Parky at the Pictures (DVD 16/11/2017)

Opening on some young women painting a banner for the Women's Day March in February 1917, the film quotes a speech outlining the importance of propagandist art by Vladimir Ilych Lenin (voiced by Matthew Macfadyen) and a tract by Lyubov Popova (Eleanor Tomlinson) explaining how artists intuitively understood how their works could inspire a new vision for the future. Narrator-director Margy Kinmonth then uses Ilya Repin's `Barge Haulers on the Volga' (1873) to explain how Tsar Nicholas II was a divine right monarch who ruled a nation primarily consisting of peasants, who came to Russia's cities in search of work in the early 1900s. She rather simplistically claims these emancipated serfs formed the proletariat whose protests led to the formation of the Provisional Government before they started to clamour for the return from exile of the Bolshevik leadership. Moreover, she drops in a reference to Viktor Bulla's iconic photograph of demonstrators being gunned down by troops in St Petersburg in July 1917 to suggest how quickly art placed itself at the service of the Revolution.

Nikolai Suetin's daughter Nina avers that the majority of avant-garde artists supported the overthrow of both Tsar Nicholas and Alexander Kerensky, although Mikhail Piotrovsky, the director of the State Hermitage Museum, points out that the scene showing the storming of the Winter Palace in Sergei Eisenstein's October (1928) made it look much more heroic than it actually was. Following the execution of the Romanovs, the capital was moved to Moscow and Kinmoth makes witty use of a kaleidoscopic effect that makes mirrored moving objects appear to vanish and reappear via a spot in the centre of the screen to announce her intention of making sense of a hidden history. She meets Aristarkh Lentulov's great-grandson Fedor in his old studio, but doesn't bother to identify `Tverskoy Boulevard' (1917) or explain its significance. She similarly neglects to label Kazmir Malevich's `Self-Portrait' (1908-10), as Zelfira Tregulova, the director of the State Tretyakov Gallery, explains that Russian painting in the periods either side of the Revolution was the most avant-garde anywhere in Europe. Over two 1915 pictures entitled `Suprematism', Semyon Mikhailovsky, the Rector of the St Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts, confirms that Malevich was the pioneer of the eponymous style. But he opts not to elucidate, although an extract from Malevich's writings (read by Tom Hollander) suggests that his idea was to break the mould in the bold use of colour and line. Dmitri Ozerkov, Head of Contemporary Art at the Hermitage, helpfully opines that Malevich was more interested in ideas than reality, but he elects not to develop the sweeping statement that his inspiration came from the cosmos.

Film-maker Andrei Konchalovsky (whose grandfather Piotr was an important painter) insists Malevich's work was absurd and Christina Lodder, the Vice-President of the Malevich Society, is summoned to explain `Black Square' (1915). However, she merely contents herself with saying that he hung it in the corner of the gallery space, as this is where a religious icon would be placed in a Russian household. Kinmonth shows us Theophanes the Greek's `Virgin Mary of the Don' (c1382-85) as an example of the form that Malevich was seeking to denounce and Ozerkov posits that this bold statement marked a ending and a beginning that anticipated the Bolshevik outlawing of religion, which was symbolised by the demolition of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour in Moscow in July 1931.

Malevich considered the Academy in St Petersburg to be a mouldy vault in which art flagellates itself and he hoped to do away with the figurative tradition imported from the West and change the world with the new forms that emerged from the Revolution. As the Academy had links with the ruling dynasty, Lodder believes that Malevich works like `Portrait of Matiushin' (1913) and `Supremus No.56' (1916) contained a rejection of the political as well as the artistic elite. Konchalovsky declares that two undated Ilya Chashnik pictures entitled `Suprematism' and Mikhail Matiushin's `Movement in Space' (1917-18) were tantamount to acts of terrorism.

Among the best known figures on the scene was Wassily Kandinsky, `the father of abstraction', whose `Two Ovals' (1919) prompts Evgenia Petrova, Deputy Director of the State Russian Museum, to claim that he retained a connection with figurative painting. Indeed, an extract from Kandinsky's writings (read by James Fleet) implies that he used colour and abstraction to evoke sensations from the world around him. But rather than expanding upon this fascinating theme, Kinmonth enlists Andrei Konchalovsky to explain why his grandfather chose not to experiment in works like `Agave' (1916), `Self-Portrait With Family' (1917) and `The Violinist' (1918) and he suggests that his debt to Paul Cézanne made him reluctant to stray too far beyond Cubism.

By contrast, Pavel Filonov devised his own brand of `analytical realism' and works like `Head (Human in the Void)' and `Collective Farm Worker' (1931) caught the imagination of the proletariat as he was very much a man of the people. He was encouraged by arts commissar Nikolai Punin and granddaughter Anna Kaminskaia recalls his friendship with Malevich and the fact that he gave favoured artists state commissions so they could earn money. Curator Natalia Murray says they all believed in the Revolution and met at the Winter Palace to discuss their ideas, although there was a lot of disagreement about approach and technique.

Over shots of Kliment Redko's `Insurrection' (1925) and Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin's `Bathing of the Red Horse' (1912), Mikhailovsky explains how Lenin ordered the academies in Moscow and Petrograd to teach avant-garde techniques and gallerist Ildar Galeev notes that Petrov-Vodkin was the first to use spherical perspective in his still lifes and landscapes. His granddaughter, Zinaida Barzilovich, is proud that he was the son of a shoemaker and a maid, while her husband Alexander notes that he was such a committed socialist that he volunteered to work for the new government.

But, following shots of an undated self-portrait and `Fantasy' (1925), Kinmonth is off in a new direction, as Murray reveals that Lenin was keen to fill Russia's squares with monuments to revolutionary heroes. In order to respond quickly to the dictat, artists used perishable materials and we see rare footage of a bust of Georges Danton being unveiled to inspire the masses. We also see soldiers cheering beside Karl Marx and footage of imperialist statues being hauled down. Yet, as Murray points out, Lenin was spending money on such `monumental propaganda' while millions were starving across the country.

