Himalayan Ice

So this guy walks into a bar...

Most climbing documentaries begin with talk of lifelong dreams, near-fatal accidents and dogged persistence against the odds. Himalayan ice is a different beast. It begins with the story of US filmmaker Ari Novak's chance meeting with a stranger who looked so cool that he wanted to be his friend. The two hit it off instantly, resulting in an invitation for Novak to visit India's Spiti Valley and indulge their mutual love of ice climbing - but what they found when they got there surpassed all expectations.

Climbing ice offers a very specific set of pleasures - and dangers - that keep people going back again and again. It's not just about finding existing nooks and crannies one can grip - often, it's about making them, slamming into sheets of ice as hard as glass using tools that can send the shards flying directly into one's face. In some of the long shots used here we see glittering fragments raining down from where the climbers are at work, with crowds standing back to avoid being stabbed by them. This constant process of fighting the ice as well as hauling one's own weight around means that long climbs are particularly exhausting, and the obvious need for the ice to be hard means it can only be done in winter, when conditions are often rough. Ice climbers are always pushing against their own physical limitations, something that informs a very particular type of psychological journey.

Climbers should never go into the mountains thinking they can challenge them, the local people caution. To climb in the Himalayas is a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage. It doesn't seem to bother them which god or gods a climber believes in; only that they recognise the sacred nature of the pursuit. Novak's ambition is to help the local people to attract climbers from around the world to their region and thus improve their economic prospects, but to do this in a way that is respectful of local traditions. Climbers receive a blessing before they set off. There is a meekness about them that one rarely sees in such groups, and a delight at being permitted to share this larger cultural experience.

This cultural interaction is by far the film's greatest asset. There's little by way of discourse on what went before, just an acknowledgement that foreign climbers have rarely treated Himalayan people as equals. Accordingly, any blame is set aside in favour of a wholly positive look at what cooperation can achieve - one that is very much in keeping with Novak's enthusiasm about the ice itself.

The trouble with directing a film about a subject that inspires so much personal passion is that it can be harder to recognise what the viewer doesn't know or doesn't feel. There's relatively little here on the techniques of ice climbing (just a reassurance that it's safer than it looks, which many climbers would disagree with and which rather depletes the tension). There's some talk about how beautiful the ice can be, but we don't really get a sense of this among the drab, largely snow-free foothills; nor do we get an explanation of what it is about these particular stretches of ice that causes the climbers to gape in excitement upon first seeing them. We have to take their word for it that the experience of climbing there is amazing, without rally seeing that for ourselves.

There are moments of excitement. Sometimes the ice throws up unexpected challenges, and on another occasion the small team is stalked by a snow leopard whose territory it has inadvertently invaded. For the most part, however, the film is centred on human relationships. This means it's unlikely to have a big impact on viewers with no experience of climbing themselves. Within the climbing community, however, its attempt to do something different is likely to be welcomed; and as a film demonstrating that another way is possible when it comes to climbing tourism, it has considerable value.