Robert Zemeckis' 'The Walk' review, starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt

An adventurous spirit knows no bounds. They can leap as tall as their dreams allow and they don't let impossibility be an appropriate excuse to dismantle the enduring fervor burning inside them. They’ve set the course for what they want in life, and though they can’t be pardoned with easy access through their obstacles, their destination is strictly in sight — refusing to make way for the predictable. They need to let their visions come to pass.

The Walk, a dramatization of the daring World Trade Center walk by Philippe Petit in 1974, is a fitting tribute for those seeking to accomplish the implausible. A firm reminder of what can come through the persistence of the mind. Robert Zemeckis’ latest is an exhilarating experience, one that never stops for a breath but is quick to steal yours away at the right moment. It walks between crowd-pleasing cheesiness and amiable agility with a collected, fine balance — with nary one tremble found in its step. It’s an entirely rousing, triumphantly good-spirited celebration, a rarity found within our modern cinematic cynicism. It engrosses you, excites you at the marvel of it all and reminds you why you love going to the movies in the first place.

Philippe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) has a dream on a wire. A street performer making his living in the streets of Paris in the early 70s, there’s something stirring inside that always inspires him. It’s a prevailing need to take hold of something greater. To find something to make his own and to go wherever his ambitions believe they should go. Uncertain of what should call him, a magazine ad promoting the World Trade Center soon speaks out to him, enraptures his core and finally gives him his sense of purpose. Between two roofs of the two buildings, he hangs a pencil-thin line and seals his fate. His destiny is to walk a tightrope across the Twin Towers. Nobody can make him think otherwise.

Accomplices soon follow, including his soon-to-be girlfriend Annie Allix (Charlotte Le Bon), photographer Jean-Louis (Clément Sibony) and algebra mastermind Jean-François (César Domboy). In the meantime, Papa Rudy (Ben Kingsley), a circus leader, shows him through the ropes. Literally. As the buildings come close to completion, so too does Philippe’s coup. Soon the gang flies themselves into the Big Apple and a date, August 6, is set in motion. From there, Philippe disguises himself through the construction site, learns every detail he can and, over the course of time, gathers more accomplices (James Badge Dale, Ben Schwartz, Steve Valentine). While Philippe’s dreams come to life, though, his death seems just as near. But Philippe refuses to acknowledge his possible demise, let alone suspect his art as anything fatal. Challenges seep on every level, and Philippe can’t overcome every obstacle. His determination doesn’t waver, however. Once his goals get closer, and his mission locks deeper in his sight, he's more willing than before to challenge the fine line of adversity found on his tight-wire.

The Walk is an excessively Hollywood take on Petit, and decidedly so. It’s glossed like a seasonal ham, as you’d come to expect, but Zemeckis — through his old-fashioned trademarks with new-age VFX effects — captures the wild-eyed, childlike glee at the essence of Philippe’s character. He's a man with a simple, persistent dream, and the filmmaker makes you love him as much he does, and also want to see him pull this crazy idea off. Though it favors the events over the character details, he gives a wonderfully energetic flow. It always snaps and pops. There’s a nice order to everything — as though fate is constantly tickled, but destiny is set to make it all come together as it should. Conveying as many French cinematic sensibilities as American with a nice delicacy, he paints it all in its simplest form. But he brings Petit and his journey back to the main stage with complete, arresting earnest.

Zemeckis clearly wants Petit’s story to earn its larger-than-life spectacle, to invite us up there with him and take the plunge on the rope toe-by-toe. It’s only equaled by Levitt himself, taking on Petit’s invigoration with a breezy confidence of his own. Matched against the unhinged insanity brought so vividly by the high-wire artist himself in Man on Wire, it’s hard to separate the performance aspect to Levitt’s work. At the same time, however, there’s a genuine wonder burning in his eyes, from the beginning onward. The actor’s natural charisma works handily in the role, letting us be carried along into Petit’s craziness as he did once for his own spectators. He commits himself to the part with absolute sincerity, embracing Philippe’s warmth and plain-faced goofiness with ease. Through Zemeckis, he portrays Petit as the kind of man with an unstoppable mission. One whose ferocious drive made it happen, and unwavering need to be taken seriously as an artist carried him through, and while this doesn’t necessarily go too far into the depths of his psyche, it’s not meant to.

For Petit is a straightforward figure: he wants to have his validation earned and his capabilities proven. The Walk, like Petit’s foot, is light on its arrival. For it’s all about the grandiose spectacle, just as Philippe would want. We’re supposed to be engaged by the power of the human spirit, rather than the complexities that lay behind it. Thanks to a rich display of top-notch effects, Zemeckis lets us come back to that place and time with a gentle breeze. He has us feel the wind in the air, our heart beating in our chest, our weight on the balance and the gentle care brought into each foot. While it can be simplistic to a fault, every thrill, every nervous thought, every fear can be felt throughout. On-the-wire or off, every step is meticulously designed, if maybe a little too much so, and the level of detail on display certainly come easy to appreciate. Through The Walk, Philippe's the kind of daring, good-to-a-fault guy you want to succeed. And like him, a beating tenderness pounds at every moment. It’s a compassionately told story about succeeding against the odds, even though its familiar approach goes against the daring odds at the crux of the story. It sweeps you up, inspires you and, though it walks on familiar ground, sometimes you like to know where you stand.