Man on Wire

dir. James Marsh (2008) UK

 

For me, it has been interesting to observe the different ways in which filmmakers have reacted to – and commented on – the events of September 11th over the last decade. Bourne director, Paul Greengrass, was the first. His gut-wrenchingly tense and moving account of ordinary people fighting back against terrorist hijackers in United 93 was a true testament to the selfless bravery of the eponymous flight’s real-life passengers. Next came Oliver Stone’s simple-minded tale of destruction and survival: World Trade Centre. This was an intriguing film, not least because of the director’s decision to completely eschew political commentary – a curious choice, especially considering his back catalogue (specifically, JFK and Nixon). Comparatively, left-wing documentarian, Michael Moore, showed no such restraint. His harrowing, auditory depiction of the day’s events in Fahrenheit 9/11 catalysed an open attack on the Bush administration. Of all of the cinematic adaptations, interpretations and commentaries however, few are as profound, as poignant, or as thought provoking as James Marsh’s 2008 documentary, Man on Wire.

 

There was nothing special about the morning of August 7th, 1974. Just as there was nothing special about the morning of September 11th, 27-years later. They were just another couple of ordinary days in lower-Manhattan. But if a New Yorker were to look up, look 1,400 feet in the air on either of these days, they would see something that would shatter their ordinariness forever. James Marsh’s Man on Wire is the story of one of these days, but it ultimately recalls them both.

The film tells the story of Philippe Petit: an eccentric Parisian performance artist, who, in 1968, sees an advert for the soon-to-be-built Twin Towers in New York City. Inspired, he unicycles home to begin planning his masterpiece: a death defying high wire walk between the two monolithic structures. It is a daunting challenge. In order to succeed, Petit and his accomplices will have to infiltrate both buildings, ascend 110 floors (with their equipment in tow), medievally fire a cable from one rooftop to the other using a bow and arrow, rig it and, finally, walk it.

 

The preparation and skulduggery involved is more akin to a bank job than a circus performance. In an inspired move, Marsh realises this and elects to shoots his documentary as if it were indeed a heist movie. Dramatic re-enactments, home movies, eyewitness photography and talking head interviews are all utilised, expertly cut together by Jinx Godfrey and scored over by Michael Nyman. The narrative unfolds with all the suspense of detective fiction, exploding Petit’s inspirational and enchanting story gloriously into life.

 

Petit himself is an irrepressible interviewee. If Marsh’s crime-caper sensibility gives the film dramatic sparkle, it is Petit who provides the emotional anchorage. He is a truly fascinating individual whose enthusiastic reliving of his own moment of triumph brings a sense of character to the iconic downtown cityscape. Petit is a hero, yet there are also hints of hubris, monomania and manipulation. He speaks frankly about being betrayed, yet it is he who commits the ultimate betrayal when, having emerged from the World Trade Centre a global icon, he promptly abandons his friends and cheats on his wife. By now however, the audience has already been seduced by the protagonist’s own compelling brand of fiction. So, after some self-justifying posture (combined with casual French nonchalance towards adultery), Petit is quickly let off the hook.

 

To conclude, I’d like to briefly address the elephant in the room. When once questioned as to why the terrorist attacks of 9/11 were not featured in his film, Marsh responded that Philippe Petit’s act was itself “incredibly beautiful” and that “it would be unfair to infect his story with any mention, discussion or imagery of the towers being destroyed.” Marsh is right. Man on Wire is a celebration, a pertinent reminder of the inspirational power of cinema. It frees our memories from the infamy of 2001. In this film, up on that wire, in those evocative photographs, Petit is frozen in time – immortal – a shining reminder of creation over destruction.