Two things you should know about Arctic Tale, the “wildlife adventure” brought to us by the various parties behind March of the Penguins and An Inconvenient Truth.

First, this film is not a documentary. It is a work of creative fiction that utilizes documentary footage to craft a narrative featuring representative, composite characters—an honest attempt to tell a story that reflects the reality of how animals in the Arctic behave and interact with each other, while highlighting the very real environmental challenges that these animals face. But Arctic Tale is not a documentary. It is neither objective nor dispassionate.

And that is the second thing you should know: the film is made by people who have lived up to their necks in Arctic realities, and who are very passionate about destructive human behaviors that very much threaten the stability of the Arctic ecosystem.

That is to say, this is work of fiction—made by credible, knowledge people—that aims to raise our awareness and rouse our passions. It is interested in putting a “human” face on the plight of Arctic animals so that we will change our behavior in ways that will have positive effects on very real animals—which the fictional protagonists “Nanu” and “Seela” are most definitely not.

Why are these two points important? In the first place, the film is far more entertaining than An Inconvenient Truth. It tells a story of sorts, following the first years following birth of a polar bear cub (Nanu) and a walrus calf (Seela) as they learn what it means to be adults in their own world. And the filmmakers hope that, by coming to care about Nanu and Seela (and their extended families), the audience will also learn something about what it means to be an adult in the real world. It’s designed as a good film to take the kids to, and teach them a thing or two; and it succeeds pretty well on those terms.

The story is appealingly narrated, in a 1960s Disney nature film sort of way, by Queen Latifah. She gently tells us of Nanu’s birth at “Snow Mountain,” and of her mother’s nurturing care for her children. She clarifies the role that Seela’s “auntie” plays in communal care of the young walrus. She explains the nuances of animal behavior as both bears and walruses seek haven on “Rock Island” as the Arctic pack-ice retreats farther and farther every summer.

And this is the second reason you should know that this is fiction with a purpose. As kid-friendly as the film is, you might not much care to have your children emotionally persuaded that the ride home in the SUV after the film is causing little bears and walruses to die. Again, as much as this film may look like a documentary, it bears little resemblance to the rather open-ended and apolitical March of the Penguins. It proudly wears its Global Warming certification on its sleeve—which may work very well for you and your kids. Or it may not.

One thing is for certain. The narration amps up the certainty of global warming by convincing us of the animals’ own awareness of the situation. When the winter ice fails to produce the normal conditions for seal hunting, we are told that “this is not like any winter mother bear has seen before.” And when spring walrus hunting is disrupted, Latifah gravely observes that “never before has the Arctic ice broken up so early or so abruptly.” It may either disturb you that these Global Warming facts are coming courtesy of a bear, rather than a scientist—or it may warm the cockles of your heart.

And yet there are some very conservative values that the film advocates, ones that almost seem to fly in the face of Global Warming conventional wisdom. The film praises, for instance, the sacrificial instincts of the walrus clan, observing that “a single death preserves the lives of many”—without apparently thinking very deeply that we all realize that, every time we chomp down a McDonald’s cheeseburger, or load our kids into the SUV for a trip to the soccer field. Every act has consequences; almost every thing we do for the survival and welfare of ourselves and our families has been paid for through some life, whether it be a tree or a cow—or a bear, or a walrus. And generally, our culture has accepted that human life is more significant and important than trees or bears—in the same way that Arctic Tale values bears and walruses more than foxes or seals. It’s good to be at the top of the food chain.

I can’t deny that I find the film very problematic and paradoxical. And I also can’t deny that I love the sensuality and beauty of the way it captures the Arctic environment—the way long lenses accentuate the rocking of the ice floes, or the way the light catches drifting snow at the Golden Hour.

I strongly suspect that a great number of families will have a great time at the theatre, and will have long conversations about the ways in which compact fluorescent bulbs, hybrid vehicles, and tree farms can help ease the plight of Arctic animals.

I also suspect that the film will generate more anger for some parents than it’s worth.

Arctic Tale is rated G. I frankly think that it should be rated PG for thematic elements. There is no question that this film aims to manipulate children into caring about the dangers of Global Warming; and no matter how worthy that agenda may be, any film that aims to manipulate children in such a way—for whatever purpose—should be screened in the presence of a parent.

Courtesy of a national publicist, Greg attended a film festival screening of Arctic Tale. Also see our interview with directors Adam Ravetch and Sarah Robertson.