Last weekend, I went to see the movie, 127 Hours, with my two girlfriends, Maureen and Shannon. Like almost everyone in the theater, we were familiar with the much publicized story of Aron Ralston, the climber whose arm became pinned between a boulder and a rock wall in the Canyonlands. After 5 days of unimaginable suffering, Ralston cut off his own arm to escape.
We saw the movie at an arts theater in Indianapolis. There, it is common for a host to welcome the audience and give a brief description of the movie’s plot and background.
“If there is anything at all that you might need during the movie,” the host began. “We have someone right outside of the theater to help you.”
I whispered to my friends, “What does anyone need in the middle of a movie other than the bathroom or popcorn? I prefer to take care of those things myself.”
After reminding everyone to turn off their cell phones, the host reiterated, “Remember, the manager is right outside the door if you need anything at any time.”
“She sure is dramatic,” Maureen said to me.
“So enjoy 127 Hours,” the host finished. “And don’t forget we are here for you if you need us.”
“Weird lady,” we all agreed, shaking our heads and laughing.
127 Hours begins as Ralsted prepares for a weekend adventure alone in the wilderness. We, the audience, get to watch as he does everything wrong.
Ralsted doesn’t tell anyone where he is going, or what time to expect him back. He leaves behind his good pocket knife. He takes very little food or water with him into the back country. He takes no warm clothing.
As the movie progresses, the audience knows two things.
1) Somewhere in the middle of a remote maze of canyons, a boulder will fall and trap Ralsted by the arm.
2) Ralsted will be stuck there for 127 hours until he finally works up the nerve, adrenaline, delirium, fear, courage to free himself the only way he can.
It’s do or die time.
As Ralsted jumped into the brutal and excruciating act of amputating his own arm with a small, dull knife, the tension in the audience exploded. People squirmed, squealed, coughed, shouted, and disappeared down into their seats.
Nowadays, it’s difficult to find a film that doesn’t go over the top with graphic bloodshed. But Ralsted’s hellish ordeal down in that crevice is unlike any shallow shoot ‘em up movie . We see ourselves in Ralsted; his trapped arm is our own.
Just as the scene came to a climax, a long and agonizing moan rose above the noise of the movie and the crowd. The entire audience, assuming someone was trying to be funny, laughed in response - a much needed release.
Suddenly, a woman sitting in front of us began shaking her husband by the coat collar.
“Honey, are you okay?” she yelled. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The man’s head limply rolled around on his shoulders like a bobble-head doll. When he didn’t respond, she slapped him hard back and forth across the face.
“Wake up! Wake up!”
Everyone sitting near the woman and her husband jumped to their feet. A few people ran out the door to get help; suddenly, the host’s dramatic concern for us was starting to make sense. I could hear cell phones dialing 9-1-1.
Shannon, a veterinarian, reached over the seat and put her hand on the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. Thankfully at that instant, he opened his eyes and was back with us again.
“I’m fine, just fine,” the poor, embarrassed man told everyone, as he motioned for them to sit back down. “I just fell asleep.”
No one could sleep through the slapping his wife gave him.
“He’s going to be hurting tomorrow,” I whispered to my friends.
And then again, suddenly, another deep and painful groan echoed from the audience. At first, we all assumed it was the same man - the moan sounded oddly similar.
But this time, a crowd across the theater leapt into action. My friends and I couldn’t believe it - another guy was down.
Once again, cells phones flipped open and people ran out to the lobby for help.
Throughout it all, the movie played on. Eventually, Ralsted completed the gory amputation. Finally, he was free.
And finally, men in the audience stopped dropping like flies. I doubt if any other movie ending has ever brought such great relief to the audience.
And the moral of the story is...?
1) Don’t go see 127 Hours unless you are capable of cutting off your own arm with a dull knife.
2) Make sure you’re ALWAYS prepared EVERY time you head into the back country. ALWAYS tell someone where you are going. Even road trips can be dangerous in Montana. Fill your vehicle with emergency gear. Take care of yourself and those you love.
Happy Holidays. Safe travels.
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