Done in 60 seconds: 127 hours review

Last night - cheating on my local haunt (GFT) - I galavanted to Ashton Lane to catch Danny Boyle's new one-man journey, 127 hours, at the Grosvenor.  Here's the verdict in 60 seconds. 

'Never forces you to feel.
You just do.' 

First, my expectations: Tragic hero falls down hole ('oh fuck!'), regretful flashbacks ('I've been such a dick'), gory amputation ('this is what I deserve' *hack hack*), catharsis ('now I'm a good guy' *smile smile*).

The end.

And it's kinda all of that, but then unpredictability was never going to be its strong point, narratively speaking. And of course Boyle is no stranger to the flashback and hallucination sequence, it certainly boasts that signature trippiness we've come to expect from him post-Trainspotting. The surprise, however, lies in its lack of self-indulgence. There's a narrative fragility. A liveness. Like you're watching a documentary; you know damn well that wildebeest is up shit creek, but you watch anyway. Just in case. Then comes an amputation. It's gory, but no gorier than a ferocious mauling.


Then there's the visual scrumptiousness (apologies, I've not had my dinner). From the panoramic shots of Canyonlands, Utah, to Boyle's quirky mise-en-scène in the canyon. It's visually remarkable.   

An edgy battle of will that never forces you to feel. You just do. Forget DVD, this film demands cinematic viewing. If you liked Castaway and/or Into the Wild, charge on. If not, dinnae bother. 

filmdocta prescribes 4 stars.