The problem with ski movies is that they are stuck in a genre that cannot move forward. They all seem the same to me. They are supposed to pump you up for the ski season. But who among us wants to drop off a rock cliff at 17,000 feet for mere epicosity? My skiing involves a penchant for the lodge, a skidding style from the 80s, an uncomfortable march to the can in ski boots. There is poor dinning in these towns. Long lines of unruly children with cell phones. Beer is served in plastic cups. There is a type of reggae that is only popular in white fraternity houses of the east coast and middle west.
The only scene in the movie that moved me was when JP is on a peak looking down an rocks that will tear him apart if he makes a mistake. In the far distance you can see the smog of a city. JP tells the camera that his father was a mechanic in Chicago who lost his arm in an industrial accident. Then JP drops off the side of the mountain, never to be heard of again. Epic.