Behind the scenes was the inherent danger of it all: the trespassing aspect takes on a different kind of gravity in strict countries like Malaysia. Add in the difficulties of continuing production through COVID and Russia’s war on Ukraine, the logistics of filming without distracting, and the constant conversation about trust — not only between filmmaker and subjects, but between the subjects themselves.

“They’d only been doing short form,” Zimbalist says. “The idea that we wanted access to all of the stuff in between their perfect, polished, finished poses was a new concept to them.”

Nikolau was already relatively famous by the time Zimbalist got in touch. Born in Moscow to circus performer parents, she began amassing a large social media following by posting photos of herself on the top of buildings in acrobatic poses. Beerkus was too, for his more “extreme” photographs and films. They were both ardently solo acts. But when they started climbing and posing together, around the time when Zimbalist and his team began to follow them, their popularity grew. Prior to the Netflix debut, she had over 730,000 followers on Instagram, and he had over 236,000.

“We wanted to give it all to this project like we always do,” Beerkus says through Maria Bukhonina, who co-directed the film and translated their interview. “But it was unusual when the cameras started following us everywhere.”

One place they weren’t being followed, however, was to the top of the spires or cranes. The filmmakers had made an agreement with their families to only go to the base roof with their verite cameras so as not to distract. Those shots were all done by the subjects themselves.

“They rigged themselves with body cams and night vision and GoPros and selfie sticks. Ivan’s a master drone operator. And Angela really started to understand what coverage was,” Zimbalist says. “They’re credited as extreme cinematographers in the film.”

Another essential lynchpin was Bukhonina, who was born in Russia, and became the main conduit to the subjects during the pandemic. She and their small camera crew were on the road with them for years.

“We felt they were different from other subjects in the extreme space,” Bukhonina says. “Many athletes like this and in the Red Bull space kind of deny that they have any fear of death. But Ivan and Angela talked about their fears.”

Both filmmakers like to say, this isn’t a film about the fear of falling from heights. It’s a film about the fear of falling in love.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t make it to the top of Merdeka,” Zimbalist says. “The real suspense of this movie is, is Angela going to ultimately choose to trust Ivan?”

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In recent years, there have been several high-profile documentaries chronicling the lives and exploits of extreme athletes and daredevils, including Alex Honnold in Free Solo. Nikolau and Beerkus ignored the suggestion to watch that film and Man on Wire to get a sense of what a long-form documentary was like. Their first foray was watching their own film.

“We saw how unusual our life is,” Nikolau says. “We always thought of ourselves as a normal, typical couple. Seeing that from the side kind of gives us a new perspective.”

Beerkus adds: “We liked all the choices that the directors of the film made because they were able to grasp the real essence of our relationship and what’s going on in there.”

In the days following this interview, Nikolau and Beerkus moved from Thailand to New York. They have big dreams to explore other art forms. She likes to paint. He likes to write music.

“We don’t put any limits on ourselves,” Beerkus says.

Skywalkers: A Love Story is now streaming on Netflix.

AP