If you saw the most recent episode of NBC's Community, you probably remember the character Abed repeatedly using the term "bottle episode." The term, which refers to narrative structures taking place entirely in a single location, is a staple of TV, but on film it can be seen as unflattering. Film is expected to be bigger and encompass more, hence why we rarely see bottle films. In 2010, however, we got two: the Ryan Reynolds fictional thriller Buried, and now Danny Boyle's 127 Hours, which tells the true story of Aron Ralston, who found himself trapped between two walls of rock after a large rock fell on his arm.
The story, adapted from Ralston's book about his experience by Boyle and Slumdog Millionaire scribe Simon Beaufoy, was always going to be a challenge to tell, and yet Boyle's hyperactive visual style makes a surprisingly good device to depict Ralston's story. The film, which runs 90 minutes, sets up Aron as a careless, albeit knowledgeable, adventurer, and Boyle's use of triple split-screen lends an energy to the photography, even in scenes as mundane as Ralston packing his bag as he leaves to hike. Quite efficiently, the film takes us through Aron biking and hiking, as well as an encounter with two young women (Amber Tamblyn and Kate Mara), before bringing us to that pivotal moment when Ralston slips and becomes trapped.
Of course, this could have been the point where the movie ground to a halt and become tedious. Thankfully, Boyle's style comes through in surprising ways, making Ralston's dreams, memories, fantasies, and hallucinations come vividly to life. These moments help expand the film, and keep the good hour or so spent with Ralston trapped from lagging, and they provide little glimpses into Ralston's past. There's also the brilliant use of music and sound. AR Rahman's thumping, non-orchestral score works well with the images of the barren desert and massive canyons and rock formations. More impressive is the sound design. In the pivotal scene, in which Ralston performs amputation on his arm, the use of a fuzzy rock chord in moments of sharp pain, combined with images of Ralston screaming, magnifies the intensity to brilliant and harrowing effect.
Of course, helping this all along is the film's star, Mr. Franco. As the film's only real character, it all comes down to Franco's ability to make Ralston worth caring about, and he does it. Though the first third or so of the trapped portion involves little dialogue, Franco manages to communicate the character's frustration and fear with skill. And when his character becomes more convinced of his own doom, the performance turns magnificent, particularly in a scene in which Aron pretends that he is on a talk show, and does the voice of every "character." It's a remarkable (almost) one-man show that owes a lot to Franco's portrayal. And it no doubt helps that Ralston isn't the sort of person who needs to be mimicked; Franco is able to play the character through emotion alone, and without any sort of mimicry or vocal/facial idiosyncrasies. Ralston could have been a fictional creation, and it wouldn't have made the film or performance any less striking.
That's not to say that the film is perfect, however. While Boyle's style is undeniably attention-grabbing and lively, at times it takes us too far outside the realm of the canyon, reducing the feeling of claustrophobia. And Boyle and Beaufoy's screenplay, even with its flashbacks and hallucinations, doesn't quite fill in pre-accident Ralston's character enough. Ralston's character arc feels diminished, because we don't have enough to come to a conclusion about his life before the accident, and how the accident is "changing him." Even the moment when Ralston first falls feels somewhat devoid of horror because there's little we know or feel about Ralston.
But even with the issues with style and screenplay, there's no denying that Boyle's latest is a strong effort, and a testament to the fact that bottle stories are worthy of being told on the big screen. And that's especially true when they contain the strength of acting as shown by Franco, and the general level of craftsmanship by Boyle and his crew.
Grade: B/B+
