There is something compelling about Man on Wire, the 2008 Academy Award winner for Best Documentary, that would have not been as such had it been released closer to the time of Philipe Petit’s daring walk between the North and South towers of the World Trade Center in 1974. Certainly, his astounding athleticism would stand out, as would his flair for performance that teased the police officers’ inability to capture him without risking their lives and plummeting to their deaths. Between the embodiment of law and 1368 feet above the ground, Petit seemed to glide effortlessly under his own volition, challenging the definition of usable space, an act that is rendered even more profound by the seeming invisibility of the tightrope within the various photographs that recorded his walk.
Perhaps both today and in 1974, people would call him a suicidal egotist attempting to deny the possibility of death as he shakes off the threat of a slight breeze that could toss him asunder. Perhaps they would be right despite Petit’s belief that to spire down from his perch would be “a beautiful death: to be in the exercise of your passion.” Regardless of when the film was released, the event itself would be something to questions, condone, condemn, and admire.
At the same time, releasing Man on Wire in 2008 is doubly poignant because it came after the destruction of the World Trade Center in 2011. I’m not suggesting that this documentary won an Oscar or continues to garner acclaim because it builds on nostalgia and conjures memories of a blue-skied, malevolent morning in September. Far from it. Rather, the film illustrates the differences, and unfortunate similarities, between 1974 and 2008.
It’s possible that my take on this film has been influenced by a recent re-reading of Colum McCann’s novel Let the Great World Spin; however, Man on Wire illustrates the same generational temporalities.
One glaring difference between 1974 and 2008 is the level of technology, which, admittedly, seems like an obvious statement I’m sure, illustrated mostly through the scarcity of photographs and the paucity of video footage documenting Petit’s traversing. What could be deemed a technological immaturity actually adds to the magic of Petit’s venture in that the diminished quality – or what we deem diminished by today’s standards – often creates the illusion that Philip walked on air, making the occurrence even more wonderfully mysterious.
Think also about the small population of people who can honestly say they witnessed the event – not as blurry snapshots that made it to the next day’s paper, but as an eye witness – like Joel Nay, one of the police officers stationed on the South tower who claims “everyone was spellbound in the watching of him,” so much so that “I personally thought I was watching something no one else would see in the world.” Of the 250 or so people who gathered at the base of the towers to gaze 110 floors through the morning sunlight, I would guess only a handful had a clear view. Perhaps they came to work accidently toting a pair of binoculars in their brief cases or purses from a bird-watching endeavor the day before, but I would wager that most hadn’t. And, despite the veritable claim of those 250 people to be eye-witnesses, only a handful of officers on one tower — and Petit’s accomplices – could see each and every one of Petit’s movements as he hopped up and down and lay on the wire before kneeling and saluting to his assistants and the crowd that gathered below him.
Now think about today – or even more specifically 2001, when two planes hit the towers and not only of the hundreds of thousands of eye-witnesses present on that morning, but also of the millions of people watching live coverage from their homes. Minute by minute analysis and the documentation of fear. Think about the millions of text messages and personal video gathered by the masses that didn’t need to forget to leave their binoculars at home because their phones were equipped with technology that comprises social-network-ubiquity. And, eventually, all of these memories — recorded on various devices — enter a historical visual canon to be watched, studied, and perpetually regurgitated.
Clearly, the travesty of the Trade Center cannot be equated to Petit’s innocuous walk between the towers. Lives cannot be regained through whimsical imagery, and it’s a general truth that tragedy always draws more coverage. But think about the alacrity with which the coverage converged on September 11th and the for the range that it stretched. Much like Petit’s redefinition of usable space, technology has repeatedly redefined accessible broadcasting space. Throughout the world, the events of September 11th were known, and if one chooses to relive that day, the live events can be sourced on Youtube, or any other venues to which video can be uploaded.
The same cannot be said for Petit’s walk. The aforementioned Officer Nay – if he’s still with us – is still one of only a handful of people – 27 years later – to claim that he saw the events unfold live and perhaps even relay the expressions on Petit’s face as he toyed with the officers and the crowd below, intimating that he would cross the wire and step to safety on the South tower before pirouetting and prancing back to its center – not from fear of being arrested, but from a sense flair and performic timing. If the argument still remains that Petit’s walk fails to compare to the destruction of the towers – which I have not contested – think more of how entralling it would have been to watch; think of the myriad viral videos of cats on treadmills and people “planking.” Clearly, Petit’s walk would have been a ubiquitous sensation; instead, it’s lost to dramatized re-imagination.
Something else – and indeed more solemn – to be taken from Man on Wire is the seeming laxity of security that existed between 1974 and 2001, despite previous attacks on the World Trade Center in both 1990 and 1993. As a note, this critique is not going to devolve into an accusation of what could have been done or who dropped the ball. Rather, Man on Wire offers an interesting commentary on who was deemed innocuous, despite their intent to trespass, the crime with which Petit would later be charged – regardless of the fact that he and his assistants had repeatedly trespassed up and down the towers in order to determine how and where to rig the wires. Some of these trespasses include masquerading as a construction worker, an electrician, and as disabled man whose crutches became a badge of immunity. Granted, Petit had truly injured his ankle, but his crutches deflected any question of malicious – or at least, technically illegal – intent. What’s also a touch curious here is that the trust placed in Petit bespeaks to a presence of optimism, despite its presence in 1974, which on this particular August 7th was witness to the White House steeped in the Watergate scandal, so much so that Nixon announced his resignation on August 8th. Ironically, paranoia was a rather effused dialectic throughout both government and country, yet a tiny French man, and anyone else with crutches and tenacity could have entered an apex of financial institutions.
Like Petit seeming to float in abeyance, there’s something beautiful and tragic in the world’s moments of benevolence.