127 Hours

I did not want to see this film because I already knew what was going to happen. I boycotted that Tom Hanks moon-orbit-ordeal film - you know the one - for the same reason, but I boycott plenty of T. Hanks films. I still believe the pinnacle of the Hanksian oeuvre was Bosom Buddies. But that is a subject for another day. Back to 127 Hours. I did not want to see this because I did not want to watch someone chop off their arm. Do I need to see such a thing? Of course I don't, but I did. I went to see the film because I was puzzled how the filmmakers could pull it off. No, not the arm. The film. Really. One guy in a cave with a rock and a multi-tool does not seem particularly cinematic. It's not Saw, it's not even Leatherman. Aron Ralston only had a low-budget multi-tool to save his life. The filmmakers of 127 Hours had merely one location and one actor to tell much of their story. James Franco was a fine choice as the actor. Franco ably portrays the entire spectrum Ralston's journey, from happy-go-lucky adrenaline junky, to the trapped warrior who sees the end and must come clean about his mistakes, to the triumphant survivor who finds liberation through sacrifice. It truly is a fantastic story of strength and perseverance. But it still isn't easy to watch someone clip their tendons with dull pliers. Hopefully, it never will be. In 127 Hours, the gruesome scene connects the audience with the incredible stakes of Ralston's survival scheme. To survive, Ralston had to be both an ingenious human and a hungry animal. To survive he had to overcome the impulse that aids in everyone's survival, pain.

I never saw Saw (it is not even on my radar). Saw is not a film about people, it is film about devices. There are the obvious torture devices used on the film's characters. But there are also visual devices and story devices intended to impact the film's audience. The intended effect is never cerebral, it is always physical - porn for the adrenal glands I suppose. Films like Saw prove that certain individuals will always seek the basest form of fulfillment. It is difficult not to stare at car wrecks, scars and fake breasts, but that doesn't mean we should seek out that form of visual stimuli.

127 Hours is a story of triumph and it is also a triumphant film. The filmmakers do not rely heavily on the flashback mode to flesh out the core of the story. This would be both easy and disappointing. Cinema may be the medium that best depicts spatial and temporal shifts, but the capabilities of the medium should not be employed at the expense of the story. In 127 Hours the camera remains close to Franco (as Ralston), never letting go of his harrowing experience in the very desolate crevasse. Ralston remembers, calls out, hallucinates and day dreams, but the camera never ventures too far or too long from the hole of Ralston's existence. When Ralston breaks free from his rock, the viewer awaits the journey outside, but does not exactly know where it will lead. There is no spoiler alert here, everyone knows what will happen. It is well documented. However, to know something and experience it first hand are two very different things indeed.

Suddenly

Suddenly, I found myself in the grasp of the quotidian. Suddenly, I braced against the rising tide of day planners, post-it notes, business cards and random memos held to the refrigerator with magnets. Suddenly, the grasp of the paper clip could no longer withstand the burden of the documents. Suddenly, the banker demanded a more consolidated form of organization, the financial planner suggested an integrated approach to fund management and the accountant maintained that no every measure of accountability could be simplified. Suddenly, the postman demanded a larger receptacle. Suddenly, the clock face, the digital read out, and the beep of the alarm replaced day and night. Suddenly, night and day became less relevant than weeks, months, years. Suddenly, my time was no longer my time. Suddenly, there was no time at all.

[Suddenly is still in progress and may be completed instantly.]