Among the most innovative creators was Nathan Altman, whose `Designs for the Decoration of Unitsky Square' (1918) and another unlabelled work are presented before Kinmonth juxtaposes archive images of large pictures being draped over public buildings with a series of superimpositions over the façade of the Winter Palace. Marc Chagall also seized the chance to decorate his hometown of Vitebsk and Kinmonth notes that major works like `Over the Town' (1914-18) reflected his roots and his Jewish origins.

Other arts were changing too, with Vsevolod Meyerhold (seen in a 1916 portrait by Boris Grigoriev) patenting Biomechanics to train stage actors. Kinmonth contrasts the poses struck by two men recreating a fight with those of the silhouettes in Knstantin Yuon's `New Planet' (1921). But she makes no analytical observation of the theatrical style or the picture before moving on to Alexander Rodchenko , who taught at the same Moscow art school where grandson Alexander Lavrentiev is now in residence. He commends him for introducing docurealism to photographs like `On the Big Ladder' (1925) and `Steps' (1930) and claims he would have made a fine film-maker as his pictures had such a kinetic quality. Indeed, Rodchenko used his graphic design skills to create posters for works like Man With a Movie Camera (1929) by his friend, Dziga-Vertov. But, while she includes a clip, Kinmonth shies away from a discussion of its montage collision of images or how they were utilised to create a sense of revolutionary fervour among the viewers.

Instead, she decamps to Moscow to meet Maria Kulagina, whose grandfather, Gustav Klutsis, is one of her favourite artists of the period. Born into a peasant family in Latvia, he was an ardent Communist and was photographed in Lenin's car in 1918 after fighting in the Battle of Moscow. He invented photomontage, but none of the many examples shown here are titled or dated, as Kinmonth moves her camera to approximate the scissor cuts that helped create them. His wife, Valentina Kulagina, was a poster artist in her own right and Kinmonth uses a passage from Rodchenko's wife, Varvara Stepanova (Daisy Bevan), to show how the Revolution empowered women. However, while she labels `Dancing Figures' (1920), three other pieces, including `Musicians' (1920) go unattributed and unexamined, as Lavrentiev wonders how his grandparents managed to live together with their artistic temperaments and a dancer performs stylised movements that are supposed to replicate those captured in Stepanova's canvas.

The spirit Stepanova speaks of also flourished in architecture, with Vladimir Shukhov bringing undeniable panache to the 160m radio tower that was erected in 1922 to broadcast Lenin's speeches. Similarly, he dispatched a fleet of agit-prop trains to disseminate the Communist message across the vast state. Yet Kinmonth has no time to pause to reflect on the Kino Eye newsreels produced by Dziga-Vertov during his three years on the tracks. Moreover, she barely lingers on Rodchenko's celebrated `Knigi' (1924) poster before hastening off to the archive to unearth poster designs that have barely been seen since the 1920s. But she feels no compunction to attribute them or explain why they have been hidden for so long.

Despite works like Boris Kustodiev's `The Bolshevik' (1920), not everyone backed Lenin and grim footage of the Civil War followed, as Kinmonth informs us that famine led to cannibalism and 10 million deaths. Ozerkov laments that art didn't always catch the hideous reality of the period, although Barzilovich and his wife insist that Petrov-Vodkin always caught what ordinary people were experiencing in paintings like `Still Life With Herring' (1918) and `Petrograd Madonna' (1920). But, as Murray regrets, the counter-revolution persuaded Lenin to unleash the Red Terror that claimed many lives and drove many important artists into exile, with Kandinsky being forced to leave behind the likes of `Composition No.VI' (1913) and `Twilight' (1917) when he fled to Germany in 1922. Chagall left for France the following year.

With the Civil War won - as commemorated in items like Alexander Deyneka's `The Defence of Petrograd' (1928) - Lenin introduced the New Economic Policy to boost production and consumerism. Artists like Rodchenko found themselves producing advertising posters to support small businesses. But, in 1922, discontent with this betrayal of Marxism led to an assassination attempt on Lenin. When he died in January 1924, however, Joseph Stalin perpetuated the cult of Lenin and opened his mausoleum on Red Square to the public. He also renamed Petrograd as Leningrad and erected statues across the country.

But Stalin disliked the avant-garde and promoted a new style of socialist realism that was epitomised by works like Yuri Pimenov's `Get Heavy Industry Going!' (1927), which extolled the efforts of the ordinary worker. Using a 1936 portrait of Stalin to show how Filonov swung from abstraction to a state approved style, Kinmonth lets Tregulova and historian Anne Applebaum explain how the Kremlin wanted art to speak more directly to the people. But she recalls how Stalin interrupted Eisenstein during the editing of October to remove Leon Trotsky from the picture and reshape other events to suit his official version. As Applebaum confirms, Stalin wanted to impose uniformity and his inability to understand or trust the avant-garde led to its suppression.

Over an unbilled picture of an art class, Mikhailovsky reveals that Stalin ordered the academies to resume the teaching of classical forms and Petrov-Vodkin was among those to tow the Party line with works like `Alarm' (1934). Ozerkov notes that Malevich followed suit with items like `Three Female Figures', `Reaper' (both 1928-32), `Head of a Peasant' (1929), `Peasant in the Fields' (c1929-32), `Sportsmen' (1931-32) and `Girl With a Red Pole' (1932-33). A passage of dissent is read over this unlabelled montage (not all of which can be identified by searching online) before Kinmonth reveals that Milevich worked in the state porcelain factory (along with Suetin and Chashnik), which produced pieces like Velikhova and Holina's `Under the Sun of Stalins Constitution'. However, as an unlabelled montage shows, this post allowed Malevich to continue adding Suprematist touches to teapots, cups and plates, while Suetin made vases.

