"Oops."

Rating: 10/10 (31 January 2011)

A film involving its protagonist being stuck in a stationary, claustrophobic environment for the majority of its running time would hardly seem a likely candidate for one of the most kinetic and vibrant films of the year, yet the fact that 127 Hours masters such a contradiction proves testament to the nearly peerless abilities of director Danny Boyle. Working with yet another unorthodox premise, Boyle adapts the episode of Aron Ralston's unforgettable canyoning accident and captivity, and somehow, skirting potential obstacles with subject matter (how to work such a visually stagnant premise cinematically) and audience controversy (early reports of hospitalizations in reaction to the unflinchingly graphic climax) to emerge with yet another unexpectedly triumphant and inspiring cinematic triumph.
What is truly impressive is the sense of Boyle contemplating and discarding every potential attempt to work shortcuts with his subject matter, allowing himself to cut away from Ralston's rock-bound captivity with flashbacks and hallucinogenic interludes, but only to a tasteful extent, mirroring Ralston's stream of consciousness while never shying away from the sheer numbing and eroding devastation of being trapped in a solitary, claustrophobic environment for such a duration (the film's title, rather than catchy and gratuitous, feels painfully well chosen upon retrospect). Similarly, Boyle adamantly refuses to bank on the film's two main 'set pieces' - Ralston's being trapped by the rock, and eventually freeing himself - structurally or cinematically (despite a gleeful poke at expectations as Ralston scrabbles for, but neglects to bring, his swiss army knife on his expedition). Rather than Ralston's being trapped being subjected to the expected, clichéd, slow motion, horrified hush, Boyle delivers it as an offhand, abrupt surprise, Ralston himself seemingly taking minutes to make sense of his predicament. In this vein, there remains an emphasis on immediacy and authenticity of experience throughout, before, during and after Ralston's entrapment, with minuscule, throwaway details such as Ralston's methodical laying the contents of his backpack in front of him to best strategize an escape proving just as poignant as anticipated scenes of screaming and sobbing.
However, the true shock is, for a picture with such an ominous reputation, just how ultimately rewarding and frequently enjoyable a watch Boyle's film is, capturing moments of humour (sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes side-splitting) throughout and, in spite of itself, gearing up for an enormously inspiring and uplifting finale. While any other director would likely have succumbed to the temptation of drinking in the gruesomeness of Ralston's escape like a horror movie, Boyle instead frames it within a context of such engrossing introspection, contemplation and decisive stoicism that the graphic footage itself feels, rather than a disturbing money shot, almost besides the point, a mere means to an end in a buildup of overpowering affirmation and propulsion. As wrenching, gruesome and entirely consuming as the film is, the viewer is far more likely to leave the cinema feeling destroyed but cathartically cleansed as traumatized.
Similarly, for a film involving extreme claustrophobia, Boyle's film dances with freedom and levity technically, as DP Anthony Dod Mantle's cameras careen around with wild abandon, exploding out of Ralston's tight space to exquisite, expansive extreme wide-angles of the surrounding canyon before plunging back in, and composer A.R. Rahman's musical score bubbles and flits with verve and more solemn reflection. If there is any fault to be found in the film, it lies in Boyle's arguable overstatement of the film's key message, that Ralston finds his predicament ultimately attributable only to his own cockiness and carelessness (the film's explosive beginning captures Ralston in a hyperactive split-screen, juxtaposing him against footage of crowds as if taking excessive pains to stress the alienation soon to come), but even this proves largely excusable if only for the sake of quieting potential banal complaints reducing the film to gratuitous violence.
To say that James Franco's performance is career defining would be an understatement, as he wrestles the difficulties of carrying an entire picture while also in a stationary environment with staggering, understated ease. Franco musters such incredible energy in the early sequences of his bustling about like an over-caffeinated surfer that to watch his slow transition into hysterics, self-reevaluation and stubborn resourcefulness proves all the more crushing yet endearingly powerful as result (a sequence of Ralston grilling himself in the style of a talk show interview as to the culpability of his accident epitomizes Franco's incredible gift for charisma, comedy and understated drama simultaneously). While far too naturalistic and un-showy to warrant many (very deserving) award chances, suffice to say that Franco's performance deserves any quantity of accolades and praise.
Fuelled by incredible energy, power, and sheer wrenching emotional impact, Boyle's 127 Hours proves a work of staggering innovation and genius whether taken as character study or circumstantial thematic meditation. Horrifying yet deeply uplifting in a single breath and bursting with consummate technical and dramatic skill, Boyle's latest proves yet another unforgettable masterpiece of realism and cinematic dazzle, worth undertaking for all capable of sidestepping squeamishness - the triumphant result is well worth it.
-9.5/10