127 Hours

To me, mountain climbing and rock traversing are primarily the adventures of assholes who have yet to fully discover the pleasures of drink, weed, chronic masturbation and plotting revenge. I firmly hold to the belief that whatever ills befall these hubris driven thrill-seekers are not only well deserved, but strikingly just.

Which is why my viewing of 127 Hours this evening introduced a bit of an ironic, survivalist puzzler.

Shackled to a theater chair by only my right wrist, would I willingly gnaw my own appendage off mid-forearm to escape having to watch another Danny Boyle film?

The rhetorical answer was, thankfully, "no". After Slumdog Millionaire, I came alarmingly close.

127 Hours was not that bad. It had plenty of problems, but was nowhere near the realm of inducing self-mutilation.

I ended up more angry and frustrated with the main character than I did Boyle. The director tried very hard (albeit in an inappropriately stylized way) to tell the true story of this moron who goes rock climbing and canyoneering in the middle of nowhere, alone, with the most minimal of provisions and a reckless disregard for safety. That he was an actual mechanical engineer is still shocking to me. While it might explain his egomania and resourcefulness, I suggest that his alma-mater, Carnegie Mellon, begin a "common sense" studies minor for haughty adventurers. The prick was wearing headphones and blaring music while scaling dangerous terrain in severely uninhabited territory.

I immediately flashed back to the hippie pinhead of Into the Wild. At least that guy had an ideology about him. He was going off the grid. It was largely political and somewhat cool to say "fuck it all", live off the land, kill your own meat, gather nuts and berries and find some Waldonian peace in your isolation. The X-Games tool that this story revolves around was just a Phish-fan and climbing enthusiast with an energy drink mentality and a video camera. And, gaboing!, no cell phone.

Hence, my lack of sympathy. A coldness born toward "athletes" who, having likely failed at every organized sport humankind has to offer, trod their wimpy-ass selves out into the rough terrains of nature to prove their questionable manhood. And all because, busy with their BMXs and skateboards, they refused to learn how to properly throw or kick a ball.

NATURE IS NOT YOUR PLAYPEN!

It's unmanageable, treacherous, unforgiving, itchy and filled with animals and insects that see you only as an enemy or food.

It's a lot like sex, come to think of it.

So, despite these obvious perils, this genius wanders out and subsequently loses his ability to rub one out with two fists.

Briefly, he is rock climbing in an area known as Blue John Canyon (proving nothing good ever happens in Utah) and slips into a crevasse. A large rock follows his unplanned descent and wedges his right arm against the wall of the formation. He cannot wrench it free. In pain, his desperate situation is magnified by his lack of supplies and remoteness to any source of assistance. After calmly assessing his predicament, he begins to lose his shit. He turns on the video camera (we must document everything now in our post modern world) and, in a truly disturbing scene, he witnesses his own freak out on replay. This helps him collect himself and he starts to practically address his options. He rigs a suspension system with his ropes so that he does not fall while resting. He absorbs the scant sunlight (fifteen minutes per day) creeping into the hole to stay warm. He begins chipping at the stone with his multi-purpose implement. He sings, keeps an ongoing narrative and recalls past memories to remain sane in his isolation.

Why, with dwindling water, little food, exhaustion, impending madness, and gangrene setting in on his crushed arm, he did not consider hacking it off earlier when he had the strength is beyond me. That act must be done quickly, with a sharp knife and a clear head. There is no dawdling in amputation. We get attached to our limbs I guess. No pun intended.

One of the interesting aspects of the film is in the portrayal of the unforeseen horrors that arose from his circumstance.

I could certainly relate to the annoyances of keeping one's contact lenses moist, the rationing of food and water, ants discovering an immobile food source, harsh desert cold, the necessity in having to drink your own urine, the inability to masturbate (it did come up), the impracticality of urination and defecation, and, of course, looking down at your precious, mangled limb constantly and coming to the realization that you are going to have to hack the thing off (rather slowly and awkwardly) in order to save your life.

Boyle's approach is a little off key, using fancy visuals when the direct documentation of the event would have sufficed in elucidating the gravity and creepiness of it. There is also more product placement in this film than I have seen since Mac & Me. Producer/director Boyle, obviously aware that a 94 minute film starring, essentially, one person (James Franco) and set in primarily one locale would be box office poison (see Buried), decided to get his money up front with some of the most vulgar commercialism imaginable. I'm surprised there wasn't a Prius and a bottle of Excedrin PM just out of our protagonist's reach at the bottom of the canyon. And a helpful Anglo-accented gecko (who comes to him in delusional dreams) to tell him everything was going to be alright if he was properly insured.

Which is why Boyle (for many other reasons of flamboyancy as well) cannot be considered a good filmmaker. Shallow Grave, Trainspotting and 28 Days Later are distant memories.

Centuries ago in cinematic time.

Yet, the moral of this story, beyond mistrusting current hacks in the once-thriving British cinema, is - if you see a guy wandering out of the rock and desert of Utah, gripping a bloody stump and screaming for help, pull out your gun and drop him. It's probably not an educated engineer from Carnegie Mellon in need, but more likely a deranged Mormon in the fever throes of devoutness looking for his magical underwear, a stone in a hat, and another child to rape and enslave.

Nature is bestial. Act accordingly.

Comments

[jjmitch21]

Thanks. I just burned this one but will now mail it to my sister to watch. I'm not really into rock climbng douchebags or amputation either. I did really like Into the Wild, though.

JM