamiliar – and, to many, unappealing – pastime, where people are eager to share their enthusiasm for rare cockroaches ($500 a breeding pair) and African land snails the size of small dogs.
A diversion into the booming illegal international trade in rare bugs and other wildlife shows the darker side of human nature, and our obsession with collecting and commodifying every aspect of the natural world.
But just as you didn’t watch Tiger King to learn about big cat conservation, Bug Out‘s real intrigue comes from the people behind the insectarium. In many ways, it is a study of what was a dysfunctional workplace that put human nature, not insects, under the microscope. The most emotionally affecting moments come from employees who fervently wanted to indulge their passion through their work, only to have their dreams crushed by a toxic working environment.
“Just as you didn’t watch Tiger King to learn about big cats, the real intrigue comes from the people”
Until the robbery, these dramas played out on a small stage. Then, the heist was picked up by local media and then national media. Before long it was being discussed by late-night chat-show host Jimmy Kimmel. As a result, Cambridge became a mini-celebrity and the police operation hotted up, with an additional FBI investigation that scrutinised some of the then employees’ surprisingly shady backgrounds.
The crime was more serious than it might sound: Cambridge put the value of the 7000-odd insects taken at as much as $50,000. But the loss of his exhibits was just the tip of the iceberg, as the seemingly wholesome family attraction was revealed to be beset by power struggles and financial mismanagement.
The documentary-makers’ efforts to stoke the drama to true-crime levels are occasionally heavy-handed, suggesting an anxiety about letting the story speak for itself. A dramatically lit corkboard linking suspect mugshots with sticky notes labelled with things like “motive = bugs” is presumably intended to lend drama to the police investigation. The dry humour of the investigating officers, meanwhile, is wasted by the overall po-faced tone of the show.
When the big reveal comes, in the fourth and final episode, it doesn’t quite deliver on the whodunnit promised in the first – in fact, it reveals the narrative to have been somewhat contrived. One gets the sense that the film-makers, having set out to tell the true story behind the Philadelphia bug heist, discovered a vastly different tale to the one they had anticipated and were forced to make the best of it.
The result is a highly diverting although somewhat unsatisfying series: a can of worms that, despite Bug Out‘s best efforts, cannot be tidily contained.

