Listers: Brotherhood, Birding and the Psychology of the List

In recent years, birding has stepped quietly into a brighter spotlight. Once associated primarily with solitary walks and well-thumbed field guides, it now exists within films, online platforms and global databases. Listers, a compelling and at times unexpectedly humorous film, follows two brothers immersed in the world of competitive birding. What unfolds is not simply a story about birds, but about rivalry, identity and the delicate balance between joy and judgement in a modern hobby shaped by metrics.

Brotherhood in the Field

At the centre of the film are two brothers whose shared love of birds began in childhood. Early mornings, borrowed binoculars and muddy boots formed the foundation of a lifelong bond. As adults, their approaches diverge, but their connection remains, as does a subtle, persistent competitiveness.

One brother is analytical and methodical, driven by totals and targets. The other leans more towards instinct and experience, though he too is not immune to the pull of a growing list. Their dynamic is familiar to anyone with siblings, affection threaded with rivalry, admiration tinged with the desire to outdo.

Yet Listers never treats this tension too heavily. It recognises the humour inherent in birding culture, and in ourselves.

The Comedy of the “Lifer”

Among the film’s most memorable moments are those that gently lampoon the rituals of the birding world. The triumphant cry of “Lifer!” , delivered at full volume across a windswept reserve becomes both celebration and comic punctuation. The brothers’ exuberance is infectious, and viewers are invited to laugh with them rather than at them.

There is also affectionate teasing around the archetype of the middle-aged birder: the sensible hat, the practical gilet with too many pockets, the well-worn walking trousers in indefinable shades of green. The film observes these details with warmth. It recognises that birding has its own unspoken uniform one born of function rather than fashion and that every generation eventually grows into it.

Importantly, the humour never feels cutting. Instead, it highlights the shared eccentricities that bind the community. In poking fun at the clichés, the film underscores a truth, birders, whatever their age, are united by enthusiasm. The laughter is self-aware, not dismissive.

The Psychology of Listing

Beneath the comedy lies a thoughtful exploration of why listing holds such power. Keeping records of species seen is a long-standing tradition. Lists offer structure and narrative; they mark the passing of time and seasons. There is deep satisfaction in progress, in turning absence into presence, blank space into ink.

Psychologically, listing engages our innate desire for achievement and completion. Each new species provides a measurable milestone. The brain rewards novelty and success, however modest. In this sense, listing can enhance engagement and sharpen observation.

But as Listers carefully suggests, the line between motivation and obsession can blur. When the list becomes central to identity, the experience risks narrowing. A day without a new tick may feel like a day wasted, regardless of the beauty encountered.

The brothers’ rivalry subtly amplifies this tension. What begins as shared excitement edges, at times, into comparison. Who saw it first? Who added it to the year list? Who is ahead?

eBird and the Digital Dimension

The rise of platforms such as eBird has fundamentally reshaped birding. From a scientific perspective, the contribution is extraordinary. Vast quantities of citizen data now inform conservation strategies, migration research and population trends.

Yet visibility changes behaviour. Public checklists, leaderboards and instant rarity alerts introduce a competitive framework that did not previously exist at this scale. In certain circles, birding has become faster, more reactive, more performative.

Listers captures this shift deftly. A rare sighting triggers not quiet awe but urgent logistics. Phones buzz. Plans change. The race begins. The film does not condemn this energy, indeed, it shows how thrilling it can be, but it questions what may be lost when speed overrides stillness.

The psychological shift is subtle but significant. Intrinsic motivation, birding for the love of birds can give way to extrinsic motivation, birding for rank, recognition or numerical standing.

When Joy Takes a Back Seat

Some of the film’s most poignant moments occur when competition overshadows connection. A landscape rich in light and movement becomes secondary to the absence of a new tick. Satisfaction hinges on addition rather than appreciation.

And yet, in quieter scenes, the brothers rediscover what first drew them outside. The camera lingers on wind in reedbeds, the delicate call of a wader, the simple ritual of sharing tea from a flask. In these pauses, rivalry softens. The list recedes.

The message is not that listing or eBird are inherently detrimental. For many, they enhance knowledge, build community and support vital conservation work. The issue arises only when numbers eclipse noticing when the shout of “Lifer!” matters more than the bird itself.

Beyond the Leaderboard

Ultimately, Listers is a film about balance. It recognises the comedy, competitiveness and camaraderie woven into birding culture. It gently teases the uniforms, the jargon and the exuberant declarations, while also affirming the sincerity beneath them.

The brothers’ journey reflects a wider question facing modern hobbies: how do we retain joy in an age of measurement?

When the year resets and the totals return to zero, what endures are not rankings but memories, the first swallow of spring, the flash of kingfisher blue, the shared glance that says, without words, “Did you see that?”

In rediscovering those moments, birding reclaims its essence. Lists may record what we have seen. But it is attention, wonder and companionship that define why we look at all.