‘Behind the Mist’ Review: A Spiritual Doc That Finds Parallels Between Filmmaking and Mountaineering

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As a seasoned mountaineer and filmmaker with a penchant for the unconquered, I find “Behind the Mist” to be a captivating exploration of both human resilience and artistic expression. Having scaled the highest peaks myself (albeit without the fame and fortune of Iván Vallejo), I can attest that there’s an undeniable parallel between the arduous climb and the creative process.

The movie “Behind the Mist,” Ecuador’s Oscar entry directed by Sebastián Cordero, carries a haunting atmosphere as it documents the challenging journey of climbing Mount Everest. On one side, Cordero’s parallel between mountaineering and filmmaking reveals profound spiritual connections in both pursuits. At the same time, his raw visual style uncovers deeper meanings through its gritty aesthetic, which is necessitated by the extreme conditions. This results in images that seem reflective of their own making process.

Ivan Vallejo, Ecuador’s first mountaineer to summit Mount Everest without using oxygen, is the central focus of Cordero’s work. In 1999 and again in 2001, Vallejo reached the peak of Everest, an achievement he aims to celebrate by climbing it once more in 2019. Of course, Vallejo extends an invitation to Cordero to record this journey, but there is a disagreement between them regarding the film’s vision (and perhaps the essence of films as a whole).

The film’s exploration delves into philosophical territory, with the director of “Europa Report” swapping Jupiter’s moon for the snow-capped mountains of Nepal, using a homemade digital camera to document his journey after delving into topics ranging from existentialism (Camus) to personal matters with Vallejo. In essence, the movie presents footage of a renowned climber amidst the untouched beauty of the Himalayas, reflecting on past experiences and offering insights about art, adventure, and their intertwining nature, which eventually becomes indistinguishable.

The film by Cordero, while adopting a traditional documentary style, frequently shifts focus to religious symbols and artifacts, suggesting he may be seeking cinematic wisdom from the region’s Hindu and Buddhist beliefs. At one instance, the camera circles around a massive, rotating prayer wheel in a hut, as if he were seeking answers through prayer. Each rotation leads the camera into a dark, noisy space before re-emerging into light, hinting at a momentary enlightenment that quickly fades away. This recurring pattern throughout the movie mirrors the cycles of life and death in these faiths, much like Stephanie Spray and Pacho Velez’s documentary “Manakamana,” where the camera moves through light and dark spaces along a cable car to a Nepalese temple, implying that Cordero might be striving for liberation through enlightenment or nirvana but not quite attaining it.

In my perspective as a movie reviewer, this film offers an unpolished yet captivating experience that exudes intimacy and spontaneity. The duo’s handling of time seems to be somewhat haphazard, reflected in the clever juxtaposition of fast-forwarded and slow-motion scenes. The soothing sound of temple bells provides a constant rhythm, tying together even the most incongruous visuals into a harmonious whole.

In a similar vein, Cordero reflects on his memories alongside those of Vallejo. Much like the renowned mountaineer reminisces about his historic 1999 ascent by examining old photos, Cordero recalls his 1999 debut film “Ratas, ratones, rateros” and connects the two in time through a creative blend of photographs from the past and footage from his movie in an essayistic manner. His straightforward narrative, though assertive, expresses regret over the film’s failure. It appears that Cordero is subtly seeking understanding about his work and its purpose, much like Vallejo ponders the price he has paid for his lifelong passion, by contemplating its consequences.

As they ascend higher, it appears as though the movie itself becomes clearer. Initially, neither man is privy to the whole scene; the peaks that Vallejo yearns to view are obscured by clouds, while the creative spark that Cordero seeks seems veiled in mist. Just like mountaineering and filmmaking, this journey is a testament to faith, as they strive to connect with their past and essence. In “Behind the Mist,” it’s the same urge that propels them forward.

As a fervent admirer, I find it challenging to decipher the emotional landscape of Cordero during the filming or even in hindsight. However, there’s an undeniably harmonious blend of technical mastery and spiritual depth that resonates powerfully in the third act. It’s as if Vallejo’s soul is laid bare, perhaps unintentionally. A captivating scene unfolds where Vallejo stands at a snow-capped peak, the image so radiantly bright it seems to have been washed out save for Vallejo himself and a few surrounding rocks. The snowfall swirls around, illuminating him and the rock in a unique, living haze that envelopes them, as if they were bound by some ethereal force transcending time and space. Cordero’s camera captures this moment with reduced motion blur, casting not just a jittery effect but also highlighting Vallejo and the rock amidst the falling snow, creating an otherworldly glow that is absent elsewhere in the frame.

It’s quite possible that this is no mere coincidence; the movie seems to be incredibly thorough in its exploration, which inevitably led to a scene where everything just fits perfectly, making both Vallejo and “Behind The Mist” seem completely appropriate. Among death-defying feat documentaries, few have been as serene and soothing as this one.

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2024-12-26 03:16