I’m only a few episodes into my current viewing of Civilisation but this isn’t my first encounter with Kenneth Clark’s landmark series. Developed by David Attenborough as early as 1966, I was about seven when it originally aired in 1969, and likely between ten and twelve when reruns abounded in Canada. Watching it now brings back not only memories of my Ottawa days in the late ’90s—when I saw the full series on VHS after completing my doctorate—but also faint impressions from childhood, when Europe and the world of high art seemed distant, exotic, and full of mystery. Today, many scenes feel oddly familiar, like returning to a book once read in a different time and place.
A digitally remastered version was released in 2011, but I chose to revisit the original with no digital remastering, no modern polish. The look is a bit varnished, and I’ve had to play with brightness settings to make it more watchable, but I find the grain and texture add a kind of authentic charm. It places the viewer in a very specific time, not just in the subject matter but in the medium itself—a slower, more contemplative era of television.
Kenneth Clark, our guide through this sprawling journey of Western art and culture, was an aristocrat through and through. He came from wealth, held major positions in the British art world, and speaks with effortless refinement. What’s refreshing is that he never dumbs down his speech—he speaks as he naturally would, and assumes you can keep up. This doesn’t feel condescending, just elegant, and it’s a welcome contrast to the fragmented, soundbite-driven narration common today.
Clark presents the series as “a personal view,” and it absolutely is. He’s opinionated, occasionally dated, and not afraid to brush past entire cultures or periods if they don’t fit his aesthetic arc. His scholarship is sometimes so seamless it feels more like performance than argument, and there are moments where gaps in the narrative become noticeable. Still, despite these criticisms, Civilisation remains a classic that should not be missed. It doesn’t aim to be encyclopedic. Rather, it’s a grand cultural essay on camera—and a visually rich one at that.
There’s also subtle humor throughout, and glimpses of Clark’s personality behind the camera lens. Known in his time as a socialite and not exactly a paragon of monogamy, Clark’s commentary reflects a fascination with human nature in all its contradiction. He doesn’t moralize; instead, he observes—with style, wit, and an ever-present curiosity about how the human condition manifests in culture.
 |
| Flora from Primavera by Botticelli, c. 1482 |
The series begins with a gloss on the Roman Empire and the marauding Vikings, but often reaches further back, drawing comparisons to the Greeks and occasionally to Asian traditions—not as in-depth explorations, but as points of contrast and resonance. This East-West dialogue is subtle and brief, but it helps expand the scope of what could otherwise be a purely Eurocentric tale.
One of the more intriguing contrasts is his take on courtly love and chivalry. Clark seems faintly bemused by the idea of knights idolizing unattainable ladies, treating the whole tradition as a kind of curious social phenomenon. Joseph Campbell, by contrast, is clearly fascinated—he makes this kind of romantic longing one of the emotional high points in his broader mythological narrative. Were Clark and Campbell projecting literature, song, and myth onto actual history? Some scholars would say so, while others believe there were, quite literally, knights pining for idealized, often unavailable women—the literature reflecting and influencing actual practices. Aside from these debates, Clark sees the phenomenon as odd; Campbell embraces it as psychologically profound.
In the end, Civilisation offers not just a history of art but a reminder of a time when media dared to be thoughtful, slow, and rich with personality. It’s not perfect—but it’s perfectly itself. And for that, it still holds its place as one of television’s rare and graceful meditations on art and humanity through the ages.
Although knighted by the time the series aired, Clark chose not to use his title, preferring instead to present himself as a passionate, opinionated guide through Western culture—an intellectual companion rather than a distant aristocrat. Later, he was made a life peer, further cementing his legacy in the British aristocracy, but throughout Civilisation, his focus remains on art and ideas, not titles.
Remarkably, Civilisation attracted an audience that far exceeded expectations for a production so deeply rooted in high art and cultural history—2.5 million viewers in Britain and around 5 million in the United States. The companion book has never gone out of print, a testament to the series' enduring appeal. Decades later, the BBC's DVD release continues to sell thousands of copies annually, proving that Clark’s eloquent blend of intellect and charm still resonates in a world that often moves too fast for reflection.
The broadcast also left a lasting legacy on the documentary form itself. It helped pioneer the presenter-led model, demonstrating that a single, informed voice could sustain a narrative across multiple episodes without sacrificing depth or complexity. Later series by Jacob Bronowski, Michael Wood, and Simon Schama owe something to the path Civilisation carved out—showing that television, when done well, could still be a home for serious ideas.
Comments