What a Lake Experiment Can—and Cannot—Settle

A distant shoreline can look reassuringly level. But what should happen to a landmark as the observer moves down toward the water? In In Search of a Flat Earth, released in September 2020, Folding Ideas uses that question to stage a visual experiment, then asks why evidence alone may not change a committed believer's mind. The second half is the filmmaker's forceful political and psychological interpretation, not a survey of every person in either movement.

The filmmaker says Lake Minnewanka near Banff, Alberta, was raised by more than 25 metres through three dams, flooding a settlement and ancient Stoney Nakoda work sites. A flat-earth compilation filmed there caught his attention because the lake was close enough for him to revisit. He thought the original low-resolution footage might already show the far shore being obscured, but could not tell clearly enough.

The lake offers a long, identifiable line of sight with little meaningful tidal movement: the waves are mainly wind-driven. From the southwest dam to the rockslide at Aylmer Canyon, the filmmaker estimates seven kilometres, or about 4⅓ miles. Over that distance, he says, the surface curves away approximately 3.5 metres. His curvature calculator estimates that a target at the far end would have 3.46 metres hidden from a viewpoint just above the water, versus about 0.4 metres from average adult standing height. These are estimates for the stated geometry, not a claim that the whole lake visibly bends in a single shot.

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The proposed comparison holds distance and focal length constant while changing camera height: a tree near the far waterline should be more obscured from low down than from standing height. He records the landmark at several heights, documents the position and GPS, then matches apparent size and aligns the horizon in post-production. In his comparison the tree disappears behind the lake horizon.

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The filmmaker raises objections to his own first attempt. On a roughly 30°C day the lowest view was hazy; looking through air near the water across seven kilometres also invites atmospheric refraction, the bending of light as air conditions change. He describes a mirage in which the pebble beach could sometimes appear despite intersecting the tree. Separate shots and post-production alignment also leave room to question continuity and adjustments.

Two days later he returns in partly cloudy weather about 15°C cooler, with little visible vapour. Wind makes more short lake waves, but not large ocean swells. A camera jib lets him move continuously from standing height to near the surface in one shot. The distant feature becomes increasingly occluded as the camera descends, a result he finds personally moving.

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This reduces the specific concerns he raised; it does not eliminate every possible optical uncertainty or establish that the demonstration will persuade everyone.

The filmmaker doubts that such a demonstration will generally persuade committed flat-earthers, but still finds value in the inquiry. His Denali example turns an apparent contradiction into a geometry lesson: from Anchorage, he says, roughly 9,000 feet of a mountain more than 20,000 feet tall would be hidden, leaving a great deal visible. The expected 1.8-degree lean is subtle; the nearer part of the mountain mass is closer and elevated, and the observer's own height extends the view. His compass example similarly distinguishes a convention of marking north from a needle aligning along a magnetic field toward both poles.

These exercises show why checking scale and assumptions can be rewarding. They also lead to his larger question: what if a claim about physical geography is embedded in a story about identity, enemies and the future?

He describes modern flat earth as a syncretic, biblical, evangelical and apocalyptic worldview. By syncretic he means that fragments from different, sometimes contradictory religious texts, myths, conspiracy stories and popular culture are combined into a new account. He distinguishes this from conventional Christian doctrine: the Bible is important in his account, but participants vary, there is no central authority, and some place little emphasis on Jesus.

In his reading, a concealed flat world becomes proof of a divine order; evangelism makes spreading that belief urgent, while an anticipated end can influence political choices and long-term planning. A hostile “them” supposedly hides the truth, so disagreement can be interpreted as suppression rather than ordinary contrary evidence. These are his generalizations about a varied movement, not established motives of every adherent.

The filmmaker acknowledges earlier treatments by Hbomberguy and Philosophy Tube as useful discussions of science, rhetoric and anxiety, while arguing that they give insufficient attention to political agendas. In his view, legitimate distrust of powerful institutions can be shared even when the proposed culprits and remedies differ sharply. He identifies reactionary, xenophobic and antisemitic narratives in parts of the movement; that characterization is his analysis, not a finding about each individual.