The likes of Piotr Kotov embraced socialist realism, however, and developed a form of Soviet Impressionism with works like `On the Collective Farm' (1930). But, as Marina Mozgovenko-Kotova explains, her grandfather received many more industrial commissions when Stalin launched the Five-Year Plan and paintings like `Central Electric Station Kuznetsk Story' (1931) so pleased the leader that he selected Kotov to paint his portrait. However, as he was denied a live sitting with his subject, Kotov turned him down and spent a lengthy period dreading a knock on his door in the night.

In 1937, a series of decrees initiated what became known as the Great Purge and Applebaum describe how suspects were sent to the gulags or executed, while Tregulova reveals that, even though many avant-garde works were destroyed, museums in Moscow and Leningrad hid pictures in secret rooms with plastered-over doors. Some curators hid canvases and torched frames fitted only with stretchers to give the impression they were obeying orders. Such is the secrecy surrounding this operation that it remains unknown how much art actually survived.

Kinmonth visits a storage facility in Moscow to see such Klutsis items as `Axonometric Painting' (1920). Tatiana Zelyukina, the Curator of Russian Painting at the Tretyakov, explains how Klutsis asked the gallery to hide his pictures when accusations of formalism started flying around. But Tregulova adds that most families lost someone during this period of paranoia and treachery, as one grandfather was shot as a spy and another spent 20 years in a camp. Among those to be detained was Nikolai Punin and his granddaughter shows a letter he threw from a train window en route to Siberia. However, he actually died on 21 August 1953, after surviving Stalin by five months and this failure to present the facts clearly is somewhat misleading.

But even ardent supporters fell foul of the regime. Having produced propagandist masterpieces like `The Victory of Stalin in the USSR Is Guaranteed' (1932) and having helped design the Soviet pavilion for the 1937 Paris Exposition, Klutsis was denounced as an enemy of the people in January 1938. Kinmonth presents pertinent documents from the KGB files, but then melodramatises things by reconstructing a brutal interrogation scene that ends with a confession being signed and a body being dragged along the floor as Zelyukina reveals that Klutsis died less than two months after his arrest.

Rodchenko continued to take striking photographs and many were published in the journal USSR in Construction, which appeared in five languages between 1930-40. One of his notable series depicted the model work camp digging the White Sea Canal. But his grandson notes that even loyal artists trod a fine line between the artistic and the political and most were afraid that their next commission would be their last. Malevich succumbed to cancer in 1935, but Piotr Konchalovsky also survived the purges, even though he had painted Meyerhold's portrait in 1938, a year before he was arrested, tortuted and executed by firing squad in February 1940. Kinmonth illustrates this tragic waste with a moodily lit biomechanical exercise that feels utterly de trop. Bulla was also shot after being falsely accused of spying in October 1938. Some were luckier than others, however, as Nina Suetina recalls her father being reprieved in 1949 when the chair of the union of artists crossed his name off the list of suspects. Kotov also lived long enough to paint Stalin's last portrait, as he lay in state in March 1953.

Over time, the avant-garde was rehabilitated, with `Black Square' now hanging in the Hermitage after once being hidden in a potato crate. As the various experts sum up the achievement, Kinmonth leaves a last raft of picture unattributed as she lauds Soviet art for outlasting socialism and continuing to exert an influence. But Tregulova suggests that few would welcome such a link between art and ideology in the modern age before Kinmonth ends with a roll of honour outlining the fate of the artists covered in her film. However, she only uses surnames and include numerous characters who have not previously been mentioned at all, including Lila Brik, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Isaak Brodsky, Sergei Burylin, Alexander Drevin, Vera Ermolaeva, Boris Koralev, Alexander Sokolov, Vladimir Tatlin and Nadezhda Udaltsova.

Puzzlingly, Anatoli Lunacharsky is credited as having been played by James Butterwick, but it's hard to remember where the first People's Commissar for Education was referenced by name in the film. Such details may seem petty, but they epitomise a project that frustrates throughout with its restless flitting between topics, its failure to provide in-depth academic appreciation of the artists and their work, and its haphazard approach to captioning paintings. What makes this is all the more galling is that Kinmonth has identified a fascinating subject and has clearly conducted some impressive research in making her documentary.

A quick glimpse at one of Phil Grabsky and David Bickerstaff's Exhibition on Screen entries might help prevent some of the more careless omissions where captions are concerned. But Kinmonth proved with Hermitage Revealed that she knows how to showcase a museum's treasures and one keenly looks forward to her next outing in the knowledge it will enlighten and engage.

Several momentous anniversaries have been celebrated and commemorated in 2017, but the passage of four decades since NASA launched Voyagers 1 and 2 to explore the more remote regions of our solar system might have slipped under many people's radars. Yet, as Emer Reynolds reminds us in The Farthest, this audacious project should rank among humanity's proudest achievements, if only because it alerted any alien life forms out there to the existence of Chuck Berry's `Johnny B. Goode'.

When the two Voyager satellites were launched in 1977, they each carried a `golden record' containing greetings in 55 languages, as well as a variety of animal and human sounds, 115 photographs of our planet and civilisation, and 27 pieces of music from around the world. This was humankind's gift to any extraterrestrials that might intercept the little spacecraft, as well as a last testament, should the unthinkable ever happen, to prove that it once existed. As we see simulations of these durable objects tumbling into interstellar space, the voices of those who worked on the project marvel as how far they have travelled and how distant they now are from any other man-made matter. No wonder they sound relieved, humbled and proud.

A caption informs us that the original mission was to go on a `grand tour' of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. Chief scientist Edward Stone, designer/navigator Charley Kohlhase and plasma wave investigator Don Gurnett explain what the NASA team knew about these planets and how to exploit them to project the Voyagers further into space. But imaging scientist Larry Soderblom and low energy charged particles investigator Tom Krimigis concede that expectations weren't high of what were presumed to be icy rocks or gaseous masses, as Pioneer 11 (which had been launched in 1973) had passed Jupiter and Saturn and sent back what was then unparalleled data. Imaging scientist Carolyn Porco notes that the cameras used were pretty primitive, but NASA wanted to know if it was possible to steer a craft through the asteroid belts around the planets and took the images as a pleasing bonus.

