The Ascent is a film that is as much about contradictions as it is about sheer bullheaded determination. It follows the brutal climb of Mandy Horvath, a bilateral amputee, up Mt. Kilimanjaro using only her hands.
As with every ascent or attempt to conquer the impossible, there is more to Horvath's climb than just the physical element. Years ago, she lost her legs under deeply suspicious circumstances. One moment, she was out drinking with friends, the next, she woke in an ambulance with both of her legs torn apart by a freight train. The train drivers on the scene report that Horvath's unconscious body was sprawled over the tracks. It is a miracle she survived.
How Horvath ended up on the tracks remains a mystery for most of the documentary, but it is clear from the outset that it isn't an accident. Almost immediately, local police try to bury the investigation, and it isn't long before they dismiss the case entirely.
From here, The Ascent parallels Horvath's climb with the intervening years. Her health takes another hit, she succumbs to alcoholism, spends time in jail, and realizes there is more to life than a spiral to the bottom. The Ascent refuses to paint Horvath as a saint or inspirational poster. Based on the film, I think she'd hate that more than anything.
Instead, The Ascent allows Horvath to speak in her own voice. She's still very young, but has lived more lives than others ever will. When she speaks, it is with weariness, anger, regret, and an immense helping of pitch-black humor. It didn't take long for me to first warm up to her, and eventually cheer on her every move.
A lesser documentary would easily succumb to gaudy sensationalism. Goodness knows there's material here for it. Another would emphasize the true crime aspects of it all, and both would be a detriment. It would diminish the complexity of Horvath's character, and as such, rob her triumphs of their weight.
Instead, the directors, Francis Cronin, Edward Drake, and Scott Veltri, allow us a glimpse into contradicting stories and memories without editorializing. In Horvath's recollection, her relationship with her parents is an uneasy and volatile one. Yet when we meet them, it's hard to reconcile between the two versions, even when they admit that life wasn't always rosy.
That same messiness extends to Horvath, who hides her true self behind a radiant smile and incisive wit. She has every reason to play her cards close to her chest. It's not like she has many people in her corner to begin with.
Yet The Ascent does not pry nor make judgments. If anything, it's clearly on Horvath's side throughout all this, and there's a certain clarity that brings.
You could argue that drip-feeding the information on Horvath's many obstacles, failures, and wins is emotionally manipulative, but I found it deeply compelling. Not because it is salacious, but because it forces us to confront our own biases at the same time. It's far easier to cheer for someone who is the perfect victim, which is something Horvath adamantly refuses to be. When she pointedly speaks of her DUI and jail time and recognition that she's found the bottom, Horvath doesn't ask for forgiveness, and it isn't our place to give or withhold it.
This is a deeply humane and beautifully realized portrait of a complicated person. It's messy and often difficult to watch, but that only speaks to its truthfulness. By refusing easy categorization, The Ascent defies every expectation of traditional sports biopics or inspirational platitudes. In the end, it earns every moment because it never takes the easy way there.
