James Franco superb in '127 Hours'

Me, I'd have given up after 127 minutes. But not Aron Ralston. It took him 127 desperate hours to extricate himself from being caught, literally and figuratively, between the ultimate rock and hard place.

Director Danny Boyle has turned that extraordinary predicament into an extraordinary film which, among other things, expands the definition of "happy ending."

The true story, based on mountain-climber Ralston's best-selling book, is fairly familiar by now: A speedy young guy in tip-top shape (James Franco) is eager to get out of town, away from the crowd, and go hiking alone in the solitude of his beloved canyons near Moab, Utah. Hastily packing -- he's done this a hundred times before -- he neglects to tell anyone where he's going and leaves his Swiss Army Knife behind.

He does not neglect to take his videocam, compulsively self-documenting every stage of his journey with the cocky self-confidence of a true expert. He knows all the shortcuts. He has black-belt survival skills. He is indestructible. He runs his hands lovingly over the layered sandstone strata, moving fast all the time.

A little too fast.

One misstep, one loose rock, and Mr. Ralston falls down into a deep, narrow slot crevice, his right arm ending up trapped between an 800-pound boulder and the canyon wall. All of a sudden, his huge world becomes very small and dark. The strip of sky above barely illuminates his inventory: a watch, a bungee cord, the video camera, some water, and one small, cheap Chinese-made tool.

But he's a pro who ponders rather than panics. And he is resourceful. He chisels methodically. He knows how to tie naval knots, how to fashion winches and pulleys and slings -- one-handed. He will THINK his way out of this.

It happened on a Sunday. There are no tears until Tuesday or Wednesday. For five horrendous days, he will examine his situation, his life and his impending death until his strength -- and all options but an unthinkable one -- are exhausted.

In the happy-go-lucky prologue of "127 Hours," Mr. Ralston meets two young women hikers (Amber Tamblyn and Kate Mara) and takes them for a deliciously sexy, idyllic dip in an underwater cavern. Enjoy that, and the girls, while you can. You won't be seeing them, or much of anybody else, thereafter, except in hallucinatory flashbacks.

Otherwise, it's one location and a one-man show -- All-Franco, All the Time. His reckless adventurer gradually becomes a grimly instinctive animal, who does what he has to do -- more athletic than heroic. Mr. Franco's performance is simply tremendous, yanking us with him between the extremes of joy and anguish. It deserves an Oscar nomination. Also a Purple Heart. Maybe throw in the Nobel.

Co-writers Boyle and Simon Beaufoy, the virtuosic duo responsible for "Slumdog Millionaire," are rejoined by Anthony Dod Mantle, whose magnificent cinematography of the Utah wilderness includes a breathtaking reverse-zoom shot from the depths of the crevice to a full stratospheric-panoramic view from above -- in total silence. Mr. Boyle also makes good use of the videocam-rewind device, but there are a few too many halcyon family Yuletide reminiscences for my taste.

"This rock has been waiting for me all my life . . . and all its life," says the near-delirious Mr. Ralston four or five days into his ordeal. By then he had carved his epitaph into the canyon wall and made his last-video-will-and-testament. He was standing in his own grave, at peace with the idea of dying, when the vision of a little boy -- his future son -- gave him the terrible will to get out.

"127 Hours" is 94 minutes. It seems longer. Or shorter? I'm not sure which. Time is suspended in this film, as it was for Mr. Ralston. The final operation is excruciating for Mr. Ralston as well as the audience, some of whom will surely head for the exits before it's over. The sound is worse than the sight. We are so inured to blood and pain in the movies that we're not ready for something this viscerally realistic, nearly unendurable but powerfully effective. Forewarned is fore -- uh, well, you know.

Moral: Next time, answer mom's phone call and tell her where you're going.