According to imaging team leader Brad Smith, Uranus was a blue-green blur and Neptune was little more than a green dot in a telescope and plasma scientist Fran Bagenal confirms that little was known about their make-up and nature. As there was only so much that could be gleaned through a lens and because humans are curious creatures, it was decided to send Voyager to do some snooping on our behalf. Indeed, Porco suggests that our willingness to explore is an evolutionary characteristic that will enable us to learn how to live on other worlds. Image science representative Candy Hansen-Koharcheck concurs that asking questions keeps us going forwards. But the mission also needed a bit of luck, as the four planets were only in alignment every 176 years and the geo-mathematics would have to be exact in order for the gravitational pull of each planet to slingshot the Voyagers into the next phase of their journey.

Lovely overlapping pages of calculations and equations waft across the screen, as one of the speakers notes that they last time the planets were lined up, exploration was being undertaken by wooden sailing ships. President Nixon was amused to learn that Thomas Jefferson was in office at that time, but he only envisaged the mission visiting Jupiter and Saturn when he gave the go ahead for Voyager in July 1972. But the 11 teams involved in the design and construction process exceeded their brief and anticipated that the craft would be able to travel further if needed. They also wanted to do more than just observe.

Project manager John Casani claims the golden record is Voyager's heartbeat and designer Jon Lomberg recalls the role that astronomer Carl Sagan played in deciding upon the disc's content and producing it for a mere $25,000. James F. Bell, the author of The Interstellar Age, calls this a message in a bottle. But it was mathematician Frank Drake who persuaded Sagan to send recordings rather than drawings and/or texts and he chuckles as he lets slip that the NASA bods are jealous that his metal disc gets more attention than their genius. Producer Timothy Ferris reveals that they recorded the sound at half speed to accommodate two hours of material, around 30 minutes of which is non-musical. It's also noted that the cover not only contained instructions on how to play a gramophone record, but also bore a sky map showing Earth's position and Casani remembers some scientists being apoplectic because he had given out position away to potential enemy aliens. Mechanical systems project engineer Frank Locatell applauds the use of a disc to show off our intelligence and entice any recipients into admiring the perspicacity of the sender species.

But is there anyone (or anything) inhabiting the 200 billion stars in the Milky Way and the 200 billion other galaxies in the known universe. Planetary scientist Heidi Hammel says there is a possibility that other life forms exist, but there are no guarantees. Imaging scientist Rick Terrile uses grains of sand on a six-foot table top to convey the enormity of space and Bell avers that aliens would have to be advanced to even notice a tiny craft shooting along at 10 miles per second. Yet it has still taken four decades for Voyager to get this far out into our solar system and Locatell notes that there is a lot of room out there, with the nearest galaxy being Andromeda, some two million light years away. This is on a collision course with our own galaxy and they are due to meet in five billion years time. But, as cosmologist Lawrence Krauss points out, such is the vastness of the surrounding space that they will pass by without serious collateral damage and this realisation makes it possible to posit that Voyager can continue unhindered for possibly billions of years into the future. Current project manager Suzanne Dodd finds such timeframes staggering, yet Bagenal notes that Voyager's journey in cosmic terms is the equivalent to a quick dart around the block.

In order to increase the chances of survival, NASA decided to build two satellites at Pasadena in California in 1972. Bell commends the CalTec crew responsible their design for having the finest `what if' minds imaginable, as they were able to foresee all manner of gremlins and problems and devise solutions for them. Casani recalls how they needed to arrange the 12ft diameter antenna and the propulsion systems in such a way that they wouldn't interfere with each other, while Stone reflects on how primitive these 800kg aluminium and silicon projectiles are by today's standards, as each has only three computers aboard the 10-sided craft hub nicknamed `the bus' with 240,000 times less memory capacity than a smartphone.

Cutting between archive footage of engineers at work and computer modulations of features like the magnetic sensor and the plutonium power supply, Reynolds lets the team explain the construction process and how the ships would work. One member compares it to a small school bus and insists that Voyager has a grace that belies its gangly appearance.

As we see archive footage of men in white hazmat suits tinkering with the craft on the launch pad, we see the golden record fitted into place to the accompaniment of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which was joined on the disc by Zairean pygmy girls singing an initiation song, the Japanese `Crane's Song', the Chinese `Flowing Streams' and the Indonesian gamelan piece, `Kinds of Flowers'. Ferris and Lomberg remember having six weeks to make the choices and being disappointed that The Beatles refused to licence anything. So, after debating whether to include something by Bob Dylan, they plumped for a blast of rock`n'roll, which prompted a Saturday Night Live sketch in which Steve Martin reveals that the first four words sent by the aliens were `Send More Chuck Berry'.

Ironically, Elvis Presley died four days before the launch date in August 1977. Locatell struggles for composure as he recalls seeing the satellites encased in their rockets and knowing that no human eyes would ever see them again. Kohlhase tuts at the press being put out because Voyager 2 was launched first and its sibling followed on a faster trajectory that enabled it to overtake in December. He also despairs that the media was more interested in the record than the science and Ferris recalls hastily convening a press conference at Frank Wolfe's Beachside Motel in a hall that had a thin partition separating the journalists from a Polish wedding.

They were launched on decommissioned Titan missiles, with V2 going on 20 August and V1 on 5 September. Locatell remembers the noise and the vibration, while Ferris and Lomberg were glad that what was essentially a large bomb did its job without a hitch. Infrared science rep Linda Spilker describes the sensation of watching the rocket disappear, while author Nick Sagan (who was seven at the time) muses on the fact that his recording of `Hello from the children of planet Earth' will long outlive him.