He recounts telling a flat-earth livestream chat about his lake test. According to him, participants suggested swells or boat wakes; when he described the controls, one told him he must have done it wrong and should pray and repeat it. The exchange illustrates his argument but is one anecdote, not a measure of how all believers respond.

The documentary connects conspiracy content to a low-trust media environment and argues that engagement-driven recommendations helped concentrate audiences around it. The filmmaker also stresses scale: in his 2020 account, the largest flat-earth channels had roughly 150,000 subscribers, many had far fewer, and views had declined. He notes YouTube's 2019 ranking changes while saying the decline had already begun. His suggestion that people were moving from flat earth to QAnon is an interpretation, not a measured migration.

That time frame matters. The film was made during the COVID-19 pandemic and Donald Trump's presidency, before later events; its platform figures, political references and warnings describe that moment rather than the present.

The filmmaker describes QAnon as a movement built around anonymous “Q” posts and a story in which Trump would defeat a supposedly satanic, child-abusing cabal through mass arrests, the “Storm,” and usher in a “Great Awakening.” These are conspiracy allegations, not established events. He links aspects of the imagined purge to fascist and antisemitic traditions and argues that generic child-protection messaging could introduce people to unsupported Q claims.

He traces Q posts to 2017 and describes a “big tent” that can absorb mutually inconsistent conspiracies. In his example, rival versions of the September 11 attacks are reshaped around loyalty to favoured institutions and figures. He also observes that a rapid stream of dubious claims can take much longer to check than to make. These examples support his argument about the movement's form; they do not make every participant's beliefs identical.

The filmmaker says his account necessarily omits hours of material and may date quickly. He discusses competing possibilities for who wrote Q posts, but notes missing archives and breaks in continuity; he does not establish the author or authors. A tripcode, he explains, shows that posters share a credential, not independently who they are.

To illustrate potential consequences, he recounts cases including Matthew Wright's 2018 Hoover Dam blockade and Corey Hurren's armed entry onto the grounds of Rideau Hall in 2020, alongside Hurren's earlier conspiracy posts. These are the documentary's descriptions of individual cases; the transcript does not independently establish every detail or causal connection. They should not be treated as representative actions by all followers.

In the filmmaker's account, Q drops are often ambiguous prompts that followers interpret together. Ideas can circulate without appearing in a Q post: he describes the adrenochrome allegation as a recycled conspiracy linked to antisemitic blood libel. He says specific predicted dates for mass arrests had passed without the promised events by the time of filming. He argues that failures can be reinterpreted as evidence of the supposed enemy's power, allowing the desired outcome to remain fixed while details change.

He proposes several reinforcing mechanisms: the entertainment of decoding, shame after investing in a belief, isolation from critics, pandemic anxiety and opportunities for promoters to profit. These are his proposed explanations, not measured causal rates.

The filmmaker explicitly says that people are not all committed believers or fraudsters: some explore conspiracy material for entertainment and leave. Others, he argues, become more invested as they repeatedly rearrange claims to protect an expected outcome. He warns that disillusionment can lead some toward accelerationist groups or “forcing the end”: trying to create the upheaval that a movement expects. This is a warning about a possible path, not a prediction that every follower will take it.

The film's final claim is that elaborate conspiracy stories can make a complex world feel simpler by assigning its problems to one identifiable enemy. The filmmaker contrasts that with structural criticism: an approach that examines interacting institutions, incentives and historical forces, including unintended effects accumulated over generations.

He interprets QAnon as a desire for a strong leader to restore an imagined order, and argues that loyalty to a political outcome can make contradictory facts disposable. This is the documentary's pointed thesis about politics and psychology; it is not independently demonstrated for every believer by the lake experiment. The experiment shows why an observation deserves careful controls. The film asks a separate, more contested question about what people do with observations when their wider worldviews are at stake.