True story – in 1974, French tightrope walker Phillippe Petit slung a rope from the top of one of the twin Trade Towers in New York City to the other, which was still wrapping up construction. (I was always uncertain quite how he managed that, but apparently it involved a bow and arrow, incredibly enough.) He then not only walked across, but ran across, danced across, and just to prove his point, lay down on it mid-span for as one does – all the while as the city below watched in horrified amazement. Of course, twenty-seven years later, we know that that feat will never be duplicated.
McCann follows the tales of several of the onlookers on that day – all living their separate lives but connected by the spectacle taking place over their heads. It was a reason to stop in their daily routines and talk to each other and marvel. McCann does a masterful job of using unexpected connections between the onlookers to unfold – from the almost priest from Ireland who transports elder care patients on their various tasks, to the multigenerational group of Harlem hookers to whom he allows use of his small flat as a rest stop and pee station, to his brother, who has followed him to New York for reasons he doesn’t entirely understand. Then there are two members of a support group for mothers who have lost their sons in Viet Nam, isolated from the other women for reasons of race and income, but eventually understanding each other more because of that. And New York City itself – grimy and diverse.
McCann is a great story teller, and I got hooked pretty fast. And of course, the tightrope walker. I remember watching it on TV, but fortunately, being a Left Coast girl, it was pretty much a done deal by the time we saw it.