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Josie Ford
Not at all dull
Are we boring you? As we leaf listlessly through the paper “Boring People: Stereotype characteristics, interpersonal attributions, and social reactions” from Wijnand van Tilburg at the University of Essex, UK, and his colleagues, we feel the answer is probably “no”. Although we will make a fair stab at it.
To get the oldest and best one out of the way first, the paper isn’t about civil engineers. Boredom, we read, is often conceptualised as “the adverse experience of wanting but being unable to pursue satisfactory activity” – or, alternatively, being stuck at a party with someone who is doing their own conveyancing.Advertisement
In a series of experiments – involving asking people in the UK what professions, hobbies and personality traits they associate with boring people, using those answers to invent very boring, middlingly boring and sparklingly unboring people, and asking other people how boring they would find those people – the researchers find that, in the main, we find boring people boring, don’t like them and go out of our way to avoid them.
This is capital-s Science. We are especially intrigued by some of the occupations (busboy, graveyard watcher) and hobbies (sleeping, ant study, even “going to gales”) that entered the mix, which confirm our suspicion that you shouldn’t ask the Great British Public anything, or possibly everything.
Sad to say, the most boring professions are data analysis, accounting and tax/insurance, suggesting numeracy is considered an evil, if a necessary one. But what do we see here? Near the top of the chart of most unboring occupations are science and journalism.
On that basis, we are off the scale. The authors stress that the study only examined the stereotypes that people hold about boring and non-boring people, and the actual characteristics of boring people may differ. Codswallop. If someone will just unlock the stationery cupboard door, we have a lot more to say about that.
Round in circles
Boring and delighting the planet in equal measure, meanwhile, is the question of whether there are more doors or wheels in the world, after a tweet from formerly dull and blameless Ryan Nixon from Auckland, New Zealand, went viral.
We wouldn’t presume to enter the debates on whether a wheel can be a door (yes, it is why we keep getting stuck in the revolving ones) or a door a wheel (only if you lay it on its side, but please extract us first). But we are delighted to see the Burj Khalifa, one of our favourite measures of bigness, pop up as a character witness for the door side, because it has some 17,000 doors (including the world’s two highest revolving ones – who knew?), but no wheels.
But then, just think of the number of wheelie suitcases it must contain. Taking a broader view, we will plump for the doors, on the basis that evolution hasn’t yet seen fit to invent wheels, but things like doors seem to exist in abundance, both in nature and perhaps also in the wider cosmos, if you count black holes as one-way exits. On the whole, however, this is possibly a conversation that has gone on too long already.
Up, up and away
As we attempt to move swiftly on, Barry Cash waylays us with the Float-A-Poo dog waste disposal system, which “uses helium to float dog poo away forever”. “Once your bag is filled, seal it with a tie and release,” the website trills. “Avoid power lines, windmills, falcons and airports.”
“I hope it’s a joke,” says Barry. “But in the mad world in which we live, I fear it isn’t.” We can – we think – confirm it is merely a prank box for enclosing an alternative gift. But on the basis the system might plausibly work, we fear it is only a matter of time before someone does invent it.
Giraffe attack
Far be it from Feedback to question, glancing nervously over our shoulder, the news values that made Mail Online the most-read newspaper website in the world. We don’t read it and we don’t know anyone who does. Nor do you, and you all sent us the same article last week purely because you ran across it accidentally while looking for something else.
Still, since the article is entitled “Asteroid half the size of a giraffe strikes Earth off the coast of Iceland – just two HOURS after it was discovered by astronomers”, this pleases us immensely.
Freyja Burrill of Kendal, UK, wonders what fractions of African megafauna are doing raining down in such northerly climes, and whether moose or orca might be more appropriate. We can’t answer on the planetary dynamics front, but we see that the largest mammalian fauna native to Iceland is the puny Arctic fox, which seems a pretty meh unit for anything.
Meanwhile, Craig Morris of Pietermaritzburg, South Africa – “home to many 2 x [Giraffa] camelopardalis units”, as he puts it – is puzzled as to what a standard giraffe-slicing technique is. “Laterally, vertically, or axially, including a head and neck, one or two pairs of legs and/or the tail end…?”.
We have locked horns with the related question of giraffe tessellation before, without success (13 February 2021). Let’s instead celebrate the advances in near-Earth observation technology that gave us two HOURS warning. Time was when, if you saw anything half the size of a giraffe falling on your head, it was already too late.
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A mind-bending light and sound extravaganza is coming to a town near you, and it could help unravel the mysteries of the brain

Humans

23 March 2022

By Carissa Wong
Dreamachine’s light and sound show can produce intense hallucinations and a sense of calmBrenna Duncan
Dreamachine
Jennifer Crook
Unboxed FestivalAdvertisement
IN THE late 1950s, when altered states of consciousness were all the rage, the artist Brion Gysin invented a drug-free route to psychedelic euphoria. His Dreamachine – a spinning cylinder that shines flashing lights onto a viewer’s closed eyes – was intended as a shortcut to spiritual enlightenment for the masses.
Now, art producer Jennifer Crook has revisited Gysin’s invention as a sci-art multimedia experience. The aim is to produce a communal head trip that will not only expand visitors’ experience, but also probe the depths of human consciousness.
Crook got the idea for the project after having a transcendent experience while at a gig by electronic music artist Jon Hopkins. She went on to enlist Hopkins to provide the soundtrack to the updated Dreamachine, which will be touring the UK as part of the Unboxed Festival.
At the centre of the installation are vivid hallucinations created by the brain in response to specific sensory inputs. In the 1950s, the pioneering neuroscientist Grey Walter discovered that dreamlike hallucinations could be induced by lights flashing on closed eyelids at 8 to 12 hertz, the same frequency as the oscillations of “alpha” brainwaves when we are relaxed and wakeful with our eyes closed. Normally, when we open our eyes, these alpha waves are disrupted by visual inputs. Flashing lights at alpha wave frequencies on closed eyelids stimulates the optic nerve, but provides little visual information, and the brain responds by generating hallucinations.
Because of this, the Dreamachine can produce kaleidoscopic visions and a sense of calm. These hallucinations may also reveal a lot about the way the brain works. As part of the project, neuroscientists Anil Seth and David Schwartzman at the University of Sussex, UK, Dreamachine‘s light and sound show can produce intense hallucinations and a sense of calm are collecting the experiences of visitors, which they hope to use as a window into the workings of the brain. Seth is among the many scientists who believe that hallucinations are part of the way that our brains generate our conscious experience of the world.
One major question concerns perceptual diversity – how varied or similar our internal mental experiences may be. We know that we all see the world in different ways, but science can’t yet explain how and why. In an attempt to investigate this, an optional survey will ask participants to log their visual experiences using colour palettes, animations and shape selections.
Other questions will address the emotional aspects of the experience, which can be intense. Hopkins’s music alone, when played through 360-degree speakers around the audience, can give an eerie feeling of stepping out of time and into a state of being that usually comes with a meditative state.
As well as the physical exhibition, an online census will capture perceptual diversity from millions of people around the world, while a schools programme will be rolled out around the UK. Through activities and resources, children will be encouraged to ask questions about how they perceive the world and to explore how this differs from the experiences of others. The research team’s resident philosopher, Fiona Macpherson, says the goal is to show them how, in our differences, we are all connected.
This aim brings Dreamachine back to the ideals of its inventor, who hoped to give people the experience of being catapulted into a higher level of consciousness. Crook’s new vision is even more ambitious: to explore the depths of the human brain while realising the variation in our inner worlds and celebrating neurodiversity.
Dreamachine will tour London, Cardiff, Belfast and Edinburgh from May to September. Sign up for free tickets at dreammachine.world.