But, as Casini and Stone confess, the mission didn't get off to a great start, as the pummelling tumult of the launch confused V2s systems and it began initiating back-up programmes in the belief that it was failing. Reynolds charmingly uses a shot of a dipping kite to illustrate the point, while operations engineer David Linick recalls the newspaper headline `Mutiny in Space', as it appeared that NASA had lost control. But, as Hansen-Koharcheck explains, the craft had been too tightly programmed to allow for wriggle room and the code was tweaked before Voyager 1 took off a few weeks later. However, a leak nearly ruined the event and Stone, Casani and Kohlhase look back at the panic that the second propulsion stage might fail with wry relief, at V1 would have been lost before Jupiter but for three and a half seconds-worth of fuel.

Over a simulation of V1 separating from its boosters and opening out like an origami shape, Locatell holds back another tear as his part in the adventure comes to an end. Now is the time for the scientists to come to the fore. Krauss begins by describing how little they knew a human lifetime ago, when no one knew that space was expanding way beyond our galaxy following a big bang some 13.7 billion years ago. He also declares that space weighs something, but we have no idea what purpose this dominant force in the universe serves. Extreme close-ups of eyeballs suggest the looking and learning that humankind still has to do. But they also serve as a blinking pillow shot to allow two years of travel to pass so that Voyager can approach Jupiter.

After a journey of nearly 400 million miles, V1 got its first glimpse of Jupiter in March 1979, with V2 following behind four months later. A timelapse sequence shows the distant dot become a close-up of a planet 10 times the diameter of Earth, yet with no solid surface because it is primarily made up of hydrogen and helium. Atmospheric scientist Andrew Ingersoll explains how the gas is compressed and is ferociously hot and reveals that the red spot (which could easily swallow two Earths) is a storm that had been blowing for centuries. The images sent back were monochrome because they offered a higher resolution and colour is added by those processing the pictures at NASA. He was instantly excited by the footage, as it challenged existing notions on the turbulence of the gasses and this led to fears that the magnetic forces would destroy Voyager at the first hurdle, as its sensitive systems were only covered by the kind of silver foil that would be used to roast a turkey.

The twinkle in Locatell's eye as he tells this story is delightful and Voyager obviously survived in order to get close enough to make sound recordings of the radiation onslaught being emitted by Jupiter. Gurnett explains that the whooshing sounds denotes the first lightning heard anywhere other than Earth and he says space is a noisy place. Kohlhase and Soderblom, however, were more focused on the moons. They expected Calisto and Ganymede to be full of impact craters, but no one thought Europa would be so icily smooth or that it would be host to the largest salt ocean in the solar system. But the showstopper was Io, whose volcanic eruptions were spotted after Voyager had passed by navigation engineer Linda Morabito, who noticed the movements on observational images.

With new pictures arriving every 48 seconds, the flybys were periods of hectic activity with the NASA team expected to report to the press within three hours of new data becoming available. But a final surprise was in store, as Voyager took the first ever picture of Jupiter's ring. This changed the nature of the mission, as Terrile recalls, as they were now primed to expect equally astonishing returns from Saturn. Porco smiles as she notes the Homeric nature of the odyssey, as there were long periods of travel between intense bursts of activity.

While Voyager presses on, Reynolds returns to the golden disc and the multi-lingual greetings that were recorded by Carl Sagan at Cornell University, where he was Professor of Astronomy. Wife Linda Salzman played a key role and suggested their son joining Amahl Drake and Janet Sternberg in recording messages that the latter compares to pro-Tweets. She spoke Portuguese, while Drake knew Arabic to go along with the salutations in Ancient Greek, Nguni African, Rajasthani, Nepali and Mandarin. As The Carpenters sing `Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft', we see lots of children''s drawings of aliens and Porco and Soderblom debate the existing of intelligent life and our chances of finding these living needles in a cosmic haystack. Casani and Drake have no doubts, with the latter speculating that radio waves we don't yet know how to detect are reaching us all the time. However, Krauss points out that civilisations don't necessarily overlap in historical terms and that aliens who might have been ready to contact other species were too far in evolutionary advance of possible messages. Ingersoll reassuringly states that time and space travel is notoriously difficult and that aliens are unlikely to show up unannounced. Yet, Voyager managed to cross one billion miles of space to rendezvous with Saturn in the autumn of 1980. A timelapse sequence shows the planet getting closer, as Porco and Bagenal recall how rapidly the new discoveries came as data was returned to Mission Control. The excitement is conveyed by the throbbing rock music accompanying a montage showing the colours and texture of Saturn and its rings. However, as Casani interjects, the focus of the mission was on the largest moon, Titan.

Bell explains that many believe Earth shared a similar make-up before life appeared and it was considered worth sacrificing V1 to focus on Titan in order to let V2 (some nine months behind) go on to Uranus and Neptune. However, conditions prevented the cameras from penetrating the debris and scientists had to rely on radio signals. Then, the scan platform froze on V2 when it passed behind Saturn and there was gloomy panic that its mission was over. But the engineers manipulated the gears to restore the flow of lubricant and, after several painstaking hours, the situation was rectified to the relief of all.

Pink Floyd's `Us and Them' plays over the rear view of Saturn retreating into the distance, as Porco opines that the Voyager project enthused her because it showed the rest of the solar system what earthlings could do. Ferris reveals that they included a Back fugue on the record because it has a mathematical structure and that maths and physics could be the common language through which we communicate. But Hansen-Koharcheck thinks we are being arrogant in believing that an alien encounter would be as cosy as an episode of Star Trek. Humanity hasn't figured out how to communicate with dolphins and whales, so to believe it could easily befriend alien races is deluded.

It was also decided that 115 photographs encapsulating life on Earth should be included and Drake and Lomberg recall the problems of selecting sufficiently representative images. They were also keen to include anatomical studies, but NASA had been so stung by the media backlash about line drawings of a naked man and woman being sent up on Pioneer that it rejected a shot of a pregnant woman and her partner for fear of being accused of sending smut into space. Yet such was the sophistication of Voyager 2 that its computers could be reprogrammed to operate in the darker environs of Uranus and Neptune and Bell describes how the cameras were re-calibrated to slower shutter speeds, while the craft itself was taught how to pirouette so that nothing was missed as it hurtled along.

V2 had travelled 1.8 billion miles by the time it arrived at Uranus in January 1986. Brad Smith reflects on this once in a lifetime achievement with a wistful smile, as a caption informs us that the craft flew just 51,000 miles above the planet's clouds. As Bell recalls, a point of light became a world as the images of an aquamarine sphere came back to NASA and he remembers each one making people pause and exclaim. We are shown beautiful colour approximations (as we were with Saturn), as Stone recalls the shock discovery that Uranus had its magnetic pole near the equator. But Smith laments that it was the least photogenic of the planets and Hammel almost feels sorry for it that it missed its chance to shine because parts of the surface virtually shut down as they faced towards the sun.

Luckily, Terrile saves its face by commending its moons, with Miranda being the star turn because its surface was so gashed and pitted. Soderblom describes how the weakness of gravity would impact on a fall from a cliff on Miranda, while a caption reveals that V2 found two new rings and 10 tiny moons during its visitation. But the day of the press conference coincided with the Challenger disaster and Bagenal, Spiker and Dodd recall the shock and sadness felt among the Voyager team at the loss of life, but also at the fact their news would be overshadowed. A news clip shows President Ronald Reagan poignantly connecting exploration with courage, as a split screen contrasts the plumes of smoke following the mid-air explosion with the serene beauty of a crescent shot of Uranus.

While we wait for V2 to reach its next destination, Krauss ruminates on the purpose of science and how it has changed beyond all recognition in a short space of time. As kids we ask `why?', when the key question must always be `how?' and it frustrates Krauss that so many people think science should have a technological end product when its real glory lies in ideas. Yet the more we know, the more insignificant we become in the grander scheme of things, with the multiverse theory being the latest concept to take us further away from the centre of the action. Ironically, V2 needed to be taught some new tricks during its three and a half year voyage to Neptune, in order to function in the colder, darker environment some three billion miles from Earth.

While the onboard computers had to be updated, so did the reception equipment at NASA because it only had one shot at capturing the weakened signal. But the timelapse sequence brings this pale blue planet into focus and Bagenal recalls the thrill of getting up close to an orb that had only previously been photographed as a speck. Hammel was also blown away by the `Great Dark Spot' that nobody had foreseen, while everyone relished the challenge of photographing rings twice as dark as soot against a jet black background. Given these circumstances, the resulting images are phenomenal, as is the fact that the team sent V2 skimming 3000 miles above Neptune's polar clouds in order to get images of its moon, Triton. This required split-second timing and the success of the gambit sums up the audacity and expertise of the entire Voyager unit.

Soderblom was charged with imaging the icy surface of Triton and was confused as to why the images kept refusing to line up. So, he viewed them through red and blue lenses to create a 3-D effect and was astonished to discover geysers erupting on the moon. Linick, Bagenal and Hammel share Soderblom's exhilaration at making a discovery no one had even considered possible this far from the Sun. The last moments of exploring Neptune proved very emotional, as the planetary phase of V2's mission had ended and it now became an interplanetary craft. But the team had a celebratory party and Chuck Berry performed live on the steps of the HQ building.

Meanwhile, V1 had gone 3.7 billion miles from Earth and Carl Sagan suggested turning the camera back to take a unique picture of the solar system pointing towards the Sun. Amazingly, there was opposition to the project, as it had no strict scientific value. But Sagan went to the NASA top brass and the camera was pointed towards home on 14 Febrary 1990 for the greatest `selfie' of all time. Hammel and Porco remember the thrill of seeing Earth caught in a sunbeam and it appears in the shot as a pin prick of light less than the size of a pixel in the image. When he showed the findings to the press, Sagan spoke about human history having played out on that speck and he stressed the responsibility we have to preserve it. Moreover, as Nick Sagan deduces, the picture proved that we are alone and that we are the only ones who can save us from ourselves.

A caption reveals that the cameras were turned off as the Voyagers moved further into space and the operation base was moved out of the JPL complex. But the mission continued, as the craft headed out of the heliosphere and into the galaxy beyond. Bell remembers the day in August 2012 that V1 popped out of the Sun's bubble and became the first man-made object to exit our solar system. Dodd compares it to the Little Engine That Could and Porco is humbled that we were able to take such a giant step in such an understated way. Daily messages are sent home, taking 18 hours to reach Earth, while V2 keeps plugging away in its wake to make its own small pieces of history.

As Soderblom concludes, there will never be another mission like it and the team members take pleasure in the fact that the satellites themselves, as well as the golden discs, will alert anyone who finds them to humanity's advanced intelligence. Bell notes that the craft are expected to survive for an incalculable period of time past the final shutdown of their systems and they will serve as evidence that we sent them. Krauss retains faith in the infinitesimal possibility that one or both of the Voyagers will be found. But, as Dodd avers, we shall long have lost contact with them and she finds that sad because we will never know which signal is goodbye.

Aptly closing on Pinkzebra's `We Won't Stop Dreaming', this is a fitting tribute to everyone involved in this awe-inspiring project. The eight year-old Liverpudlian who placed James Burke second only behind The Beatles in terms of hero worship would have loved this film and it's reassuring that his 56 year-old Oxford-based counterpart feels exactly the same way. From start to finish, Reynolds finds riveting images to complement the dense flow of verbal information and cinematographer Kate McCullough, editor Tony Cranstoun, CGI creator Ian Benjamin Kenny and visual effects designer Enda O'Connor surpass themselves in capturing the enormity and beauty of the information disseminated by Voyagers 1 and 2. They are the stars of the show, but the NASA boffins prove wonderful tour guides on the journey of a lifetime.

One's suspicions are always raised when a documentary purporting to present an objective overview turns out to have an alternative agenda. Jairus McLeary's The Work offers fascinating insights into the operation of the Inside Circle Foundation within the same Folsom State Prison in Sacramento, California that was immortalised in the 1960s by Johnny Cash. However, the Foundation's CEO, James McLeary, is not only the documentary's executive producer, but he is also the father of its director.

