Early on an August morning in 1974, a puckish Frenchman finally acted on an idea
he'd been mulling, planning, and rehearsing for months on end, and one that had no
other real purpose than that he thought it would be kind of fun. If that estimate had
involved joining the circus or hitchhiking crosswise the nation, there wouldn't be
practically of a story. But since the Frenchman's contrive was to walk on a tightrope (actually
a sturdy steel cable) he and his confederates had surreptitiously strung between
the World Trade Center towers, the design fairly screams out for further depth psychology. In
case it needful to be said, in that location wasn't any kind of safety net income if he lost his balance
or was blown over by the high school winds ripping off the East River, just a plummeting
lessen of some 1,cd feet to the concrete below that was easy filling up with curious
onlookers.
James Marsh's bright-eyed documentary Man on Wire is the unaccountably thrilling tarradiddle
behind that nearly quarter-century-old exploit, stab in a lot the same proficient
and playful manner as would befit the man wHO did it. The tightrope walker was Philippe
Petit, a prank-prone street performer and theatrical jack of all trades who had trained
himself as an accomplished high wire creative person. Since walk on a wire in a circus
tent with a long pole for balance simply didn't fit his personality, Petit gradational
to illegal performances, like walking betwixt the towers of Notre Dame cathedral and
the towers on the Sydney harbor bridge. Then he set his sights on the Twin Towers.
One of the best things around Man on Wire is how little it tries to trace Petit's actions,
even with the copious amount of time it spends interviewing him and his accomplices.
An chronic performer world Health Organization comes off like a fey, Gallic Danny Kaye, Petit is too
busy waving his hands and detailing his wild desires in heavily-accented English to spend
often time looking for in depth at his motivations. A perpetually schoolboyish elf wHO apparently
never met a person whom he couldn't charm into handing over their living savings, Petit
just distinct to do his highly illegal act, and put together a motley gang to avail him
take out it off.
It's in the explication of Petit's skulduggery that Man on Wire has the greatest amount of money
of play. Utilizing unusually well-crafted reenactments and a tongue-in-cheek mode
of introducing these gentle criminals with dramatic close-ups and imitation tough-guy
nicknames, director Marsh establishes a pleasingly playful mood that perfectly mirrors
Petit's cheekily irreverent manner. It's a mood requiring a light touch that is deceivingly
difficult for most filmmakers to achieve, particularly someone like Marsh, who has
previously shown a more gothic mentality in films like The King and Wisconsin Death Trip.
All the film's fun fortunately doesn't mean it skips all over the many practical
difficulties facing Petit and his team, from the first problem of breaking into both
towers and qualification it up to the roofs, to evading protection guards once up in that location, to
the seemingly insurmountable engineering task of acquiring all the equipment up there
and stringing the cable across (ultimately a bow and arrow was involved). Fortunately
for Petit, his confidence trick artist ways found a receptive audience in a number of New Yorkers,
including an office worker who took it all as a lark and blithely lease Petit copy his
security pass. Although the film doesn't pass time explicitly mourning the destruction
of the towers many old age later, its evocation of their stark grandeur and the bluff mo
xie of the locals (wHO seem to inhabit an easier-going and more blas� city than what
presently exists) assisting Petit in his adventure is more than than testimony enough.
Man on ruler.
More info
