"The Biggest Little Farm" is a documentary with the title, and much of the rosy fantasy, of a picture book. John and Molly Chester didn't, like Matt Damon and Scarlett Johansson, buy a zoo. But they got start-up investors to help them purchase a 213-acre farm just north of Los Angeles.
"Not just any farm," John says of their ambitions for an old-school, biodiverse plot. "We're talking about something out of a children's book."
When they excitedly survey their new land, the couple, newly liberated from day-jobs and a cramped Santa Monica apartment near Los Angeles, bubble with anticipation. "I wonder if we can grow bananas," says Molly.
This image released by Neon shows an aerial view of Apricot Lane Farms in a scene from "The Biggest Little Farm." (Neon via AP)
The imagined romance of agrarian life has long been the stuff of daydreams, from "Anna Karenina" to "Shaun the Sheep." ''The Biggest Little Farm," which chronicles the eight years that followed for the Chesters, captures what happens when two city folk try to really do what many urbanites only imagine before determining that we could never, really, bring ourselves to wear overalls.
The steep learning curve for the Chesters is steeper, still, because they aren't merely dipping their toe into farming. Unlike the mono-crop farms all around them, their Apricot Lane Farms will be a restorative farm with its own self-perpetuating ecosystem that, once up-and-running, coasts on nature's own cycles. There will be ducks and chickens and a bull and over 70 varieties of fruit. "Diversify, diversify, diversify," says their consultant Alan York, a surfer dude-type who speaks mystically about riding a farm like you would a wave.
Harmony, of course, proves elusive. Their bliss is constantly interrupted by the toil of daily farm life and a host of invaders: coyotes, snails and birds, not to mention drought and wildfires.
Capturing those pains was always part of the plan. Molly and John, who's also the film's director and narrator, began their quixotic journey documenting every step of the way, leading to previous segments on Oprah's OWN network. Their lives are laid out here for inspiration and envy, much like Joanna and Chip Gaines on HGTV's "Fixer Upper." The Chesters are about soil the way the Gaines are about shiplap.
"The Biggest Little Farm" can at times feel like a larger, better-produced version of the kind of viral video that spreads on Facebook, equal parts uplifting and self-congratulating. It's a self-contained film about a self-contained paradise.
But John, a former cameraman for Animal Planet, documents the place with "Planet Earth" specificity, with views from the microscopic to the aerial. And "The Biggest Little Farm" is most invested in capturing not the Chesters' renewal, but the rehabilitation of their land, from dried-out hillside to lush, recycling idyll.
And as much as it might seem silly to say about a long-term documentary composed significantly of people doing yard work, "The Biggest Little Farm" couldn't be more urgent. The United Nations, in its first comprehensive biodiversity report, on Monday said extinction is looming for more than 1 million species of plants and animals. On a planet overwhelmed by habitat loss, the Chesters managed to build an ark. We're going to need a lot more of them.
"The Biggest Little Farm," a Neon release, is rated PG by the Motion Picture Association of America for mild thematic elements and brief language. Running time: 92 minutes. Two and a half stars out of four.
MPAA Definition of PG: Parental guidance suggested.
Follow AP Film Writer Jake Coyle on Twitter at: http://twitter.com/jakecoyleAP
BATON ROUGE, La. (AP) — As residents across much of the country take down their holiday decorations, sobered by New Year's resolutions and a return to business as usual, in Louisiana people are ramping up for the biggest celebration of the year.
Throughout the state residents are preparing for Carnival season, a pre-Lenten and weeks-long bash that includes feasting on savory dishes, opulent balls and a stream of massive parades rolling through city streets.
The bucket-list worthy period of festivities promises indulgence, costumed revelry and literal pounds of glimmery plastic beads to carry around one’s neck. Here’s what to know about Carnival.
Carnival in Louisiana and around the world is rooted in Christian and Roman Catholic traditions. It's marked by feasting, drinking and revelry before Ash Wednesday and the fasting associated with Lent, the Christian season of preparation for Easter.
Each year, along with Louisiana residents, more than a million visitors travel to New Orleans to partake in the city’s world-famous celebration.
