Man on Wire

I was moved by what Philippe Petit says about the moment he stepped on the wire between the Twin Towers: while he was aware of the extreme danger, it was impossible not to take the step. The statement says much about the spirit of his endeavour: there is hubris, perhaps, but also a sense of humility; a knowledge of his own vulnerability and a willingness to put it on the line to create a moment of size, of poetry. It is the smallness of his figure against the skyscrapers that makes the event so remarkable.

9/11, though never explicitly mentioned, has an underpinning presence in this film: we see the Twin Towers in the process of construction, the great structural ribs - later so painfully exposed - erected with such optimism. I was reminded of the images of the 9/11 'jumpers'. Philippe Petit, of course, succeeds. I found this a strangely healing film.

There is a scene in the documentary where Petit carries his then girlfriend, Annie Allix, piggy-back across the practice wire. I was reminded of the day when a young funambule student called Jade did the same for me and thereby cured me of my fear of height. I was studying corde lisse, vertical rope, at the French national circus school, a place that took Circus more seriously than anywhere else I had been to. The heights at which I had to work were, accordingly, 'proper', but to me, mind-boggling. I developed crippling vertigo; the fear itself became fearful, for an aspiring aerialist like me it was akin to sickness.

One day Jade volunteered to carry me across his high-wire. I trusted his undeniable skill and confidence, and some of it must have rubbed off on me. That night I dreamt that I was piloting a small plane into an azure sky; the day after, I was able to put aside my fear. Incidentally, Jade himself was an obsessive admirer of Philippe Petit.