Review : '127 Hours' (2011)

You'd have to have been living down a canyon (hur hur hur) to not know that Danny Boyle's 127 Hours' climax involves James Franco amputating his own arm. Don't let that put you off though. I loved this largely one-man show based on adrenaline-junkie Aron Ralston's book chronicling the 5-and-a-bit days he spent trapped in a canyon, a bolder crushing his right forearm.

We are invited in to Aron's world with fast-paced camera-work, reminiscent of extreme sports videos, as he goes off for a daring weekend in Utah's Canyonland National Park (thanks Wikipedia, you always tell the truth) accompanied with only basic equipment, his camera, not-enough-water and a cheap pocket pen-knife. Most importantly of all he hasn't let anyone know where he's going. Oh Aron, you silly arse. Having hung out with 2 sexy fellow hikers for a couple of hours I knew we were getting close to seeing his fall and the beginning of his nightmare. Here are some of my top fears : heights and falling from them, being trapped, being unable to get hold of anyone when trapped...you get the picture. 127 Hours taps in to many strongly held fears that ordinary people have (not weird people like Mr Sooz who immediately said "I want to go there!" when the credits began to roll) and despite the fact that 80% of the film is spent trapped in the canyon with Aron, the story fair rollicks along (yeah, that's right, it rollicks). It's exhilarating with a plot that has as many twists and moments of jeopardy as a Bourne movie.

I've been a fan of James Franco since seeing him in Freaks and Geeks many years ago. The guy is good looking enough to get by on that alone but is also one of the best young actors around. Whilst Danny Boyle has presented us with a dazzling display of movie-making, the film would be nothing without Franco's tour-de-force, finally allowing him to make his mark as a mainstream leading man and rightfully netting him an Oscar nom. Franco's Ralston is charming, funny, cocky and headstrong and later incredibly vulnerable. Whether he's screaming for help, hallucinating about thirst-quenching thunderstorms or hacking in to his arm with a pound-shop pocket-knife, he is scarily real. All the fantastic film-making in the world wouldn't matter a jot if we didn't like Aron - and we do. I cried girly tears at the end and as I glanced across to the iceberg that is Mr Sooz I noticed he looked half-moved too. He's a sucker for handsome, adventurous men so I'm sure Franco has been in a few of his fantasies since our cinema trip (I don't mind, he needs an outlet).

The relentless pace of Aron's final few hours in the canyon are exhausting and when he finally removes his arm it's not so much disgusting as it is a relief. The worst moments for me were when he was growing more and more dehydrated. Just sitting in the cinema I started longing for an icy cup of Coke (caffeine-free obviously, coz I'm so allergic), such was the power of Boyle's imagery and Franco's parched performance and appearance.

I'd expected 127 Hours to be visceral and frightening but I hadn't expected it to be so human and moving, strange as I knew it to be focused on one man. I highly recommend whether you're squeamish or not. It also taught me that drinking your own wee is probably disgusting. Probably.