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The End of Astronauts is nigh, say astronomer Martin Rees and science writer Donald Goldsmith. They argue that, given the vast distances and the dangers involved in space travel, it is robots, not humans, that will lead us to the stars.
Kojima Productions/IGDB
Play
Death Stranding, from game creator Hideo Kojima, gets a substantial makeover in this director’s cut edition, which launches on PCs from 30 March. You play as Sam Bridges, who is on a mission to reunite a shattered world.Advertisement

Watch
Are Plants Intelligent? asks philosopher Stella Sandford in this online talk from the Linnean Society of London. In light of new evidence, should we rethink our anthropocentric view of intelligence? 30 March, 12.30pm BST.

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Physicist and broadcaster Jim Al-Khalili discusses the power of wonder, the importance of overcoming our biases and the biggest mysteries in fundamental physics

Humans

23 March 2022

By Richard Webb
Nabil Nezzar
IT SEEMS nobody spends quite as much time discussing the joys of science as Jim Al-Khalili. Whether with guests on his BBC radio programme, The Life Scientific, in the documentaries he presents or with the students he teaches and mentors at the University of Surrey, UK, he is on an insatiable quest to find out “why”. He told us where this all started, why scientists need to question their own biases and about the importance of never growing up.
Richard Webb: To turn the tables a bit, what made you take up a life scientific?
Jim Al-Khalili: I guess my passion for science, well, physics, began in my early teens, when I was obsessed with football and discovering girls and thinking I’d one day play for my beloved Leeds United, who were a good team back then in the mid-1970s. But I suddenly fell in love with physics. It was like puzzle solving; it was common sense. With chemistry and biology, I had to remember stuff, and I’m terrible at remembering stuff. Physics also dealt with the big questions. Where does the universe come from? What does an atom look like? What’s inside a star? So from about the age of 13 or 14, I wanted to do physics. If I got to play for Leeds United, that would be nice, but I was going to be a physicist.
Your latest book is called The Joy of Science. Is that something you feel on a day-to-day basis?
It is, actually. Part of why I enjoy science communication is that I like doing the science. I like … More

Our mastery of language presents many mysteries, not least where grammar comes from and how children learn to speak so effortlessly. Now researchers argue that it all makes sense if you think of language as a game of charades

