Danny Boyle, the Academy Award−winning director of "Slumdog Millionare" (2008), has done it again. The steady pulse of "127 Hours" never seems to slow down. An adaptation of Aron Ralston's 2004 account of his extreme sacrifice, "Between a Rock and a Hard Place," "127 Hours" describes the several−day period when accomplished climber Ralston (James Franco) became trapped in Utah's Blue John Canyon and had to cut off his right arm to escape.
The film recounts his struggle to escape, both physically and spiritually; as the film plays out, the audience gets a window into the depths of Ralston's mind. We leave the canyon with Ralston and gain access to his private memories and hallucinations, his childhood and young adult life, and we come to understand his regrets and his past relationships. Boyle transforms the placid Utah landscape into an oppressive space that grips viewers by the arm and does not let go.
In a groundbreaking performance, James Franco delivers as a hero forced to take a breath and reckon with the forces of nature. To prepare for the role, Franco turned to Ralston himself, who participated in the film's production and generously donated the videotapes he recorded in the canyon. These video clips become an important part of developing Ralston's character, and it is these darker, satirical moments of Franco's performance that stand out.
In the film these moments appear in dream−like instances where Boyle inserts his signature style of cinematography. The rapid cuts, saturated colors and use of split frame all serve to heighten the tension and involve his audience more intimately in the drama. Determined to create a heightened visual reality with different perspectives, Boyle brought on an additional cinematographer, Enrique Chediak, to work alongside his usual collaborator, Anthony Dod Mantle.
Perhaps most effective is Boyle's collaboration with the Oscar−winning composer of "Slumdog Millionaire," A. R. Rahman. The electric rhythm of the film's score is completely captivating, especially when combined with throwback hits used ironically, like Bill Withers' "Lovely Day." The opening song, Free Blood's "Never Hear Surf Music Again," incites the incessant urgency and anxiety characteristic of Boyle's style, its catchy beat drawing us immediately to Ralston's character. Through the soundtrack we are pleasantly distracted for at least a solid 20 minutes.
"127 Hours" is just as much a character drama as a thriller. Ralston tells himself, "This rock has been waiting for me my entire life," and we are made to understand why. Grounded in the Aristotelian tradition of a tragic hero with a tragic flaw, Ralston is deceptively simple: He is an archetype with an overdose of pride, prone to careless mistakes and resolved to isolation from his family and friends.
Initially seen as a cruel punishment by some fate−inspired power, Ralston's entrapment is essential to his own transformation. The film becomes a redemption story in which he tames his human weaknesses and reminds himself of his primitive roots; it is only because Ralston arms himself with these animal−like survival skills that he is able to make the decision to save his life.
The impossible and, for most of us, unimaginable dilemma Ralston must overcome is what many viewers who have not yet seen the film may remember from the news coverage surrounding Ralston's triumphant escape in 2003.
It would be easy and unfair to dismiss the film and not see it because of this scene, complete with graphic and gory details. It is certainly not for the squeamish, but it is acceptable, even for the most dedicated viewer, to look away. It is important to note, however, that the nearly four−minute scene is anything but gratuitous; by this point, we are rooting for him to do the deed already. Despite reports that a small number of viewers fainted in early screenings, Boyle works meticulously to prepare us and make us want it to happen.
There is a possibility that "127 Hours" will be known, at least in short, as the movie in which Franco does the unthinkable, but there is so much more to be appreciated. The combination of Franco's unbelievable performance and Boyle's original visual aesthetic and musical sensibility is epic.
Boyle transforms the potentially static, abstract fable of the true story and engenders an uneasy — but extraordinarily powerful — experience. Unlike Ralston, however, we are lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed, back to our own creature comforts, suppressing our animal instincts until the moment in which they might come in handy.
