Sydney Morning Herald: In searing heat in a remote corner of Arnhem Land, a little-known British film-maker stands clutching a clearly agitated lizard. The year is 1963 and the enthusiastic Englishman's pasty white, shirtless torso is ludicrously out of place, as if mistakenly beamed into the harsh, crocodile-infested Australian landscape from the comforts of central London. But the filmmaker, David Attenborough, is not out of place - he's in his element, beaming into the camera with trademark enthusiasm as the animal...