127 Hours

Danny Boyle’s latest, the sweeping, splendid “127 Hours,” is a grueling but rewarding exercise in arty grit. Boyle, a pop realist who seems committed to re-energizing movies, has made a movingly brutal film that makes “Slumdog Millionaire” look like “Bambi.”

Here, Boyle fully commits to the bleak beauty of his material. Even when his camera is peppering the story with a kind of manic artistry, Boyle keeps the movie grounded in the dark predicament of his protagonist.

The movie concerns the true story of Aron Ralston (James Franco), an American hiker and amateur daredevil who, in 2003, went hiking in Utah for some sporty solitude. While climbing, a boulder falls on his arm and traps him there. Ralston, shocked, is trapped there for five days (with a limited resource of food and water) before cutting off his right arm.

Don’t worry. I’m not spoiling anything. As you’ll see, Boyle’s film isn’t about what happens, but why. Ralston, confident but selfish, confronts his own demons while trapped, and they come in the form of family, friends and acquaintances he never gave much consideration to. The film, however, isn’t about punishment but redemption. Ralston needs to see how much his life is worth before finding the strength to take his own arm.

The film spends most of its time on Franco, who is up for the challenge. Franco is nothing short of wonderful, inhabiting Ralston’s terror and regret with a kind of naturalistic, un-showy poetry that gets right to the heart of “127 Hours.” The film isn’t much interested in other people, which is fine, in some ways, because the film isn’t about them but about their importance to Ralston.

Anthony Don Mantle’s cinematography is oddly beautiful and the most startling shots come when not focused on the Utah terrain. A flashback to a sort of winter rave party is so unusual and evocative, the film feels fleetingly sentimental.

Boyle’s direction is characteristically overloaded but his intensity is used to good effect, giving his film an immediate, unshakeable sense of urgency. Boyle goes down water tubes, sidles across landscapes, falls into blue waters alongside its characters. But he settles down, too, letting his scenes speak for themselves. One scene, in which Ralston tries to recapture a fallen knife, is low-key but almost unbearably suspenseful.

The scene in which Ralston cuts off his arm is unflinching and will be too intense for some to stomach. However, the film wouldn’t have had as much of an impact had it not portrayed the scene with such brutal honesty.

When the last act arrives, Ralston makes his way across the Utah terrain, and the film’s profound sense of liberation and existential anguish is given magical beauty by the band Sigur Ros, blaring on the soundtrack. Ralston, bloody and battered, finally understands the preciousness of life and his understanding is treated with awe-inspiring honesty. We’re left breathless in wake of his redemption, which, after 95 minutes, is hard-earned.