Carl Boenish was a relentless lover of many enthusiasms, which included cinema, sky-diving and his partner in life/crime, Jean. There are thrill chasers, adrenaline junkies, and then there is Boenish. An engineer by education, cinematographer by trade, and an extreme adventurer by passion, the founding father of BASE-jumping (which stands for Buildings, Antennae, Spans, and Earth) is the eccentric, larger-than-life subject of writer/director Marah Strauch’s exhilarating documentary portrait Sunshine Superman. Through mostly 16mm archival footage and cutting-edge aerial photography—created and obtained by Boenish and his team—Strauch’s film is an affectionate ode to uncontainable pioneers, who live life on edge to then fearlessly jump and glide off it at great danger.
Sunshine Superman’s most instantly relatable facet (at least for the non-BASE-jumping population) is its consistent focus on the unique romance lived by Carl and Jean, both on and above earth. Being a reserved, quiet type, Jean doesn’t look like the kind of person who might wear a parachute and jump off a cliff (the couple’s mutual friends unanimously confirm this). Yet, after falling in love with Carl and trying it for herself, Jean grew a genuine love for the extreme sport and became a natural virtuoso. Sunshine Superman lets the audience visually and viscerally sample several experiences of the couple with their team. We get to take in terrifying falls and glorious views, geek out as the team gets more and more inventive about the ways of capturing imagery (imagine a bike-mounted camera on the edge of a cliff), and laugh at a hilarious escape following an illegal LA skyscraper jump—a scene that would give any heist movie a run for its money.
As Sunshine Superman frequently reminds us, the sight of a human being standing tall on the edge of an inconceivably high fixture is simply heart-attack-inducing, whether it’s natural, like the 3,000-foot El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, or manmade, like the Crocker Bank building in Los Angeles. Before the film fully delves into the intricacies of his character, Boenish’s unquenchable desire to defeat heights and the potential grim price he might (and eventually did) pay, comes across as a senseless gamble, especially if you are the low-risk, indoorsy type. Yet, as Sunshine Superman devotedly builds the sky-diver as the high-spirited conqueror he is, “risk of death” takes a backseat in the list of the audience’s priorities. Strauch has undeniably stepped into a goldmine of breathtaking, gorgeous imagery and footage.
She puts it to terrific use by assuredly reflecting the spiritually rewarding aspects of Boenish’s actions, aiming to level the audience on the same mental plane as his, so that “crazy” starts to seem “inevitable” to our eyes. Thus, the heart-throbbing pleasures of Sunshine Superman aren’t only extracted from the marvelous, authentic visuals, some of which are captured via tiny cameras Boenish and his crew had attached on their helmets during their jumps. Strauch’s perceptive artistic control, and the efforts of her co-editors Eric Bruggemann and Kevin McGuinness, parse the dynamics and emotional touchstones of the story to perfection, making Sunshine Superman a thrill-ride. One natural cinematic comparison is James Marsh’s Man on Wire, as Philippe Petit and Carl Boenish visibly share a craving to rebel against the laws of nature and men. Yet the existential angle of Boenish’s story (as well as the unbeatable footage) elevates Sunshine Superman to a greater height.
The film’s longest and emotionally strongest chapter takes place towards the end, when we reach Troll Wall (Trollveggen) of Norway. It is not a spoiler to say that this is where Boenish lost his life, attempting a second jump following a successful first. His wife Jean copes with the loss of her husband in probably the only way she knew how: by defying gravity and successfully jumping off the same cliff that ended up being Carl’s last, as her tribute to him. Her even-tempered demeanor we get to witness is so contagious that it made me momentarily disregard—and perhaps overcome—my severe fear of heights. And that’s about the highest personal compliment I can pay to Strauch’s film.
