Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past couple of months, you’ve probably heard about Kingdom, which is a six-part British nature documentary series produced by BBC Studios’ Natural History Unit and narrated by Sir David Attenborough. Filmed over five years in Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park, the series follows four rival families of apex predators (lions, leopards, wild dogs, and hyenas) as they struggle for survival and dominance in a single ecosystem. The series premiered on BBC One in the UK in November 2025 and is scheduled for release in the US in January 2026 (keep an eye out chaps!). At its core, Kingdom blends traditional natural history documentation with the narrative techniques of dramatic television. The producers themselves have described the series as “almost Shakespearean” in its feel, likening the inter-family struggles to the power plays of Game of Thrones and Succession. This cinematic framing is both the series’ greatest asset and its most controversial artistic choice, and one that I personally do not like due to the further dumbing down of nature documentaries and the proliferation of false jeopardy.
One of Kingdom’s most immediately striking accomplishments is its cinematography. Shot over 1,400 days by more than 170 crew members (including 90 Zambian contributors) the footage is expansive, intimate, and frequently breath-taking. The choice to focus on a single location for the entire series allows viewers to witness seasonal changes, shifting territorial boundaries, and generational turnover within animal families. This continuity builds a deep sense of place and evolutionary rhythm rarely achieved in episodic wildlife series. Innovative filming techniques (including small, nearly silent drones and high-sensitivity cameras) capture moments that feel both immediate and spontaneous. These technical advances produce scenes that range from visceral hunts and territorial clashes to the poignant stillness of waiting, feeding, or tending young. In doing so, the series often evokes a reality that feels unparalleled in scale and depth. Attenborough’s narration, delivered with his familiar cadence and gravitas, still serves as a lyrical anchor for audiences. At ninety-nine years old during production, his voice carries the weight of decades of natural history storytelling, grounding the series’ more theatrical flourishes with familiarity and authority.
Where Kingdom most clearly diverges from classic BBC natural history fare is in its narrative architecture. Instead of spending individual episodes on discrete species or ecological phenomena, the series chooses to follow ‘families’, named groups of animals whose lives intertwine over years. The lions, hyenas, wild dogs, and leopards are presented not merely as subjects of observation, but as characters with arcs, ambitions, setbacks, and relationships. In my mind, this is very similar to Dynasties so it is a shame that the same formula was used with a very similar assemblage when the team could have focussed on some lesser known species instead. However, this dramaturgical framing of the four carnivore mammal species has two major effects:
Emotional engagement; by naming individual animals and tracking them over multiple episodes, Kingdom cultivates emotional investment. Several scenes have already resonated with audiences online for their poignancy. For example, the story of a three-legged wild dog named Flint, whose injuries and perseverance become a recurring thread, elicited deeply emotional responses from viewers (I found it quite emotional myself). Similarly, the series’ depiction of family bonds (the fierce protectiveness of a leopard mother or the dynamics of a hyena clan) invites empathy that transcends simple observation. These moments can feel deeply immersive and transformative, sometimes elevating Kingdom above the detached objectivity of traditional nature films.
Narrative manipulation and selectivity; the very storytelling techniques that heighten drama also open Kingdom to critical scrutiny. Some may feel (myself included) that the series at times feels over-directed, prioritising suspense or emotional payoff over factual grounding. We’re watching five years of these animals’ lives play out and yet that sense of time is not felt within. Some may also complain about the excessive use of slow-motion, dramatic edits, and a sense that events are arranged or presented to feel more like a scripted drama than a documentary. It is this element that I feel has ruined wildlife documentaries over the past decade or so, removing the science and ecology to keep dumbing things down and praise cinematography over education. As an example of this, the series leans toward vague, dramatic phrasing rather than context-rich explanations. This criticism points to a broader tension within the industry. When wildlife documentaries adopt dramatic conventions, at what point do they risk distorting the authentic rhythms of nature? While filmmakers are not fabricating events, the selection, editing, and sequencing of scenes inevitably shape how audiences interpret animal behaviour. For people like myself who value educational depth over emotional resonance, Kingdom can feel like a missed opportunity to delve more thoroughly into ecological dynamics, evolutionary pressures, or scientifically significant behaviours.
As with everything, there needs to be a balance between storytelling and scientific communication, in Kindgom this is delicate. At its best, Kingdom uses its drama to enhance understanding through prolonged observations which reveal patterns that would otherwise be invisible in shorter fieldwork. The extended timeline allows viewers to witness generational change, social restructuring, and territory shifts that are genuinely remarkable. Yet, this extended drama sometimes comes at the expense of explicit factual context. Rather than explaining why a hyena clan behaves in a particular way or how wild dog cooperation enhances hunting success, the series occasionally foregrounds suspenseful interpretation of actions “will she succeed?” or “can they survive?” over detailed natural history exposition. This approach may be intentional: by prioritising narrative cohesion and emotional investment, Kingdom seeks to reach a wider audience than scientific minutiae might. But it also raises important questions about docu-drama ethics in nature programming. How much artistic license should be exercised when presenting real animal lives? Does a heightened emotional narrative risk simplifying or misrepresenting complex biological realities?
Kingdom is significant not just as a standalone series, but as part of Sir David Attenborough’s ongoing legacy. Few narrators in history have become as synonymous with natural history storytelling as Attenborough, whose voice has guided audiences through decades of ground-breaking series. At nearly 100 years old, his role in Kingdom carries a meta-textual weight: it represents both continuity and evolution in the genre. This context amplifies viewer expectations. Some have celebrated the series as a fitting testament to Attenborough’s career, intimate, dramatic, and reflective of life’s raw truths. Others such as myself view the narrative style as a departure from the ‘pure’ educational model he helped define. Either way, Kingdom stimulates meaningful discussion about how wildlife stories should be told in the 21st century. Perhaps that is the whole point.
I’m rambled on enough for now, so let me try to bring all these threads together. In my mind, Kingdom is a bold and ambitious entry in the canon of wildlife documentaries. Its unparalleled access to a single ecosystem over extended time, its emotionally resonant storytelling, and its high-calibre cinematography make it a landmark series that is sure to be discussed and debated for years. Yet, the series’ dramatic narrative strategies (while enriching the viewing experience for many) reveal real tensions between storytelling and scientific clarity. For some viewers, this tension will enhance engagement, for others, it may undermine the documentary’s educational integrity. Whatever one’s perspective, Kingdom stands as a critically important piece of wildlife media in 2025, one that challenges conventions, foregrounds emotional depth, and reflects the evolving landscape of nature filmmaking in the age of cinematic storytelling. I recommend watching it although I am interested to know what your thoughts on the series are.
If you liked this post and enjoy reading this blog, please consider supporting me on Patreon where you will also gain access to exclusive content. If you enjoy reading my blog, why not subscribe using the form below?
