Skip to content
Join our Newsletter

Life, death and ultimate acts of egotism

WFF mountain culture films raise troubling questions about current state of gravity sports "I think for anyone who follows their 'passion,' a certain amount of selfishness and self-involvement is part of the package."
opinion_altastates1

- Writer-director-producer David Chase

It's hard-wired in us... higher, faster, stronger... bigger, riskier, more dangerous. Pushing limits, extending boundaries, exploring the edges — it's what we do. Who we are. What we live for. Indeed, that's when we feel the most alive. The most in touch with this crazy, absurd planet we live on. You get it, right?

But she didn't. The idea of risking your life merely to be the first person to set tracks on some remote mountainside in some godforsaken corner of the world made no sense to her. It's not like she didn't understand though. She knew perfectly well what her semi-domesticated husband was trying to explain. She just didn't think his argument held much water.

Screw the job angle, she'd counter. It's merely a "get out of jail free" card. Besides — how could domestic life ever compete with gallivanting around the world's highest peaks writing stories and living large? It was the ultimate act of selfishness, she'd tell him. What if he didn't come back from one of his high-risk adventures? Did he ever think of that when he was launching himself into some unexplored couloir? How much his death would affect his family — his children, his parents... her?

Sigh. It's a discussion my wife and I would have almost on a weekly basis... especially after the kids arrived. To her, my continued commitment to risk-taking activities was selfish and unnecessary. Look at what you have, she'd say. Look at what we've built together. Are you really willing to gamble all that away for yet another adrenalin rush?

Yep, I would answer sheepishly. And I continued to straddle my two worlds — one in which I was the happy husband and doting dad of two growing girls, and the other where I engaged in wild, globetrotting adventures with my "band of brothers." Talk about schizoid...

I was reminded of those discussions earlier this week after screening the three entries in this year's WFF Mountain Culture category. While each film has its own compelling storyline, all three raise exactly the same question: Why? Why risk your life on a snowboarding comeback after suffering a near-fatal traumatic brain injury? Why risk your life on a high altitude rescue without using supplemental oxygen? Why risk your life attempting circus jibbing moves in a devastated city landscape?

The answer, alas, is still pretty much the same one George Mallory gave in 1924 when asked why he'd risk his life merely to climb the world's highest mountain. "Because it's there," he said.

What he meant was: "Because I'm a dreamer. A poet. A visionary. Because the every-day strictures of modern life suffocate me. Because I have a wild soul and need to seek my destiny in challenging surroundings. Because civilized behaviour bores me. Because I'd be in jail otherwise. Because. Because. Because... I have no choice. I do it because that's when I feel the most alive!"

The 21st century has been hard on adventurers. All the "easy" firsts have already long been established. Both poles have been breached, the highest mountains climbed, and the dark spots on the maps all filled in. So what's left for today's George Mallorys?

Well, as the WFF's Mountain Culture films reveal, quite a bit. But I offer a warning: it's not viewing for the squeamish. Whether big-mountain skier or alpine climber, halfpipe rider or urban jibber, the performance curve has become incredibly steep in recent times... what was extreme last year is mainstream this season. The result? Consequences are getting extreme too. Crashes are bigger, injuries are more severe and ugly... and sports-related deaths are becoming a far too common occurrence.

And that's what really grabbed me about theses three films. Rather than romanticizing their subjects — as so many sports-porn movie-makers do these days — these filmmakers allowed the viewer to really see, to understand on a visceral level, how high the stakes have become for these modern young athletes.

Note: I have a bit of an issue with the WFF's nomenclature. While these films certainly touch on mountain themes, they are more about sporting ethos and athletic endeavour than pure mountain tales. Still, I recommend all three heartily.

Take the aptly-named The Crash Reel. Ostensibly a story about an unusually talented halfpipe rider (American Kevin Pearce) and his recovery from a traumatic brain injury incurred while training for the 2010 Olympics, The Crash Reel is really about family... and the crushing toll one person's quest for greatness can take on those who love him.

The story arc is fairly conventional. A young snowboarding rock star prepares himself for the biggest challenge of his life. Touted as the only rider capable of toppling reigning pipe master Shaun White in Vancouver, Kevin Pearce is depicted as a generous, easy-going hipster who's far more interested in training with his friends than cashing in on his fame. The vibe in the Pearce camp is relaxed, the mood is light. But that all changes in December of '09 during a pipe session in Park City.

While trying a new trick on the day's first run, Kevin comes up short, slams face-first into the pipe's rock-hard wall... and nearly dies. The rest of the story teases out the consequences of that fall.

And this is where Oscar-nominated director Lucy Walker shines. She doesn't hesitate or obfuscate or excuse or rationalize. Instead her camera guides us skilfully through a passion play of conflicting desires and emotions, hopes, fears, dreams and unbelievably daunting challenges. One scene in this movie touched me deeply.

In it, Kevin's preternaturally wise younger brother (who challenges our prejudices about Down Syndrome in every frame he's in), refuses to accept Kevin's decision to make a snowboarding comeback. With simple words, and devastating honesty, he tells Kevin how anxious he gets just thinking about it. "I missed you so much when you were gone," he says. "I don't want to lose you again." Their mom can only nod, tears pouring down her face... Sigh. The film's worth seeing for this scene alone.

The second film, The Ridge, couldn't be more different. Where the flash of big money sports — the bling and the fame — pretty much sets the moral backdrop for Crash Reel, this film is is more nuanced. The story revolves around a group of hard men who refuse (on principle) to use supplemental oxygen on high altitude climbs. When one of their own suffers an attack on an exposed ridge just below 8,000 metres while attempting Annapurna's ultra-difficult south route, a motley crew of international climbers decide to defy fate and attempt a rescue. It's like an alpine Dirty Dozen!

They all know their chances of success are nil to zilch. They all know they are putting their own lives in terrible jeopardy. And they all know that no one else will ever understand why they're doing it. But none even hesitates. And this is where the power of The Ridge (recounted in a series of flashbacks by the main protagonists) resides. It's not about whether they succeed or not (you'll have to see the movie to find out). For these hard, uncompromising men, it's all about the effort... the pureness of their quest. And that's compelling. If just a tad disturbing...

The final film in this group, SKLMNT (for skiluminati) has absolutely nothing to do with the mountains. But you have to see it anyway! I mean, it blew my mind...

You see, the story revolves around a group of young (male) Latvian jibbers — what? There's skiing in Latvia? — who decide to make a movie that blends their post-apocalyptic urban aesthetic with some of the craziest moves I've ever seen done on skis. Weird? You betcha. These guys stalk the streets of Riga and its crumbling post-Soviet-empire infrastructure in a no-holds barred search for the edgiest, most unsettling hits they can find... and film.

Watch a kid fly through the ruins of an abandoned brick building, nail a rusty rail, ride it with ease, hit another jump and impossibly contort himself to make a 180 degree switch before landing flat on a busy street — totally flat — after a six-metre drop. These guys have no fear! And they don't compromise on anything. But what they do have is talent — loads of it — both in front of the camera and behind. I'm a little afraid to go there, but it's almost like watching a poetic version of Jackass. Same crazy courage, same irreverent attitude (there are angry cops and guys waving guns and stupid injuries), but with an artist 's feel for the material that eerily echoes the urban vision of iconoclast creatives like Basquiat and Banksy. It's completely disconcerting... but well worth a viewing. SKLMNT: a little gem you shouldn't miss.