Red Bulletin UK

The Alpinist does what all great films do: it tells
a story. The story of a driven young man drawn
inexorably to climb immense, ice-plastered peaks.
Yes, we watch him solo unimaginable lines, ropeless
and as preternaturally calm as the clouds beneath
his boots, but we also see him as a dorky, gangly kid
enraptured by the outdoors. We see him lost and
loaded on acid, tripping into a world he barely
escapes (and only then because of his girlfriend).
We see his boyish visage covered in blood after a big
fall. We see him living in a stairwell like a proper
dirtbag. We see him shy and inarticulate under the
spotlight of nascent fame. Most importantly, we see
Leclerc through the voices of others: his girlfriend,
renowned climber Brette Harrington; his mother,
Michelle Kuipers; and a host of famous Canadian
alpinists. Even the greatest mountaineer of the
20th century, Reinhold Messner, has a few
portentous words: “Solo climbing on a high level
is an expression of art. Maybe half of the leading
solo climbers of all time died in the mountains.
This is tragic and it’s difficult to defend.” In The
Alpinist we get to know, if not fully understand, not
only a climber but a human being – his strengths,
weaknesses, desires and derangements.
One of the first things you learn about Leclerc
is that he’s deeply camera-shy and doesn’t
give a fuck about fame. He truly is a
throwback, as Hevy Duty says, to an earlier
age. Believe it or not, there was a time when top
climbers didn’t tell their followers what they had
for lunch. Pre-social media, you shared your stories
with your actual friends, preferably around a
campfire. On an expedition, you spent time with
your team discussing life, logistics and the weather.
On my last few big trips, my teammates, with the
modern magic of a satellite modem, spent their
evenings sending images of themselves that
masterfully massaged their public personas and
completely misrepresented their actual feelings.
Leclerc couldn’t give a shit. He’d solo something
heinous and not tell a soul.
His disregard for the media was problematic for
the film’s directors, Peter Mortimer and Nick Rosen.
A perfect example is when Leclerc solos Mount
Robson without telling them. When they finally get
him on the phone, he explains, “It wouldn’t be a solo
to me if somebody was there.” It ain’t easy to make
a film about a man who doesn’t care what the world
thinks. He’s like an Olympian who performs in his
own gymnasium, without a single spectator, doing
moves no other human can.
If Leclerc’s cavalier attitude towards their film
frustrated Mortimer and Rosen, they also admired
him for his singularity of vision. “Marc was out there
every day since he was a teenager,” Mortimer says in
a phone interview. “To look at his climbing résumé,
you’d think he must be 75 years old. He can’t resist
the pull of the mountains. When a weather window
opens, he has to be out there. He was on a vision
SCOTT SERFAS
Nature boy: The Alpinist shows Leclerc
the super-gifted climber, but also the dorky,
gangly kid enamoured with the outdoors
50 THE RED BULLETIN