It’s just as easy to see, though, that Leclerc has absolutely no interest in being the subject of a documentary film. Not that he’s hostile to the filmmakers in any way. He’s a kind and gentle young man with an infectiously awkward charm. You just can’t help but get the sense that this intrinsically motivated iconoclast can’t understand why anyone would want to make a film about him. 

Right around that 30-minute mark, though, you forget about all that. It’s here that the filmmakers document Leclerc free-climbing the Stanley Headwall, a treacherous ascent that results in some of the most vertigo-inducing footage in the entire film. It’s a slow and, at first, frustrating scene. I could feel my pulse rising as Leclerc methodically tested the ice and rock in search of handholds and footholds as he hung precariously by his heels and fingertips over certain death. 

The odd thing, though, is that you’d expect the tension to ramp up as the scene goes on but exactly the opposite is true. Leclerc’s Zen mentality becomes infectious. The inner peace he attains during his mindful climb practically radiates from the screen. And in this moment, with no real commentary from the filmmakers, no voiceovers, no monologuing of any sort, you finally understand this introverted soul. It is without question the best example of “Show, don’t tell” I’ve seen in a documentary in quite some time.

And then shortly thereafter, Leclerc disappears. The mobile phone the filmmakers gave him (he’s never owned his own) starts rolling over to voicemail. And it isn’t long before they discover the alpinist decided to solo Mount Robson’s Emperor Face—making him the first in history to do so—without them. “It wouldn’t be a solo if someone is there,” he says, as he calls to kindly but unapologetically explain why he ghosted them. 

He then allows them to film a second “solo” ascent of Emperor Face, and here we get right to the point of what makes The Alpinist such a captivating and interesting documentary. Most filmmakers would have used that footage with no mention of the fact that it was a staged do-over. For Mortimer and Rosen, though, all of this becomes part of the honest account of their time with Marc-André. And it’s somewhere around this point when The Alpinist stops trying to be a film about Leclerc and transforms into a film about trying to make a film about him. 

From that point on, the filmmakers have to make do with whatever footage they can get, which includes what appears to be some cellphone footage self-shot by Leclerc of his dangerous winter ascent of Torre Egger, a peak in the Southern Patagonian ice field in South America that’s dangerous even in the summer months. As a result, The Alpinist doesn’t always look like a slick Hollywood production, and it makes sense that it was only released in HD. Watching Kaleidescape’s 1080p download, I might have seen one or two shots early on that could have benefited from high dynamic range and perhaps a bit of extra resolution. But such shots are by far the exception.  

Kaleidescape’s presentation does the film justice, though, delivering it without any artifacts that weren’t present in the source footage. It’s somewhat surprising that the professionally shot imagery made it through the production and compression pipeline without any banding, especially in some of the shots of open, impossibly blue skies, but such is the case. The Alpinist may be a hodgepodge of disparate sources but it’s a visually captivating film nonetheless, and one that deserves to be seen on the best screen in your home. 

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 soundtrack, meanwhile, won’t stress the dynamic capabilities of your audio system, but it always works in service of the film, with good atmospheric effects in the surround channels but with way more emphasis on a solid front soundstage and exceptional dialogue intelligibility, even in conditions you wouldn’t think would be conducive to such. 

Frankly, though, I don’t think many viewers will be focused on the audiovisual presentation, lest they go in expecting a documentary about mountain climbing, because The Alpinist isn’t that film. It starts off as a documentary about a baffling young man, then becomes a documentary about trying to document the life of that young man, and in the process, it becomes a film with a strong philosophical bent. I started it wondering why and how anyone could live like Leclerc—in a tent in the woods, an upgrade from his former residence in a stairwell, disconnected from modern conveniences—but by the end, I found myself envying his freedom and his mindful approach to lived experiences. The Alpinist may not be a neat and tidy film, and it breaks most of the rules of documentary filmmaking. But it is nevertheless—or perhaps as a result—one of the most moving and fascinating documentaries I’ve seen in ages.