127 Hours in 94 Riveting Minutes

The other night I had a dream, or rather a nightmare, that our cat was trapped in an unplugged microwave for three days until I was able to break the door open and rescue her. Her eyes were bloodshot and her tired, sweaty body was bruised and bloodied in a few spots; her right hind leg was stripped of flesh and fur almost to the bone. As I woke up in a hazy state, it didn't take long for me to peg 127 Hours as the inspiration for my subconscious. Thankfully I don't have dreams like this often, and our cat is just fine, but this movie has haunted my mind for a week not only because of the nightmarish, climactic battle between mind and body, but also because of the questions this incredibly simple story raised about relationships, independence, family, regret, determination, and even technology.

Much more than the nerve-wracking "thriller" I expected, 127 Hours is a tender, even beautiful tribute to the resiliency of the human spirit. It's a film that jars you awake from the tedious monotony of the cinematic landscape, engaging instead of entertaining and not compromising for the sake of your viewing comfort. So does the Saw franchise, one could argue, but while I've never seen any of those movies, I've also never been under the impression that they have the artistic, acting, or even comic merit exhibited in 127 Hours.

I've established myself as a Slumdog Millionaire champion, but I might just as well profess my admiration for Danny Boyle's entire filmography, including The Beach, which I enjoyed despite the atrocious reviews it received. Personally I never find the substance of Boyle's films overshadowed by the style of them - on the contrary I don't think they would be nearly as rich without the creative risks that he takes (yes, even the video game scene in The Beach). While 127 Hours predictably features flashback and dream sequences to illustrate Aron Ralston's mental state, it was Boyle's creative use of images and sound effects that really pulled me in.

As the viewer, my senses were heightened in the same way they might have been were I trapped in Ralston's position. I felt thirsty, cold, and sore, like I could see more clearly and hear more acutely. If you've ever fasted before, you know of the heightened sense of awareness your body develops, almost like a sixth sense, and I felt Boyle really tapped into that mind-body disconnect. Not surprisingly, this mental madness is also portrayed in the minds of drug users in a number of films, most similarly in Boyle's own Trainspotting and Darren Aronofsky's Requiem for a Dream. The camera is framed in impossible places (e.g., the bottom of a water bottle), the sound effects are exaggeratedly amplified (e.g., the slurping from said water bottle), and the slightest hint of a daydream turns into an extended, vividly rendered fantasy (e.g., the thirst-quenching commercial montage). All of this results in a very engrossing viewing experience, and for me it adds to the tone of the story instead of distracting from it (which, ironically, I felt A.R. Rahman's soundtrack was occasionally guilty of doing).

But this is all very technical, and 127 Hours didn't only impress me on a technical level. I followed the Ralston news when it happened years ago, but never considered or expected that it would make such a compelling parable on screen. I was in awe of Ralston's optimism and even-keeled mental state as he expected and planned for his death, while at the same time never really accepting it would happen. His predicament created the ultimate "What would you do?" scenario, but in 127 Hours, Boyle also makes you wonder, "What would you think about?" and, chillingly, "How long would you last?". Having dissected a human cadaver before, I thought I might be able to handle the graphic amputation scene. I was wrong, and I had to look away when Ralston violently tugged at his nerve (I remember hearing him in interviews saying that was the worst part, and I still just can't believe he didn't pass out). As difficult as those few minutes were to watch, what had me even more on edge were the minutes prior to his entrapment, the horror of knowing what he didn't know as he joyfully skipped into Blue John Canyon. 

And that foreshadowing of fate, that underlying possibility of what might happen to anyone at any given time - that's what has been lingering with me from this film. I don't know whether Aron Ralston wakes up every morning and thinks about his experience in that canyon, making a conscious decision to "live each day like it was your last", or any other such cliché. But the decisions he made in the days before he set off alone, to not answer a phone call, or to take a particular relationship for granted, or to not give someone his full attention who deserved it, those are the things that haunt me. I've been guilty of these same habits (in addition to being fiercely, stubbornly independent), and I expect many others are as well. And while the physical pain of being trapped under a rock would be debilitating, I fear the mental anguish of regret would be worse. I'm not necessarily living differently than I was a week ago, but I'm thinking about my life a little differently, and this Thanksgiving I hope to be consciously appreciative of the people around me on a daily basis.