However, the festivities are not limited to the Big Easy. Similar celebrations stretch across Louisiana and into other Gulf Coast states, including Alabama, where Mobile lays claim to the nation’s oldest Mardi Gras celebration. Additionally, there are world-renowned celebrations in Brazil and Europe.
Although some people use the terms “Carnival” and “Mardi Gras” interchangeably, they are actually different things.
Carnival is the entire pre-Lenten period. Mardi Gras, also known as Fat Tuesday, is one day.
Mardi Gras marks the grand conclusion to Carnival Season. It falls on the day before Ash Wednesday, making it the final moments of indulgence before the solemnity of Lent.
Carnival always begins Jan. 6, which in the Catholic world is called Epiphany or Twelfth Night since it’s twelve days after Christmas. And the season always ends with Mardi Gras.
But, because it’s linked to Easter — which does not have a fixed date — Mardi Gras can fall anywhere between Feb. 3 and March 9. This year Fat Tuesday is on Feb. 17, making Carnival 43 days long.
The beginning of Carnival also marks the start of when it is socially acceptable — and encouraged — to eat king cake. Lines will snake around the block at popular bakeries known for the seasonal staple.
The brioche-style pastry, which some bakers say traces back to an ancient Roman holiday, has become one of the iconic and most-delicious symbols of Carnival.
The traditional ring-shaped and sweet-dough cake is streaked with cinnamon and adorned with decadent icing colored purple, green and gold. The cake is often filled with fruits, pecans or different flavors of cream cheese frosting.
Also in the treat is a tiny plastic baby. Whoever has the slice with the little figurine hidden inside is supposed to buy the next cake or throw the next party, lending an unending excuse for another festive gathering.
The traditional cake has evolved over the years with restaurants launching their own unique versions, including one that is filled with boudin — a Cajun-style sausage — and another that is made out of sushi rolls.
Carnival is best known for elaborate and massive parades. This season there will be more than 80 parades in and surrounding New Orleans — many of which last hours.
Energetic marching bands, costumed dancers and multi-level floats laden with fantastical hand-built figures, will wind through communities.
The parades embody their own identity. They include an all-female parade, one that pokes fun at politics, a Sci-Fi themed parade with revelers dressed as Chewbacca. The largest parade hosts 3,200 riders and more than 80 floats, and one of the smallest, in the literal sense, features floats made out of shoe boxes.
Float riders and walking members of Carnival clubs — known as krewes — pour much time and money into preparations for the extravaganza. But all that work pays off as celebrants, many donning homemade costumes, line streets and sidewalks to watch.
Most spectators will have their hands raised in hopes of catching “throws” — trinkets tossed to the crowd by float riders. While throws include plastic beads, candy, doubloons, stuffed animals, cups and toys, there are also the more coveted items such as painted coconuts, highly sought-after hand-decorated shoes and even bedazzled toilet plungers.
The krewe for the largest parade in New Orleans, Endymion, estimates that they toss more than 15 million throws along the parade route. The krewe's motto is, “Throw ’til it Hurts.”
Although Carnival is often known for fancy balls and boisterous parades, other areas and groups have their own traditions.
In central Louisiana people will take part in the Cajun French tradition of the Courir de Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday Run. These rural processions feature masked and costumed participants who will perform and beg for ingredients, and even chase after live chickens, to use for a communal gumbo at the end of the day.
In New Orleans, some African Americans mask in elaborate beaded and feathered Mardi Gras Indian suits, roving the city to sing, dance, drum and perform. The tradition, a central part of the Black Carnival experience in New Orleans since at least the late 1800s, is believed to have started in part as a way to pay homage to area Native Americans for their assistance to Black people and runaway slaves. It also developed at a time when segregation barred Black residents from taking part in whites-only parades.
FILE - The streets are filled during the Society of Saint Anne's parade on Mardi Gras Day, March 4, 2025 in New Orleans. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert, File)
FILE- People gather for the start of the Society of Saint Anne's parade on Mardi Gras Day, March 4, 2025 in New Orleans. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert, File)
