The important question The Cove doesn’t answer, because the filmmakers can only venture to guess, is why? The documentary showcases such a strange stubbornness on the part of the Japanese government, working in defense of a minority of unscrupulous fishermen, for the trade of goods that make only a small amount of money and poison its own citizens. Such an endeavor seems wildly against the nation’s interests, if only from a public-relations standpoint, yet they push so hard against anyone who tries to stop them.

In the town of Taiji, Japan, which displays sculptures of and loving tributes to dolphins and whales, fishermen are killing more than twenty-thousand dolphins a year. Before they’re killed, they’re corralled into a cove where coveted species are sold to trainers from around the world for use in dolphin shows and exhibits. The remainder are slaughtered to be mislabeled and sold to unsuspecting consumers, or given away free to local schoolchildren as part of a compulsory school lunch program (the latter practice thankfully has been discontinued).

Let’s forget for a moment that dolphins are intelligent (more on that later). They’re toxic! One sample tested in the film contains five-thousand times more mercury than is considered safe to eat (2000 parts per million, compared to the maximum acceptable limit of 0.4). The reason: dolphins, along with other aquatic species high in the food chain, accumulate all the man-made pollution built up in the smaller species they consume as food. Excess mercury erodes the neurons and causes birth defects when consumed by expectant mothers. The director of The Cove, Louie Psihoyos, for a while a proud pescatarian, tested positive for mercury poisoning because it is not contained only in dolphins but in tuna as well. Knowingly feeding it to the populace is a peculiar kind of lunacy, because it’s not clear what the benefit is; dolphins sold into captivity are worth a fortune, but dolphins sold as food are worth a pittance and are unsafe to eat. So why do it?

Dolphins seem to be intelligent animals, but on this subject the film falls short by offering anecdotal rather than testable, verifiable evidence. Dave Rastovich, a member of the environmentalist group Surfers for Cetaceans, describes how a dolphin once deflected a nearby shark from his path. Rick O’Barry, a dolphin trainer who worked on the Flipper movies and TV series and blames himself for creating the demand for captive dolphins, explains that the dolphins used to play Flipper could recognize themselves on screen. He then tells a moving story about how one of those dolphins committed suicide in his arms. Such stories are emotionally compelling, but I would rather have heard it from a marine biologist. Sentimentality is no substitute for science.

Do I seem callous? Don’t worry, I don’t want to eat Flipper. But any American who has seen Food Inc. knows how we treat pigs, cows, and chickens in our country and would be hard-pressed to object to the killing and consumption of other animals strictly on principle. I’m ready to believe that dolphins are markedly intelligent creatures, but the film doesn’t prove it. Show me data.

The best of the film focuses on its colorful characters and its mission to covertly record the events at the heavily guarded killing cove. At the International Whaling Commission (IWC), which is shown as a fairly ineffectual regulatory body, Japan is represented by Joji Morishita, a rigidly composed bureaucrat who tells the commission that cetaceans must be killed to restore depleted fish populations, an argument that is flatly rejected and ridiculed by the international community. A few countries have been enlisted in support of Japan’s pro-whaling agenda: mostly poor island nations dependent on Japan for financial support, and whose delegates, when interviewed, show a great lack of knowledge on the subjects they’re voting on.

A man known to the makers of the film as “Private Space” — the only words they know him to speak in English, to discourage trespassing — is a peculiar and fascinating villain. He confronts anyone who comes near the cove, bellowing with arrogant antagonism, and carries a handheld camera in the hopes of capturing footage that will result in the expulsion or detainment of activists.

Some activism is more effective than others. Joined by actors Hayden Panettiere and Isabel Lucas, the aforementioned Surfers for Cetaceans swim out into the cove and stage a kind of vigil on their boards, but they are quickly removed from and banned from returning, so their display seems more like indulgent posturing than legitimate protest.

More effective, and providing the dramatic thrust of the film, is the planting of microphones and high-definition cameras in and around the cove, to capture the slaughter so carefully secreted away. The effort, orchestrated in part by director Psihoyos and assisted by O’Barry, is captured on night-vision cameras and scored and edited like an Ocean’s Eleven caper. During these scenes I was reminded of Man on Wire, the 2008 documentary that showed, with similar flair, an attempt to stage a high-wire walk between the World Trade Center towers. The effect here is much more serious, but just as thrilling.

We finally see the footage from the HD cameras in a stirring emotional climax that feels like the veil being pulled back at last. The film may not excel in its analysis, but like the more journalistically rigorous Food Inc., it makes a moving, persuasive case for humility in the face of nature. The depiction of the film is of more than just corrupt Japanese fishermen and politicians. It’s a mirror to human society, which can be short-sighted and self-justifying to the point of destroying the very world that sustains it.

Watch a trailer for the award-winning documentary here: