by Duncan of Kinematoscope
Before the Oscar nominations were announced, Danny Boyle's 127 Hours seemed to be losing steam, and rapidly.
Gone were the reports of standing ovations, stunned and speechless festival audiences. The King's Speech had stolen all of the feel-good bandwagon, and all 127 Hours had left was James Franco's good buzz and a distant memory of a few people fainting at screenings.
I even left it off my Best Picture predictions, opting for the growing buzz of The Town instead. Shows what I know: not only did 127 Hours make the BP cut, it scored six nominations total. Fox Searchlight, the distributor with a history of indie Oscar success, even had the foresight to plan a re-release of 400+ theaters on January 28th, three days after the good news.
But we can all agree its prospects on Oscar night are not that of Slumdog Millionaire, the Best-Picture-winning sensation that marked the previous collaboration of Boyle, Fox Searchlight, screenwriter Simon Beaufoy, and producer Christian Colson. But both films are inspiring, soaring tales of triumph that wowed critics and won over audiences. So what changed this time? Why isn't 127 Hours poised to steal Best Picture from The Social Network instead of The King's Speech? It's also a true story, after all.
Because it's subtle, that's why. Also a dude saws his own arm off (uh, spoilers?).
Boyle gets in his share of spectacle, sure- there's a reason he's helping with the opening of the London Olympics next year. 127 Hours opens with a hugely loud mix of A. R. Rahman's score and multiple split-screens flickering on and around the frame- there are images of large crowds and sporting events cut in for some reason. It's a whirlwind of noise and activity, just so we can get our heart rates up as we watch Aaron Ralston (Franco) wake up and prepare to go mountain biking. He checks his messages, he fills his water bottle, he drives out to the hills and takes a nap to wait for the sun to finish rising. It's not terribly exciting stuff, but the film tells us: things are happening.
Next, Ralston bikes around for a bit to more roaring soundtrack, and pow-wows with two hikers (Kate Mara and Amber Tamblyn)- charming them with his out-sized personality, and the effortless affability that James Franco brings to every role. He shows them a hidden pool, they invite him to a party the next night, and they part ways.
Then he of course gets his arm stuck, and nothing goes the way you'd expect. Reading the synopsis, this seemed like a distant cousin of Slumdog Millionaire in a way: a young man in a high-pressure situation reflects on his life. So it seemed natural for 127 Hours to present flashbacks in an episodic way, much like the real-life Aaron Ralston's memoir does, alternating chapters between childhood and his famous entrapment.
But Boyle takes things in a quieter direction. The first day or so is spent with Aaron in the ravine, rationing his supplies and rigging a harness with his climbing gear so he doesn't have to stand awkwardly the whole time. He cries for help, he stretches his foot out to feel sunlight. He notices birds flying overhead. His first flashbacks, not framed in any way by voice-over, are pragmatic- he thinks of ducking his call from his mother, and the short conversation with a coworker: both times he could have told someone where he was going, but didn't.
He eventually thinks of his childhood, but we see only a fragment, a short scene presented in bright light as if through the haze of memory. He doesn't have structured flashbacks to particularly telling episodes- the only exception might be when he remembers a past love (Clemence Poesy) the night she broke up with him, which isn't too far of a stretch, given his situation. Everything else is a just a random moment, no more than a thought. Here's a telling fact: Lizzy Caplan, a wonderful actress by all accounts, is cast as Ralston's sister but she only appears once and doesn't speak a single line! Treat Williams plays his dad and barely has any lines either.
That leaves it all to Franco, and he more than carries the experience of the film. A highlight is when, with his mind starting to fray, he hosts an imaginary talkshow in which he interviews himself, the 'host' character mocking him relentlessly for thinking of himself as a superhero that doesn't need to rely on anyone else.
But subtlety in storytelling aside, Boyle doesn't ever lose speed, with soaring overhead shots, rapid-edit sequences reminiscent of Requiem for a Dream (including a shot inside the water bottle!), and a pulse-pounding dream sequence in which Aaron is freed by a torrential rain. It makes the climactic sequence, in which he finally breaks his arm and cuts through it with a dull multipurpose tool, all the more thrilling.
And that's the other issue, the other big hurdle. As well-established as awards-maker's distaste for subtlety may be, it's clear they care even less for graphic scenes of self-amputation. I think that's why the furor for 127 Hours was a flash in the pan, while the mass-appeal of other contenders has taken over. The shock-factor of the scene might be slightly overblown, especially in today's age of nonstop graphic violence, but it is realistic, and it is, well, intense. It's a great piece of makeup effects work by Tony Gardner, and a great job by Franco making us forget that it's not really his arm in the first place.
127 Hours succeeds in being life-affirming by limiting itself in scope to Aaron Ralston's life. It's not preachy, or ham-fisted, or contrite. It's probably a little too loud (it could have just been my movie theater) and a little too graphic for most people.
It reminds me a little of 2007's Into The Wild, another film hindered during awards season by a basis in real life that some people found a bit macabre for their tastes. But in the end, it's just a straightforward tale of survival, present with Danny Boyle's trademark flash. It doesn't have the epic...epicness that Best Picture winners seem to require these days, or the surge of white guilt that Slumdog Millionaire had (heyo! Sorry, that was The Dark Knight snub year, still bitter). But it's still a wonderful piece of filmmaking, as the technical branches of the Academy verified.
In the age of ten Best Picture nominees, I should never have counted it out.
