While certain areas of the story were undoubtedly made from nothing, elaborated and dramatised for the sake of cinema — aren’t they all? — I didn’t think it was out of place, indeed 127 Hours is a truly brilliant film. Terrify, excruciating, thought-provoking and beautiful.

If you were dying, while still being a good person, at least to the knowledge of the writers, you would embellish your life and apologise for the little things you did, or did not do, while recording your last words to your loved ones: not calling your Mother enough, and letting the love of your life go because you weren’t there for them. These are amongst the few criticisms I’ve heard of this excellent piece of film-making. I believe them to be unjust.

I held off from reading reviews of this film, as I rightly suspected the story would be told, no doubt in full in the first review I read. Indeed as I took the bus home, I took out my copy of Little White Lies, and there it was in the first paragraph. It may be a true story, however that’s not to say that I, or anybody else knows the story, and so I have a simple fuck you don’t do that to any writer who decided it was okay to reveal it.

Aron Ralston loves extreme sports and lives life to the max, yet with far too much confidence and arrogance he takes chances by going on his adventures alone without telling anyone where he is. Music blaring in his ears, he races through the Blue John Canyon in Utah, far removed from most forms of life. A jump through a small canyon causes a rock to come lose and his arm is stuck. On going through his supplies, few in number as they were, he’s faced with a number of challenges, primarily keeping his sanity, while facing probable death.

He records messages to his parents, his sister, and jokes with himself about how stupid he was to go it alone. To spend so much time alone. This is the one thing that hit me in this movie:
I don’t want to be alone.

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