This relationship is never mentioned once during the film (despite cropping up openly in publicity interviews) nor is the fact that producers Eon and Miles McCleary are the court videographer and first-time film-maker's brothers and, like him, are veteran Circle volunteers. Indeed, the other exec producers are the Foundation's founder and `keeper of wisdom', Rob Allbee, and Gethin Aldous, who has been participating in sessions since 2003 and is also credited as McLeary's co-director. So, few should be surprised when they realise that this is less an entirely altruistic slice of film vérité than a glorified and unquestioning advertorial.

An opening caption explains that inmates of New Folsom Prison attend weekly group therapy sessions as part of their rehabilitation programme. The majority are serving long sentences for violent and/or gang-related crimes. Twice a year, however, members of the public are allowed inside the maximum security facility to join the convicts for intensive four-day sessions and, as they pass through the gates in silent single file, we are introduced to Charles Tate, Jr., an African-American bartender who wants to increase his self-understanding, Chris Renton, a museum associate who hopes the course jolts him out of a rut, and Brian Nazarof, a black teacher's assistant, who admits that he is seeking a thrill by consorting with known killers in a famous jail.

As the outsiders shuffle into the grey-clad chapel, McLeary shows us glimpses of inmates in the exercise yard before cutting to a caption informing us that participants in the programme agree to leave gang politics and racial prejudices at the door. We then see the white-bearded James McLeary (ie McLeary) welcome the group by leading them through a call and answer exercise that requires them to shout `shoo' whenever he growls `simbaway', which he claims symbolises `the way the lion walks, the way the lion is, the way the lion be'. He tells them that they have now gone inside themselves and have boarded a train that will, presumably, take them to their desired destination.

Also white bearded and sporting a bandana, Rob (an ex-con-turned-poet) starts Day One by reminding prisoners and outsiders alike that he can't predict how things will turn out before Rick Misener, a tattooed, bandana-wearing former member of the Aryan Brotherhood, interjects to urge the newcomers to be true to themselves so that everyone can become better for the experience. Yet another set of captions point out that some of the prisoners are participating for the first time, while civilians are asked to choose two experienced inmates to act as their guides over the four days. We then eavesdrop, as Charles explains that he is from South Central Los Angeles and has been terrified of being jailed because his father has spent so long behind bars that he missed his birth. Twenty-five year-old Chris confides that he has come to discover why he keeps passing up opportunities and has failed to mature over the last decade, while Brian expresses an unconvincing concern about how Folsom routine impinges on the mindset of the prisoners.

Charles asks Rick about his crime and he confesses to one count of murder and three of robbery, while Vegas (the nickname of Eldra Jackson III, a former shot caller for The Bloods) tells Brian that he has been inside for 19 years for kidnapping for purposes of robbery and Dark Cloud (the tribal name of Andrew Molino, a member of the Skins Native American Prison Gang) almost cut a guy in half while high. As they take a short break, Vegas and his unnamed partner joke that they have a live wire in Brian, who admits to being tired of the drudgery and obstacles hindering him and needs to find a new way to approach life. Vegas suggests talking to Brian is like looking in a mirror and he clearly anticipates some fireworks.

The men are divided into groups and pull up chairs while trained facilitators run through the rigmarole. They ask people to discuss their expectations and Vegas kicks off by saying he wants to stop being his own worst enemy and reach out so that everyone he encounters can be `kissed by God'. Dark Cloud hopes to become vulnerable without being hurt, while first-timer Neseli `Kiki' Tagoai (a member of the Others Pacific Islander and Asian Prison Gang, who has served 17 years for murder and robbery) wants to embrace his fears and reconcile himself to losing touch with his family.

Facilitator Aaron Ortega-Piddington asks Kiki to describe the armour that he wears to protect himself from the grief of losing his sister and the mood rapidly changes, as he wishes to reconnect with the little boy who used to cry when his father whooped him. Vegas offers to go inside with him, as he explores those emotions and facilitator Bharataji Joplin also steps into the circle to support him, as the camera flits between the focused faces of the other group members. They encourage him to breathe and he breaks down and collapses into Vegas's arms. The others kneel beside them and the camera drops down to their level to maintain the sense of intimacy and intensity.

As Kiki howls with pain, his friends talk to him as though he was undergoing a form of religious experience, while Rick touchingly notices that Charles has remained in his seat and checks that he is coping with the shock to his system. But he recovers his composure and thanks Kiki with a hug for being so honest in front of them. Interestingly, when they resume their circle to analyse what they have witnessed, a tongue-tied Brian offers a somewhat sceptical perspective, as he reveals that he finds it difficult not to judge everyone. He pays Vegas a half-hearted compliment for his role in proceedings and reminds Kiki that he has only taken the first step towards sorting himself out. But, in the minibus home, Chris proves equally dubious about the processes, as he worries that he will let everyone down if he doesn't cry, as he isn't seeking an outpouring.

Day Two dawns and co-founder Donald Morrison addresses the assembled. He informs them that going deep into the wound isn't enough and he recites a poem about finding value in the little things that other people wouldn't notice. When the group session resumes, Rick lets Brian know that he is aware of his cynicism in asking everyone in the circle to describe a time in which they have felt betrayed. Rick gets things rolling by recalling how two fathers let him down at three and 15 and how his biker and criminal friends similarly melted away at the first sign of trouble. He is 47 and has never felt love and wishes he could channel his feelings into something other than violence. He ends his testimony with `amen', which reinforces the notion that the Foundation leans more towards prayer groups than AA meetings.

