Mountaineering, Adventure Sports: A mountaineering documentary about filmmaking is a technological booty. None of that is natural. Just as humans are not built to crawl into the sky, there is no point in filming their achievements in the air. That’s why the camera shares such a unique relationship with a mountaineer. The camera is a tireless companion and unwanted guest – it punctures the climber’s loneliness and loneliness. After all, it cannot be invisible.
In the Oscar-winning free solo, directors Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chaiwasserheli have no hesitation in incorporating themselves into their documentary about free climber Alex Honold. On the eve of his historic El Captain ascent, filmmakers are anxious – a mistake by the crew, a crash drone and a misguided noise could wreak havoc on Honold. During the climb, the viewer realizes that the camera is a substitute for Alex’s attachments. Or more specifically, his girlfriend Sunny, the growing height in Alex’s life, suddenly weakened and strengthened him. Alex feels the weight of her love, he feels the shares, he seems to be watching, he worries that he is no longer “free” from fear. But during the climb, Alex makes peace with the camera; It activates from the intruder, and from the top he first calls Sunny.
The tone of Natzio’s documentary about the legendary mountaineer Alex Rowe takes this camera fantasy to new heights. The filmmaker, Max Rowe, is the eldest of Alex’s three sons. The result, the tone, is an extraordinary portrait. Sadness, guilt, memory, second chances. The climber dies, but the camera survives.
The first half of the documentary reveals Alex Roy’s legacy. His climbing partners tell of Rowe’s unparalleled prowess in the mountains. He changed the way the world views the madness of mountaineering – while he was still an American icon. There is a wonder about this part. As you write the narrative, you can see that Max also realizes that his father is not just a superhero himself. He was widely revered and archival footage of his explorations shows why: Alex recreated the language of the soul by doing things that inspire future generations, including free solo maker Jimmy Chin and Alex Honold. Max then interviews his mother, Alex’s widow Jennifer, who admits that Alex is one of the only climbers to choose to start a family. He was torn between the house he was leaving and the mountains that were calling to him – torn. The footage indicates that he made sure the cameras were following him, so that he could feel guilty and his wife and children were watching. During the exploration he flashed his letters, sentiments and birthday cards into the lens.
At various points, we see Max talking to his mother and brothers behind the camera. His questions reveal a conversation he has been waiting for more than two decades. They also reveal a family who are struggling to measure their own participation in his death against the life he utterly challenged: Is the camera a superhuman being? Did their presence weaken his power? If he had decided to live on the brink of death, would his love for his family have been legal? Was he a selfless climber or was he selfish? Will nostalgia come in the way of judgment? The camera stays on Max as he sees never-before-seen footage of the avalanche that killed his father in the Tibetan mountains. He is caught between love and resentment: Max was the only son old enough to love his father, and he was enough to be resentful of his departure. He was the only one left with memories of what might have been.
But the second half of the documentary – unlike an avalanche – goes through our reading of the relationship between love and sadness. The aftermath of Alex’s death is a matter of great myth: Alex’s climbing partner, Conrad Anker, survived the tragedy and married Jennifer within a year. He helped raise three boys over the next two decades. In the first half, Conrad, who only talks about being Alex’s best friend, starts talking to his husband and stepfather. Max asks his mother uncomfortable questions: How and why did you get out of it so quickly? Max asks his brothers if the transition is too smooth. He asks Conrad if the guilt of survival has hijacked his life. It turns out that Max was the only son who struggled to accept a ‘surrogate’ father, who was looking for answers to some kind of catharsis. He could never reconcile with a family that hid their end as a fresh start. You can often hear him whispering in his head: Did Jennifer and Conrad try to fill the void the size of Alex? Did they do it for the kids? Were they really in love? Or worse, was Alex a means of uniting two soul mates who should always be together?
Tone boldly goes where a climbing documentary has never gone before. It enjoys the afterlife, the ultimate credits, the third person grammar of grief. It validates the agency and coping mechanism of the rest. History comes at a price, but those in a position to pay this price can choose. The film begins with Max believing that he is being paid more than the rest of his family. But in the end, he realizes he’s probably wrong: Conrad Anchor, once in Alex Lowe’s shadow, went on to live in his shadow. His love for Jennifer, like the patronage of his sons, never allowed him to achieve his own identity – he was forever known as the hero who set out to save a family, replacing a dead hero. Slopes. He never went down the same path again, and unlike most mountaineers who sacrificed their lives for a shot to survive, Conrad Bachelor sacrificed his life for a long shot. In a way, Max makes the film to find out if the real story was not Max or Jennifer or any member of Alex’s blood; That was the whole Conrad. Alex’s death had always affected him the most, convincing him that God had taken the wrong climber.
When Alex’s body is found 19 years after the avalanche, Conrad once again makes room for Jennifer and the boys. Conrad is not seen much in Tibet, but he cries most when Alex’s ashes are scattered. Hamlet is a clear comparison, but Michael Bay’s Pearl Harbor’s “love triangle” comes to mind. Alex’s body rises, feeling like he’s returning from the death of the late Ben Affleck, and his grieving best friend (Josh Hartnett) and girlfriend (Kate Beckinsale) begin to see each other. The movie certainly goes a step further, with a close friend dying to pave the way for true lovers. But what makes the tone so beautiful is the boundary between identity and responsibility, between breaking and healing – between the original and the friend. Conrad was the camera that watched Alex and his family for as long as no one considered the man who dedicated his existence to the preservation of heritage rather than creating heritage. The tone becomes that of a camera showing Conrad reaching his own summit – and filmmaker Max embodies the truth of his vision.
What Alex Rowe Was on The Mountain is a mountaineering documentary: A Heist. It robs presence of the jaws of absence and joy of the jaws of sorrow. None of that is natural. But throughout the Tornado, Conrad Anchor becomes a tireless companion from the guest – penetrating loneliness and reaffirming the loneliness of a broken family. After all, he stops disappearing. Thanks to a filmmaker who had the courage to inform: Love can move mountains, but mountains can move the way we like.