The Thousands

We all know how this ends. In 2003, cavalier adrenalin junkie Aron Ralston (James Franco) escaped death in a remote Utah canyon by using a blunt utility tool to chop off his pinioned right arm. But Danny Boyle has turned grim existentialism into something by turns playful and thrilling. Based on Ralston’s memoir and incredibly faithful to his version of events, 127 Hours fleshes out his interior world.

Boyle’s kinetic, exuberant directorial style might draw accusations of one-trick-pony-ness, but it feels right here. Ralston was charming, funny and narcissistically obsessed with recording his exploits, so of course he’d react to his predicament by videotaping himself and retreating into his imagination. I also enjoyed Doyle’s sardonically knowing flourishes – notably, a shot of Ralston’s hand groping vainly, Thing-like, on a high shelf for a Swiss army knife that would’ve been useful in the circumstances.

Everything relies on Franco – just Franco – and he’s bloody magnificent. Subtle moods flit across his handsome face – shaggy charm; angry desperation; and, most movingly, weary soul-searching. When it comes, the momentous amputation is gory (you’ll flinch at the bones cracking) but oddly matter-of-fact. It’s not a loss, but a rebirth.