Film

Certain subjects—astronauts, inventors, corrupt politicians—are gimmes when it comes to documentaries, so it’s somewhat remarkable that until now, no filmmaker has told the story of Philippe Petit, who in 1974 drew a high wire between the Twin Towers and performed for 45 minutes. Why did he do it? Because he’d already tightrope-walked across Sydney Harbour Bridge and between the towers of Notre Dame. Because the towers were the tallest buildings that existed. Because they were there.

The movie could get by with simply explaining how Petit pulled off what he called “le coup”—which Marsh’s doc does, in great detail, through interviews with Petit and his accomplices. (The walk involved elaborate planning and tools, including a bow and arrow; the spectacle of conspirators trespassing in the Trade Center is a resonance that Marsh lets stand without comment.) But Man on Wire goes one step further, treating Petit’s performance as a poignant metaphor for transience; September 11 is never mentioned, but it’s all the more present for its absence. The movie is a monument not only to Petit’s ambition but to the ambition that created the towers themselves.

Man on Wire makes sensational use of archival footage and almost Maddin-esque reenactments; just as Errol Morris is the only filmmaker who could ever render Philip Glass bearable, Marsh puts Michael Nyman’s noodlings to effective use. It’s minimal filmmaking cannily employed to spin a story of maximal accomplishment.