One of the finest sports films of this generation is Ron Howard’s Rush, a dramatised account of the 1976 Formula One rivalry between championship drivers James Hunt and Nicki Lauda. Rush thrives on a compelling contrast of personalities, a balance between sentiment and substance, a rousing score and breathtaking on-track action. But the film’s most profound moment isn’t one of grand victory or crushing endurance. It is that of a man quitting, and not winning, against all odds.
Age-old conflicts
Lauda, back in the cockpit months after a near-fatal crash, pulls out midway through the season’s title-defining race. The treacherous weather is, in his view, not fit for racing. As he strolls back into the paddock amidst quizzical stares, his eyes find his wife – the woman whose life has been consumed by his defiance of death. His gait morphs from an accusatory “This is for you” glance into a tender “This is for us” nod. This one shot addresses an age-old conflict that has long plagued the conscience of professional sport. Does personal attachment humanise the machinery of competition? Is the mind, otherwise the driving force of transcendent daredevilry, diluted by the heart?
The Oscar-winning Free Solo, a thrilling documentary that profiles American rock climber Alex Honnold’s pursuit of executing a ropeless climb of the fabled El Capitan rock-face, hinges on this theme. Honnold, a socially awkward man who lives in a van, spends much of his adult life in self-preservation mode. The doctors reveal that his brain doesn’t register fear like regular humans. Honnold ingrains this freakish ‘illness’ into the behavioural dynamics of his opposite-sex interactions; he, almost deliberately, frightens away potential partners with his brazen outlook towards mortality. He embraces the frailties of modern dating, preferring the safe distance of the mobile-app culture over the flesh-and-blood attachment of old-school companionship. Until he meets Sanni McCandless.
Finding possibilities
“Like the others, she will come and go,” he declares early on. Free climber Tommy Caldwell, Honnold’s unofficial mentor on this quest, knows all too well. Caldwell was the subject of the other El Capitan rock-climbing documentary, The Dawn Wall, in which he ascends the most vertical and improbable path of the rock over 19 days. His divorce had numbed him, in effect driving him to consider, and conquer, the impossible. Like Hunt, Caldwell became a living testament to the truth that if the heart dilutes the mind, heartbreak deconstructs it. In a way, he envies Honnold’s inability to feel: his power of being somewhat born with a broken heart. But he also notices that McCandless is different. Honnold likes her company; she humours his boyishness. “Free-solo climbing needs an armour; romantic relationships weaken that armour,” Caldwell remarks worriedly, when asked to comment on Honnold’s preparations. Given that he had lost a finger while climbing with his ex-wife, he swears by this philosophy. He knows that love can be a leveller of ambition. He only hopes that the prospect of someone waiting for him might perhaps inspire Honnold to climb faster and return in one piece on the day.
But Honnold, like Lauda on that rainy afternoon, ends up returning faster instead. At the crack of dawn, he pulls out at the base of the wall. For an athlete who had spent his years believing that the risk is the reward, the question suddenly was whether the risk was worth the reward. When he walks back into the camper, McCandless embraces him tearfully – not because he bailed, but maybe because he had located in himself the sensitivity that made him capable of bailing.
You can’t choose who you love. But McCandless’s morality of choosing to be with someone who can’t afford the responsibility of love is reflected in the film’s inward gaze of its own goals. The Dawn Wall refused to break the fourth wall. We never see the cinematographers precariously hovering over ledges in their own parallel ecosystem, because perhaps the directors wanted to replicate Tommy’s single-minded obsession to reach the top. But Free Solo is candid about a documentary’s inbuilt ethical conundrum. It acknowledges that the camera is a relevant character in its subject’s journey. We see co-director Jimmy Chin fret with his anxious crew about the possibility of not just filming, but inadvertently causing, Honnold’s demise. They fret that they might weaken him.
Ethical conundrum
In doing so, the film also mirrors Honnold’s vulnerable mental state. He is conscious of the cameras, the watching world, because he is conscious of McCandless’s influence. Her worth. When he does scale the wall in his second attempt, it is only after he has gotten comfortable in his relationship. Therefore, now we see him gesture at the camera, celebrate with it, at crucial sections during the climb. He isn’t distracted by it anymore; he has made peace with their – her – eyes on him. For better or worse, Honnold has chosen to be less lonely, both on the mountain and in his life.
After all, a year after quitting that Japanese Grand Prix, Lauda went on to win his second F1 title. With his wife by his side. And when Caldwell finally conquered the Dawn Wall after six years of planning, he was not alone. Climbing partner Kevin Jorgeson aside, he was three years into his second marriage. He nodded at the cameras.
