127 Hours

After the success of Slumdog Millionaire, director Danny Boyle had the pick of any number of big budget projects. But instead of seeking massive financial support for his next project he gambled on a groundswell of goodwill to make a smaller-scale film – the kind that would only get the green light in the wake of his recent success.

That film is 127 Hours, the true story of Aron Ralston’s horrific act of self preservation in the Blue John Canyon, Utah. In the blaze of publicity for the film, it’s hard to believe that anyone might be unfamiliar with the story, but if you are...

Ralston (James Franco) is an adrenaline junkie who heads into the desert alone on his mountain bike. After a nasty fall down a narrow gorge an enormous boulder lands on his right arm, crushing it and trapping him. Following a period of (you guessed it) 127 hours he takes the only action which could possibly save his life: he cuts off his own arm. With a blunt pen knife.

The film opens with a hyper-kinetic series of images: utilising a 24-style split screen and thudding dance music it instantly notifies the audience of the high-octane lifestyle Ralston leads. It also quickly establishes his reckless nature – as he packs for a weekend away we see his water bottle overflowing, a utility knife he forgets to pack and, most importantly, a phone call from his mother which he ignores. This failure to alert anyone to his plans is crucial to what will unfold.

As Ralston crashes through a largely deserted desert on his bike it’s made blindingly clear that he’s an adrenaline junkie. Bouncing through the beautiful but barren country he tumbles from his bike, bounces back to his feet and moves on again – with music blaring on his walkman the whole time. A chance encounter with two hikers leads to a lesson in how charming he can be as they strip off and bathe in crystal clear waters but he’s soon on his way again –determined to be alone and enjoy the terrain.

The moment his accident occurs is fantastically well shot. Having skidded down the side of a narrow gulley, a huge rock lands on his forearm and hand, pinning him to the side of the gorge. For a moment there is perfect silence and stillness. After the loud, brash opening it’s a brief period of respite which marks the end of the film’s first act and the beginning of Ralston’s desperate fight to first stay sane and then stay alive.

It’s easy to imagine that a film about a static man with nobody to talk to might be slightly dull, regardless of the circumstances which led to it. But that would be to underestimate the facts of the story, the excellent direction of Boyle and the brilliant performance of Franco. Seeing the attempts Ralston makes to free himself, the ingenious ways he devises to support his weight and the lengths he goes to to keep himself warm is absolutely fascinating. And these decisions are often supported by a commentary provided by Ralston himself – thanks to the dramatic device of him having a video camera with him. This allows Boyle to add a certain amount of exposition to proceedings as Ralston records messages for his loved ones, explaining both his state of mind and actions. It almost seems too convenient as a plot device, but as it really did happen it would be foolish for the filmmakers not to take advantage.

There are some moments which fail to hit the mark so effectively – occasional flashback sequences or hallucinations seem a little showy or out-of-place. But all give an insight into Ralston’s thought processes and chart his descent into dehydration and desperation. Perhaps a little judicious editing might have weeded out one or two of these sequences and created a slightly more polished end product. But this is a minor quibble.

The ‘water-cooler moment’ will obviously be Ralston hacking through his whole arm. Admittedly, it’s pretty excruciating. But it’s not particularly graphic. There is a (literally) nerve shredding moment, plenty of blood and some nasty sound effects. But the dramatic power of the scene lies almost as much in what is not shown.

127 Hours was always likely to be a great film. The source material is rich and dramatic and almost begs the audience to ask themselves how they’d react in the same situation. The direction is great – Boyle always uses music effectively (although Dido does crop up here), knows how and when to change the pacing and dynamic, and his flair for the visual (particularly the spectacular blues and yellows of the desert) becomes more apparent with each film he makes. The lead performance is strong too: Franco is charming and believable, despite the character’s initial bull-headedness – the kind of role which most actors would give their right arm for...