Humans

23 March 2022

By Morten H. Christiansen and Nick Chater
Harriet noble
IN THE early afternoon of 16 January 1769, HMS Endeavour dropped anchor in the Bay of Good Success on Tierra del Fuego. When Captain James Cook and his crew came ashore, they were met by a group of Indigenous people, probably Haush hunter-gatherers. Two of Cook’s party advanced. Soon, two of the Haush also stepped forward, displayed small sticks and threw them aside. Cook’s men interpreted this as an indication of peaceful intentions. They were right: the groups were soon exchanging gifts and sharing food. With no common language and inhabiting utterly different worlds, they could nonetheless communicate through a high-stakes game of cross-cultural charades.
Most of us have faced our own communication challenges, perhaps resorting to pointing and gesturing when abroad. And yet in daily life, we rarely give language a second thought – never mind its many perplexing mysteries. How can noises convey meaning? Where do the complex layers of linguistic patterns come from? How come children learn language so easily, whereas chimpanzees can scarcely learn it at all?
We believe these questions have remained unanswered because scientists have been looking at language all wrong. A growing body of research undermines prevailing ideas that humans possess an innate language ability somehow wired into our brains, encoding grammatical rules. In our new book, The Language Game, we argue that language isn’t about rules at all. As Cook’s encounter illustrates, it is about improvisation, freedom and the desire to be understood, constrained only by our imaginations. This radical idea helps to explain those long-standing mysteries about language – as well as how language evolved and why it makes humans special.
For … More

Netflix’s new film about recent Boeing plane crashes is a damning account of why the disasters happened and who was responsible

Humans

16 March 2022

By Elle Hunt

AS STORM Eunice buffeted much of the UK last month, a surprising focal point emerged: the live webcam stream of arrivals at London Heathrow Airport. At one point, 200,000 viewers tuned in to watch passenger planes struggle against the wind to land safely.
This mixture of fascination and fear typifies our relationship with flying. It feels risky, but we don’t really expect a crash.
Downfall: The Case Against Boeing, directed by Rory Kennedy and new to Netflix after a positive reception at Sundance in January, opens with the usual reassurances about the safety of air travel: tens of thousands of flights pass without incident daily all over the world. Many of these use Boeing planes, a fact that, until recently, was considered to be a good thing. Trust in the company was such that there was a phrase in the aviation industry: “If it ain’t Boeing, I ain’t going.”
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Then, in October 2018, all that changed. A Lion Air flight crashed into the sea with 189 people on board, minutes after departing from Jakarta in Indonesia. All passengers and crew were killed. Five months later, an Ethiopian Airlines plane crashed in similar circumstances, and with a similarly tragic outcome. The type of plane in both cases was a 737 Max, a recently released update of the Boeing 737.
These crashes brought to an end the safest period for commercial flying in the history of aviation. It also cast doubt on Boeing’s reputation as a model of safety and the premier aeroplane manufacturer in the US.
The black box of the Lion Air flight revealed a failure of the “angle-of-attack” sensor that measures the angle of the nose ofthe plane while in flight. Simulations and testimony from pilots paint a sickening picture of the desperate battle to regain control of the aircraft.
Boeing traced this to a software failure: an erroneous activation of the Maneuvering Characteristics Augmentation System (MCAS), new to the 737 Max. Pilots could have switched it off, had they known it existed. But Boeing hadn’t told them it was a feature of the updated 737, let alone trained them on it.
The former Wall Street Journal reporter Andy Pasztor, who acts as the audience’s guide through the story, says a senior executive at Boeing told him that the airline “didn’t want to overwhelm” pilots.
The anger of pilots and unions at this omission seems justified. Dennis Tajer at the Allied Pilots Association calls it “disrespectful”, adding: “You want to know as much about your airplane as possible.”
In the fallout, Boeing, having previously enjoyed its position as the pilots’ advocate, briefed journalists against Lion Air and the flight’s pilot, Bhavye Suneja, saying (to quote Pasztor) that “an American pilot would never have gotten into this kind of a situation”. The testimony of Suneja’s widow stands in dignified contrast to this. “I knew my husband. I knew how he flew,” she says.
“Simulations paint a sickening picture of the desperate battle to regain control of the aircraft”
After the first crash, while a software fix was in the works, 737 Maxes continued to fly. Then came the Ethiopian Airlines crash. The US Federal Aviation Administration did nothing, but many countries grounded the 737 Max planes, and put pressure on then US president Donald Trump to take action.
The subsequent government investigation found “repeated and serious failures” by Boeing. In November 2021, the airline admitted total responsibility for the Ethiopian Airlines crash.
Boeing’s contribution to the film is limited to a supplied statement in corporate-ese at the end. Combined with the depth of research, this lack of participation makes the film seem like a damning report rather than a one-sided one.
Downfall is a brisk, level-headed account of a company’s colossal failing, and the lengths that it will go to preserve reputation and profit margins, even at the expense of safety. But what makes it memorable viewing is the reminder of the trust we need when we take to the skies.

