Review: 127 Hours (2010)

Danny Boyle's 127 Hours, the much-publicized new film chronicling the five-plus day entrapment of real-life climber Aron Ralston, is a restless, intensified and semi-grueling display of inventive close-quarters filmmaking, the kind of which Mr. Boyle thrives on. 

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But a film like this shouldn't merely be measured by and judged upon its technical affluence as a genre piece, but rather on its success as a work of considerable emotional impact dealing with not only the inspirational triumph of the human will, but a lonely 27 year-old's refusal to be left unheard.

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Yet where the film thrives (and Mr. Boyle's touch is most evident) is in its numerous pockets of split-screen sensory fulmination - the sandpaper terrain brushing against the fingertips, the gargling of an ever depleting water supply, the sharpness and shock of pain, etc. - rather than in its start-and-stop, time-sifting segments of self-critique and remembrance. (In these moments, Boyle's reality-altering images flirt with both poignancy and cliché.)
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But even with a performance of significant warmth and aloof wild-man intensity from James Franco (and a refreshingly great deal of comic relief), the film remains mostly successful in its stinging survivalist details and desperate daily routines rather than in its psychological viewpoints and near-death premonitions. 
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Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy (credited as co-writers) do a nice job of building up Aron's self-image as he moves from hapless climber to social outcast, but even with a great deal of man vs. nature symbolism and supernatural overtones, the film remains too mechanical and muffled to be truly felt.

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And thus, something is amiss here between the liberating self-discovery at hand and Mr. Boyle's deafening sensory amplification (including that unfortunate guitar-riff soundtrack) to the point where the two eventually butt heads, in effect dulling and diluting the spiritual resonance of Aron's miraculous survival story.

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All I know is what I feel and after the brief amount of time that has elapsed since leaving the theater, the only images and feelings that indelibly remain are that of a mutilated right arm and the lingering quotient of queasiness. [C+]