Birding is experiencing its moment in the spotlight, thanks to pop culture. Uzo Aduba’s “world’s greatest detective” in The Residence and Mark Ruffalo’s FBI agent in Task are both birdwatchers. It seems the pandemic-induced birdwatching boom has finally hatched into the minds of writers everywhere, leading to a new wave of inspired bird-centric narratives.
However, the true gem of birding media for 2025 isn’t lurking behind a streaming paywall. No, it’s lurking on YouTube, where two cheeky Midwestern brothers have dropped a birdwatching documentary that’s more viral than a cat on a Roomba. The film, garnering attention from both avian aficionados and the oddly curious, has comments like, “I never thought I’d watch a birdwatching documentary today. Yet, here we are. It’s that fantastic.”
In their riveting endeavor, “Listers: A Glimpse Into Extreme Birdwatching,” Quentin and Owen Reiser attempt to set the Lower 48 Big Year record—essentially a scavenger hunt for birds—armed with nothing but a smartphone and questionable life choices. These clueless adventurers planned their journey by typing “which states have the most birds” into Google, all while lacking even the most basic essentials, like binoculars. What could possibly go wrong?
The resulting documentary, along with the book Field Guide of All the Birds We Found One Year in the United States, chronicles their descent into the bizarre birding underbelly. Amidst the seasoned geriatric birders sporting cargo pants, the duo meets a cavalcade of self-important “listers” obsessively logging species like it’s the latest TikTok trend, while also diving into birding scandals and the ultimate existential question: “What on earth are we doing?”
However, that’s just background noise compared to the quirky adventure at hand: two guys traversing America’s less-than-polished back roads, proving that birdwatching is indeed a road-trip film waiting to happen.
Birding travelogues aren’t exactly the stuff of bestseller lists, but this genre has been alive and kicking since at least 1831, when John James Audubon charmed readers with tales of America’s wild side. From legends like Roger Tory Peterson’s Wild America to contemporary delights like Mark Obmascik’s The Big Year, which starred Jack Black—there’s little shortage of fowl-themed adventures. But these narratives often forget the real jewels of driving cross-country: the bizarre encounters and questionable choices made along the way.
Kenn Kaufman’s 1997 classic Kingbird Highway nailed the essence of birding travel—less about the birds and more about the strange, wonderful, and sometimes disturbing characters encountered. While fellow travelers debated the rarity of falcons, readers were more fascinated by tales of food So weird it probably shouldn’t be spoken of or the kind of hitchhiking that left you with more than just a new stamp in your passport. The Reiser brothers manage to capture that same spirit, documenting the stark reality of American nature while clinging to the thin veil of hope that they’ll spot a rare finch.
As they drive through America’s backroads, they unveil a world that’s both grimy and strangely captivating. Littered public lands, parking-lot drug transactions, and shocking restroom conditions become their grim companions. Instead of cozy nights under the stars, they catch Z’s in Cracker Barrel parking lots—because who wouldn’t want a side of hash browns to accompany their dreams?
But here’s the kicker: this is birding in all its realness. The Reiser brothers and their field guide, adorned with numerous QR codes linking to their quirky YouTube docs, present the portrayal of birding that no one knew they needed. This is birding at the local gas station level, where the most exotic sighting might be underwhelming litter clinging to a Wiffle ball. It’s almost poetic—if poetry were a bit depressing and humorously relatable.
Their documentary boasts a journalistic flair reminiscent of Andrew Callaghan’s work, yet is saved from monotony by the brothers’ comedic genius. Their banter—perfectly dynamic, charmingly crass—feels remarkably authentic, like a casual chat over snack food during a 3 AM drive. Meanwhile, Quentin’s mullet brings charisma, and Owen’s professional videography successfully mixes grainy footage with stunning high-res shots of avian wonders. Throw in a dash of Hunter S. Thompson’s rebellious spirit—triggered by one brother casually picking up a field guide while high—and you’ve got yourself a birdwatching adventure that’s far more compelling than anything the cinema has produced lately.
Did they break the Lower 48 Big Year record? Not even close. But with their quirky, endearing documentary, they’re now birds of a different feather in the annals of birdwatching.