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Josie Ford
Hybrid learning
A man in a hide jerkin and disposable face mask sits knapping flints against the backdrop of an unaccountably large, bright red tractor. Rounding a corner, a 3-metre-high luminous yellow grinning gummy bear suddenly looms over us, from which we flee through a door into a side room where Greater Manchester mayor Andy Burnham is talking soulfully about 100 per cent renewable trams.
Not Feedback’s latest cheese dream – although close – but sure signs we were on the shop floor at New Scientist Live Manchester, as part of our drive to bring the office stationery cupboard to you.
Like many people, Feedback currently finds being in real places with real people a discombobulating experience that requires several deep-breathing exercises and us remembering to wear something on our bottom half. Many attendees in Manchester weren’t actually in Manchester, but watching it all from the safety of their own underpants at home, which brings its own challenges, it turns out. When digital attendees complain that the main stage is freezing, getting someone to turn up the thermostat in the hall doesn’t cut it. Lesson learned as the boundaries between the virtual and physical worlds slowly melt, as indeed the people in the hall did.Advertisement
The truth is out there
“Don’t think of a black hole as a Hoover, think of it as a couch cushion”. Astrophysicist Becky Smethurst – Dr Becky to her legion of YouTube fans – won the prize for the most unexpected metaphor of the event, her point being that you are less likely to get sucked into a black hole than to lose your car keys down the side of one. Or something like that.
Meanwhile, we were delighted to learn from Dallas Campbell and Suzie Imber’s talk on how to leave Earth about the 1638 book The Man in the Moone, written by Church of English bishop Francis Godwin, in which the protagonist flies to the moon in a chariot towed by moon geese. We would take this option, which strikes us as classier than the unspeakably vulgar rockets favoured by today’s billionaire class.
We also now know the current location of the first sandwich in space, what an industrial vacuum does to a marshmallow and how to make a rocket with half an Alka-Seltzer and a 35-millimetre film canister. That’s definitely one not to try at home. For anyone tempted, all the talks are available in the metaverse.
Going nuclear
The 3-metre-high mutant gummy bear was, it turns out, advertising the benefits of nuclear power. Feedback regards this as brave, as we also do the UK Atomic Energy Authority titling a talk “Nuclear Fusion: Forever 30 years away”.
Still, we learn that a gummy bear is about the same size as a uranium fuel pellet, that one fuel pellet produces enough power to drive an electric car 20,000 miles and so a 3-metre-high gummy bear would make enough electricity to power 2 million electric cars for a year in the UK. This makes us happy.
Blowing in the wind
Meanwhile, out in the real world, the real world was still going on. The gummy bear is possibly a more appropriate unit of power for a family magazine than that contained in a tweet from the Victorian Trades Hall Council that Paul Campbell forwards us following our session on “how big is a gigawatt?” in last week’s Feedback.
It celebrates the announcement of 2 gigawatts of wind power capacity to be installed off the Australian state’s coast in the coming 10 years, or as the tweet has it in an accompanying picture: “SH**LOADS OF POWER. SH**LOADS OF JOBS”.
Clue: it wasn’t “shed”. We idly wonder if this is now a unit of power and how many horses it would take to produce it. Around 2.7 million, we make it. They would be a truly magnificent sight riding in the waves, although we do wonder whether any of this counts as clean energy.
Butt out
While our back was turned, we also discover that a portion of Twitter declared 1 to 8 March InverteButt Week in celebration of the backsides of creatures without backbones.
We doubt the world truly needed this, but then again, with past headlines in this august publication such as “Comb jelly videos are rewriting the history of your anus”, perhaps people in glass houses shouldn’t throw… slugs.
This leads us to delve rather more deeply than we might otherwise have done into the lifestyle and morphology of the bristle worm Ramisyllis multicaudata, a detailed study of which, published last year, seems to have been a prime mover of InverteButt Week. The worm lives, with delightful specificity, within sponges in Darwin Harbour, northern Australia. Its single head is buried deep within the sponge, but its body randomly branches out into up to 1000 rear ends that poke hopefully out of it. The gut is continuous throughout all these branches, yet doesn’t seem to process any food, leading to speculation that the worm has “adopted a fungal lifestyle”.
This sounds pleasingly louche, like flying with the moon geese. Even more fun is that, when it comes to reproduction, new heads – complete with brains and eyes – start forming and bud off from the worm’s butts. Cute.
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