About the film Based on Andy's best-selling auto-biography of the same name, Psycho Vertical explores the intricate mind of Andy Kirkpatrick, a world-class climber and alpinist who lives a life of conflicting desires and identities. It was no longer about the joy of climbing, but simply the struggle of it. What are all soloists looking for, to break themselves apart, to dare to do their best. Dec 20, A Win in Spain! Nov 30, Big Win in Denmark!
Big win at the Nordic Adventure Film Festival! Oct 11, Our Trailer is Live!
The Psycho Vertical trailer is now live and kicking! The Mary Poppins Returns star gives a behind-the-scenes look at her new film. Based on his best-selling autobiography, Psycho Vertical is a study of the complex life and motivations of British writer, funny-man and unlikely hero-mountaineer, Andy Kirkpatrick, woven into an day solo ascent of El Capitan, Yosemite. The book is nothing short of a masterpiece. I do not feel that this movie captured what the book delivered. Maybe it was to rushed?
It follows the narrative of the book but it leaps over some of his biggest struggles and biggest victories. But I will say this, it is not your average climbing movie. It dwelves into the mind of a climber in a new sort of way with a focus on brutal honesty.
It is just amazing to see this guy climb, so if nothing else. Lastly I slipped my sore naked feet into my shoes, left then right, always the same. I tied my laces, thinking back to how difficult I'd found this simple knot as a child, just as I found it difficult to tell the time, to read, to write. I wished I could go back in time and hug myself then self, take away the feeling of inadequacy, and whisper that one say all these things wouldn't matter, that one day I would be more amazing than I could imagine.
Psycho Vertical - Trailer | EpicTV
It was 9 a. A beautiful cool morning. The snow stretched clean out across the Sierras on the horizon.
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There had never been a more perfect moment. The climbing is automatic. There is no emotion, no fear, no doubt. There is only the correct option. The hours pass more slowly than the metres, but this is immaterial. I can only climb as well as I can. I finger peg scars in the rock to judge what once fitted them best and fill them again.
I bounce as hard as I dare on the gear to test its strength. I don't look down at my landing. I hook up to a huge crumbling flake, a rock celebrity. It's unstable, it's weak, it threatens to kill, that's what I've been told.
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I have to ride it, as if it's a wild animal. I put my hand on it and stoke it calm. I hook it and step up slowly. I hang there for a moment and wait for my fearometer's flickering needle to settle again, breathing slowly, conscious I mustn't rush. I feel so at peace, conscious that this is not what I had expected.
Something has changed in me. I look down and marvel at my position, immune now to the exposure. I try to take in everything around me.
I won't be here again. I notice a few people standing on the rim of El Cap a few hundred metres away. It seems strange to be watched after so long alone. Then one of them begins shouting: It makes me feel that people are thinking about me. I can see a crack up to my left.
Psycho Vertical - Trailer
I know when I reach it I will be safe forever. That will be it. Between me and salvation lies a blank stretch of rock, its surface covered by a mosaic of small round pancake-sized exfoliating flakes. It seems you could peel them off with your fingernail. Like me, they barely cling to the wall. I look hard at the flakes. I must hook one, the one that is attached just enough to hold me. Make the wrong choice and that's it. Pick the right one and that's it. There is no hesitation, only thought.
I imagine what others must have thought. I choose the one which looks the most secure and hook it, stepping, swapping my weight over to it.
It defies reason to do so. This flake is a time-bomb, but I already have the next piece in my hand, ready to fire into the crack. I step up higher, my hand outstretched, the cam retracted waiting to spring. Once 8, kilometers stood between me and tomorrow. Then only meters. Now it is measured in centimeters I hold the cam's trigger back, knowing that when I let it go, the cam will expand and lock within the crack.
But instead of letting go, my fingers will hold tight. I am no longer connected to the world. I enjoy the sensation of the void all around me, of choices, so many made to reach this moment: I let the trigger slip from my fingers.
I lay in the dirt with my shoes off. It was almost dark. A cool breeze carried away my smell and replaced it with that of the manzanita bushes all around me. Alone for so long I'd wanted to find someone, to tell them where I had been, what I had done, not for ego or glory, but so I could believe in myself. But there was no one there to listen. I realized then that I had not spent so long alone since I'd been in my mother's womb.