Last night, I watched a thrilling documentary about an event that had somehow escape my attention. Now, I wonder how I could have lived as long as I have without ever hearing about Phillipe Petit’s extraordinary feat on a high wire suspended between the towers of the World Trade Center.
Man on Wire is, in one sense, a simple work of storytelling. It’s like a heist picture. We meet the unique characters who combined their criminal minds to achieve a seemingly impossible act. We watch them draw up their meticulous plans and practice for the big day. And then we watch, breathless, as they risk their lives to fulfill their dreams. In the process, they show us how narrowly we see the world, how feeble is our faith.
The fact that the entire film plays out without a single mention of September 11th, without any comment whatsoever on the fact that the towers aren’t there anymore, is itself a high-wire act. The filmmakers navigate treacherous emotional territory. It’s hard to imagine how it might have felt to watch this film before the towers fell. But seeing it now, as I took in views of those towers from every angle… even looking down from the air halfway between them… I was deeply, strangely moved. The filmmakers have done a powerfully redemptive work here by training us to look at the WTC again and see those monoliths as thrilling, as beautiful, as a stage for a grand drama of ambition and art.
One of the deepest wounds that the terrorists inflicted upon us was the way they robbed us of the beauty of the New York skyline. How many of us can look at that ever again a piercing ache? Man on Wire cannot heal those wounds.
But it does give us a fresh perspective, a reminder of the wonder, the sheer audacity, and the awe-inspiring perspectives on the city and the sea that those two platforms gave us. We’ve has seven years to mourn the loss of so many lives. And the media has worked overtime to show us footage of the fires and the collapse, again and again and again, and talking heads have told us what we should feel as we watch it. The horror!
But in the relentless reminders of the lives lost, we should not forget the fact that we also witnessed the ruination of a great expression of human imagination and will. How many good people worked to achieve the dream of those buildings? What did they represent for people who dreamed of journeys to New York? The film reminds us of this with one inspiring image after another, and it also reminds us that even greater things may be possible for dreamers who apply themselves wholeheartedly to their visions.
Petit does not seem to be particularly interested in spiritual matters. But he accomplished something that only fools can achieve… he reminded us of our failure to see the potential in things, our failure to muster the faith and determination to achieve great things. He reminded us that we are capable of so much more than destruction. Petit insists that there was no “why” to his endeavor. I believe him. The most inspirational dreamers sometimes pursue visions beyond the frame of human reference, drawn by the inexplicable mystery of an image or a seeming-impossibility.
If all of us had even half of Philippe Petit’s faith, and applied such willpower to change the world in ways both brilliant and beautiful, anything would be possible.
Do yourself a favor and go see Man on Wire before it leaves the theater. It just won’t be the same on the small screen. You need to see rediscover the towers in a way that makes you gasp at their immensity. And even on a big screen, the sight of Petit walking a wire between them is sometimes almost imperceptible. On a television screen, he’ll be invisible.
We can’t rebuilt the towers at Ground Zero. But we can restore what was great about them in our imaginations, and inspire in others the courage to dream big dreams again.
