The Bridge avoids reducing its subjects to types, and if the portraits painted are often recognizable -- the person who talks so much about suicide that those around him fail to take him seriously -- they are not repetitive.
By his use of interviews of friends and family of jumpers, Steel reminds us that no matter how alone some of these people felt, they weren't without people who loved them. It is a tender, powerful work.
Though well-meaning, hauntingly scored and artfully photographed, this strange documentary marks the bridge as a mecca for self-inflicted death, while making us helpless observers of such horrific acts.
One of (author Neale Donald) Walsch's precepts is that you should never make a living doing something you hate. If I'd known that, I might not have felt obliged to sit through every excruciating minute of this sanctimonious infomercial.