James Marsh has created a portrait of Philippe Petit through interviewees that are often bemused, thrilled and highly emotional.
By Bob Brown
ANYONE who read a newspaper in 1974 will remember Philippe Petit, if not by name, surely by deed. On Aug. 7 of that year, front pages around the world carried the bizarre story of a man who had somehow snuck past security and strung a cable between the North and South towers of the World Trade Center. There, he put on a breathtaking 45-minute high-wire act, teasing the baffled police, who threatened to call in helicopters if he didn’t come down. The photos were astonishing. Surely the guy was mad. Talented, but mad. Petit was finally cuffed and brought down to the station, where he was booked for trespassing. The booking sheet noted the case simply as, “Man on Wire.”
Petit’s account of his accomplishment, To Reach the Clouds (2002), inspired British documentary filmmaker James Marsh (Wisconsin Death Trip, 1999) to look back on the heady years leading up to the second-most memorable day in World Trade Center history. Petit himself anchors the narration in this film, which is both an exhilarating caper movie in the tradition of American gangster films, and also a portrait of an obsession. Although Petit was no madman, he was, and is, an extraordinarily gifted artist. Further, he had the self-possession and ego to push his gifts to their limits, including the acceptance that they might kill him.
Marsh includes historical film clips and newsreel footage, as well as montages of documents and photos, as well as rare footage of Petit’s earliest attempts to rehearse the act before he got anywhere near the towers. The narrative flashes back to Petit’s first spark of interest, before the World Trade Center even existed. In a dentist’s waiting room, the teenage Petit read about plans for the massive two-towered skyscrapers that would be the world’s tallest buildings. He knew right then that he had to conquer them when they were finished. Marsh re-creates the scene in a humorous vignette, as the young man “sneezes” to disguise his ripping the article from the magazine.
It’s not as though Petit had no foundation for his ambitions. He was a juggler, magician and slack-rope artist who gave impromptu and unauthorized spot performances on Paris streets, often landing him in police custody. (An American counterpart would be someone like Jeff Sheridan, who created the form of “street magic” popularized by the present-day David Blaine.) The early footage shows a young man so charismatic and forceful that he drew to him people who were willing to attach their goals to his — not parasites exactly, but tools, almost appendages of himself.
Marsh interviews these associates of his youth, as well as later accomplices, to complete the portrait of Petit through their recollections. These interviewees are often bemused, thrilled and highly emotional. Even decades later the memories of the frustrations, the triumphs and the heartbreak are fresh and raw. Petit was a charming young man, but not an easy act to stay with through the six years of planning for the big wire-walk; some of his closest friends struggled with his all-consuming vision that seemed to swallow up everyone around him and mold them in his image. Still, they couldn’t help loving the guy. And as the heavy planning shows, he couldn’t have done it without help.
The film also covers the high-wire stunts that were kind of dress rehearsals for the big one to come: performance on cables strung between the spires of Notre Dame in Paris, and between the turrets of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Both required a certain amount of audacity and trickery to launch and to complete. Usually, Petit’s stunts ended with him and his associates being hauled away in handcuffs. But although the man and his friends enjoyed the naughtiness of trespassing, the sheer beauty of the deeds and the fact that they hurt no one were enough to justify the means.
As photographed by Igor Martinovic, the re-creations of events, especially the tense 24 hours leading up to the big walk, are as authentic looking as the newsreels, and as exciting as a bank-heist. It’s surprising how evocative the film is, and how emotional the story can be, even though we know the outcome these many years later. This is largely thanks to the accounting by Petit himself, who is as gifted a storyteller as he is a wire-walker. The original score by J. Ralph, as well as an eclectic mix of classical and pop music selections, support the narrative and fully bring out its flavor.
Petit’s feat will never be equaled. The towers are gone now, and Petit lives more quietly in New York, out of the spotlight. He is the artist in residence at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. But the fire of his imagination is as bright as ever, and he still walks the cable at his home several hours a day. He’s less daring in his daily life, but no less audacious in his advice: people should live their lives pushing against the boundaries, he believes, defying the rules — while hurting no one. This is a film of beauty and awe and a tribute to the power of the human spirit.
Rated PG13 for some sexuality and nudity, and drug references. In English and French with English subtitles.

