Wanting a dose of serotonin during my at-home Sundance watch, I opted for what I assumed would be A24’s nature doc Nuisance Bear. Instead, the film reveals itself as not only a captivating portrait of its titular animals, but of the communities forced to coexist with them. It’s not just a wildlife documentary — in true A24 fashion, it digs deeper, exploring how this evolving relationship isn’t driven solely by climate change, but also by the tourism economy built around capturing images of these bears in their altered habitat.
When the film begins, we’re introduced to the tourism-driven town of Churchill, Manitoba — the “polar bear capital of the world” — where busloads of visitors are ferried in bear-proof vehicles to viewing zones in what has effectively become the bears’ new home. The film notes that polar bears once spent most of their time on sea ice, but climate change has forced them inland.From there, we see how the community attempts to respond compassionately and responsibly when bears wander into town, using “bear jail”, flashbangs, and flares to drive them away. The issue is that animals who rely heavily on sensitive hearing to hunt suffer damage from these deterrents, forcing them to rely on other senses to forage for survival.
This brings us to bear X17690, whom we follow for most of the film. Forced to hunt by scent, he develops a taste for trash, leading him into Churchill’s dump — an encased, bear-proof facility. His attempted break-in lands him in “bear jail”, after which he’s tranquilized, tagged, fitted with a tracker, and flown by helicopter to the distant shoreline. From there, the film evolves as he migrates north to the largely Inuit town of Arviat, Nunavut. The focus shifts to the local community as they grapple with a loss of cultural identity and a fractured relationship with wildlife since colonization introduced Western ideas of “civilization.” These tensions surface as the town prepares for Halloween, when a lottery determines who may legally hunt the bears for one night.
Against sweeping landscapes and stunning wildlife photography, the film’s Inuit narrator speaks about these so-called nuisance bears — Auinnaarjuk — and their psychology. Often separated prematurely from their mothers, these bears are prone to risky behavior and, due to repeated encounters with the Churchill Polar Bear Alert Team, frequently suffer hearing loss. This proximity to tourists has also reshaped their instincts: humans are no longer something to fear, but a potential source of nourishment thanks to the food trucks that follow these photography tours around.
Given the evidence it presents, Nuisance Bear makes a compelling argument that the best solution may simply be to leave these animals alone — though that’s difficult for towns financially dependent on bear tourism. The film even suggests that polar bear populations may no longer be as endangered as commonly believed, and that perpetuating this narrative helps keep the tourism economy thriving. It’s a beautifully crafted and meticulously composed argument, strengthened by the blunt pragmatism of Indigenous communities who must live alongside bears they aren’t allowed to hunt — and who lack the resources of their tourist-rich southern neighbors.
While Nuisance Bear certainly delivers adorable cubs frolicking in the snow and bears doing mischievous bear stuff, it does so while exposing a complex ecosystem fueled by commerce — one that increasingly resembles exploitation disguised as responsible coexistence.
