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This is a respect thing. It's the least I can do after being witness to such relentless hardship, pain and misery. And as I ceremonially trudge to my second floor destination, I will count my blessings. I will be thankful that I'm not 24,000 feet up, suffering temperatures well below zero, and sporting an ice-enveloped moustache that gives me that Dr. Zhivago look.
But most of all I will give thanks that, for all the interests and passions I have thus far indulged, climbing the bald side of a snow-covered mountain with little more than a rope and a pickaxe has never been one of them. Memories of scaling the tall school yard fence when it was locked on Saturdays still give me the willies. That woven metal barrier was my Mt. Everest. But if you wanted to play second base for the Yankees, there was no way around it.
So convincingly fraught with peril at every turn, it's no wonder Vertical Limit can conjure such personal recollections. All of which gives testament to what a fine job director Martin Campbell does in evoking the utter danger that's available to us in this world if we so choose, or are just plain unlucky. Unfortunately for armchair sociologists, he doesn't really get into why the climbing elite who populate his scenario want to ascend mountains, other than the tacitly and classically acknowledged, "Because it's there."
Oh, there's a bit of a Greek tragedy at the root of this saga about a world famous mountain climber (Stuart Wilson) and the uncomfortable legacy he leaves his similarly inclined son (Chris O'Donnell) and daughter (Robin Tunney). In fact, doth protesting a bit too much, the studio exhorts that Vertical Limit is not just a mountain-climbing movie. That it is a very serious drama that simply plays out to the backdrop of the great outdoors. But the slight script amounts to no more than the typical melodrama perfunctorily inserted to anchor the great cataclysm at hand. And though the director seems to confuse the two, soapsuds and snow don't mix.
This is a disaster movie, despite what froth the Hollywood spin-doctors have issued. And truth be told, there is so much Sturm und Drang relentlessly convulsing throughout this adventure that any semblance of an honest-to-goodness dramatic plot would prove incompatible with the high-intensity action. But if you like your agony and woe piled high, rejoice. The story about a brother and sister who can't reconcile their differences after Dad makes the ultimate sacrifice only serves to make matters on the slopes bleaker.
Portrayed by Robin Tunney, sis is Annie Garrett, the darling of mountain climbing. A Sports Illustrated cover girl, of late she's a special assistant to Texas millionaire Elliot Vaughn (Bill Paxton). His philistine quest? To conquer Pakistan's K2 and tie it all in with a new airline venture.
Now, are you ready for the audience manipulation of the year? In a coincidence that takes more chutzpah to foist upon viewers than scaling any daring height, Annie's brother Peter is on hand for the much-ballyhooed occasion. Yup, played rather inconsequentially by Chris O'Donnell, he has abandoned the vanity of competitive climbing and just so happens to be on assignment for National Geographic. This makes him mountain climbing's moral equivalent of a National Public Radio personality: impassioned and informed, but free from the ego-challenging involvement of the big time.
But let's just imagine -- not to say this is the plot, mind you, but just imagine -- that sister dear gets in trouble up there on K2? Would this stir Peter from his neutral status and thus afford him the opportunity for complete and total vindication? Remember, she's miffed, and blames brother for dear old Dad's unfortunate fate. Surely it would take a Herculean feat to change her stance.
But before you answer, and regardless of your response, consider this. Assuming that the studio wasn't just giving us the company line, and this were truly a drama of complex relationships, wouldn't we all be a lot more comfortable if the setting were, for example, a college campus. She could be a botanist. He could be a philosophy Prof. Then they could thrash all this sibling stuff around while seated in nice thick leather chairs and having tea and crumpets. Some big academic competition could be the emotion-fomenting factor instead of having that huge icy mountain (brr!) serve as the catalyst. You could even throw in a murder or two if you wanted. How about an embezzlement, too? Who cares whether or not it's an improvement. At least we'd be warm.
Obviously unconcerned that there is a difference between action and agitation, the fabulously filmed and stunningly choreographed Vertical Limit churns its anguish and privation with the single-minded tenacity of a snow blower. And that can leave you rather cold.
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