127 Hours

A young man, his face drained from five days of thirst and desert heat uses a rusty multitool to pull hard on a bloodied, exposed tendon in his broken arm.

The soundtrack jarrs, like fingernails screaming across the surface of a blackboard, and his face contorts into an agonised grimace but the stringy sinew refuses to give way.

Again he tries, but to no avail.

Desperation rought on his face he tries a third time. The raw ligament stretches, the audience peek out from behind their fingers and snap, the blade frees him from the sandy prison.

Such an uncomfotable and uncompromising scene shows both the great strength and weakness of Trainspotting director Danny Boyle’s latest effort, 127 Hours.

The film is the true story of mountain climber Aron Ralston’s ill-fated 2003 trip through Blue John Canyon in Utah and his subsequent efforts to save himself after a fallen boulder crushes and traps his right arm for more than five days.

As the hours tick by and water runs short the mechanical engineer examines his life and recalls friends, lovers (Harry Potter’s Clemence Poesy), family, and the two hikers (Joan of Arcadia’s Amber Tamblyn and Transiberrian’s Kate Mara) he met before his accident.

Unfortunately, the inevitable, grisley amputation scene will put off many people from seeing what is a very, very good movie.

But for those sanguine few seconds – which those of a more squamish disposition can always close their eyes for – 127 Hours is actually a very positive, life affirming story.

That such a scene does not overpower the whole piece is in the main down to a fine performance from Californian actor James Franco, on who’s solitary shoulders almost the film’s entire running time rest.

Probably best known for playing Peter Parker’s best friend Harry Osborn in Sam Raimi’s Spiderman trilogy, Franco manages to convey a nuanced portrait of a cocksure adventurer, who in an instant goes from master of his surroundings to victim of his own bravado.

Such a “confident” individual could easily come across as arrogant and alienating, but the surely soon to be Oscar nominated 32-year-old manages to draw you in by showing the fragility of a man who doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry while staring death squarly in the face.

That dry sense of humour is helped by having a director who knows how to handle wit of the slightly dark and dreamlike variety.

Indeed the first time Ralston considers the surgical solution was met by a palpable gasp from critics at London Film Festival – followed immediately by broad laughter at the resulting surreal payoff.

As gut wrenching as it is inspirational 127 Hours clearly isn’t the mass market popcorn fare of Slumdog Millionaire, though it is shot through with a similar sense of pitch black humour and, at least in it’s early stages, some of the same impish fun.

Hopefully audiences can get past the inevitable blood-letting and discover one of the finest films of this decade – though it might be an idea to bypass the concessions stand on the way in.

——————————————————————————————————————————–
An abridged version of this review was published in the Lincolnshire Echo on Thursday January 6  2011.

Leave a comment