Father issues also blight Charles, who has reached 40 feeling that he had to teach himself how to be a man. He hopes that he has been a better role model for his own kids, but is aware that he has passed some of his sadness on to them. Bharataji suggests that he lets this go, but Aaron and Rick can see he doesn't want to delve more deeply and allow the baton to pass to Edward `Lonnie' Wilson, a black convict who spent 22 years as a heroin addict to avoid confronting the feeling of betrayal caused by his brother telling their friends about his first sexual experience. Brian butts in at this point to question Lonnie's integrity and facilitator Alvin `Bud' Wheeler intervenes to prevent tempers fraying. However, being challenged causes Brian to bellow with self-loathing fury and Vegas coaxes him into admitting that his brain short circuits and that he feels like killing people who disrespect him because inside he feels like a prince.

Bud suggests that the group crowd Brian and prevent him from lashing out, as he encourages him to put a sound to his rage. James hovers on the periphery, as Brian wails with suppressed wrath and Bud advises him to let it all out because everyone he knows gets a backlash from it because he is such an aggressive person. Eventually, they goad him into acknowledging a resentment towards a father who never felt that he was good enough and Vegas commends him for reaching a place in which he can start to control his emotions because he now understands their source.

Following a break, Bud jokes that Brian can boast about the cut on his forehead before Rick pipes up that he has a new respect for him, as he couldn't stand him at first, but now sees that they are alike. And, of course, this affirmation is precisely what Brian was seeking and he grins while basking in his moment of glory. Indeed, the golden glow of his triumph seeps into the pillow shots showing the sun setting and tiny yellow chickens pecking at their feed in a tight little scrum. At this point, sceptics will need to fight down any concerns that scenes have been stage-managed or that certain individuals have been selected for their ability to rabble-rouse. Wherever the truth lies (and nothing shown in any film happens entirely by accident, thanks to the decisions made during editing), we move into Day Three.

Candles burn in the chapel as Dante Granville (who is serving double life plus 55 years for his misdeeds with The Bloods) explains how he is trying to change his ways. He feels suicidal because his son's mother refuses to let him see his child and Charles pleads with him not to quit because the boy will always need his father. As he weeps, Vegas stands face to face with Dante and tells him that killing himself is a coward's way out. He asks him to give him 90 days to find a solution to his problem and they hug so tightly that their words become muffled and their body microphones pick up their heartbeats. Yet the ambient mic still captures sobs and screams from elsewhere in the room that usher in an inescapable sense of authenticity.

Aaron brings everyone in for a group hug and an unnamed prisoner recalls Don's poem about diving for golden coins and encourages his companions to come up with handfuls of the things. When Rick says they are covered in blood, the man urges him to wash them clean and the group begin to sway in solidarity, as Rick breaks ranks to stand in front of Dante and implore him to let his fellow inmates care for him without the dreadful fear that he might give up on them and himself.

The afternoon session sees the outsiders lay on mattresses beneath blanket canopies, while their guides watch over them. Dreamy music begins to play, as Bud bids the men to imagine themselves floating out of the room and into a space where they can commune with themselves as boys. He tells them to write down the deepest childhood need that would have prevented their lives from departing from the straight and narrow and we see Chris being comforted by his guardians when he starts to cry. When they reassemble to reveal, Charles laments a lack of stability and the opportunity to be carefree and Brian curses being told what to do. But Chris apologises for not taking things seriously up to now, as the New Age music he considered hokum got under his skin and reminded him of how happy he had been as a kid and how he needs to rediscover that ability to be himself and enjoy life.

Dark Cloud also admits to holding himself back, but his turn to shine comes on Day Four. As incense is wafted over the group, he recalls feeling sorry for his father when his parents split and defying his mother to go and live with him. But he turned out to be exactly the kind of deadbeat she had described and he feels he betrayed his mother to invest in a loser who led him astray. They lower him on to a mattress and restrain him when he lashes out at Brian for calling him `gentle'. Rick leads Brian away and reassures him that Dark Cloud meant nothing by his actions, as he is just going through some heavy duty emotions.

By contrast, Chris's revelation that he could never live up to his own father's manly expectations seems small beer. He wishes he could tell him how hurt he was by this minor rejection and Dark Cloud suggests that someone `holds the energy' of Chris's father so he can say his piece and feel cleansed. Chris selects James as his surrogate and, while the others form a barrier of extended arms for him to push through, James orders Chris to stop trying to help with the car in the garage and return to the house with his mother. Eventually, he asserts himself and James beams at him an envelopes him in a hug. But, in truth, this felt like a cornball Method acting exercise and the doubts come flooding back in.

After a macho hugging session, the group ponders its conclusions. Rick announces his love of God, life and adrenaline edges, as he thanks everyone for giving him a good rush. Dante (who is holding a sign asking women to write to him) admits he has renewed strength, while Chris is pleased to have found a new way. Lonnie recognises that many of his comrades are fatherless sons and he hopes this cycle can be broken through groups like the Inside Circle. As he lauds the value of `the work', a caption reveals that during the 17 years that the Foundation has existed, over 40 convicts who have been through it have been released and avoided re-offending.

The closing statement provides powerful statistical evidence to the success of the scheme. But, despite the odd moment of gruelling intensity, this documentary singularly fails to disguise its subjectivity. Indeed, it frequently feels too organised to be entirely observational. Cinematographer Arturo Santamaria and his cohorts always seem to know where to go and when to press in for a close-up and, while some of the movements are undoubtedly rooted in spontaneous empathy, several more feel choreographed. Amy Foote's editing reinforces this sense of storytelling to ensure that outsiders and inmates alike have their epiphanies perfectly framed.

The sound recorded and designed by Thomas Curley and John M. Davis feels less shaped, especially as so many off-screen shrieks coincide with significant declarations within the group. But nothing casts graver doubt over the film than it unwillingness to own up to its pre-existing connections to the Inside Circle Foundation, which surely explains the ease with which the crew earn the trust of the participants. Moreover, nothing is mentioned about the application and selection processes for the Folsom sessions or why Chris, Charles and Brian (who were previously known to the McLeary brothers) were chosen or why they ended up in a group with Rick, Vegas, Dark Cloud, Lonnie, Dante and Kiki. After all, isn't this supposed to be a study of disclosure, as well as the crisis in American masculinity and the pastoral failings of the correctional system?