127-- OMIGOD THAT ROCK JUST FELL ON HIM -- erm, spoilers ahead

Blogging 127 Hours. Because Danny Boyle is good for nothing if not for a sense of surreal immediacy. (Crawling babies, anyone? Also, anyone feeling a craving some Shallow Grave...ing? Terrible, I know.)


Ten minutes: Someone just give this movie the best picture Oscar already? Also, there's a reason Danny Boyle is one of my two favorite directors. Since when does Amber Tamblyn still exist?

Twenty minutes: Dear Danny Boyle:  I knew it was going to happen, but it terrified me when it did

 One minute later: I HAVE SYMPATHY PAINS FOR ARON RALSTON

Thirty-seven minutes: Now I'm crying on the bus. WELL DONE DANNY!

Forty-one minutes: Thirsty. GIVE ME WATER. WANT GATORADE. CanIhaveit? Also, congratulations on finding an unflattering angle to shoot Mr. Franco from.

Forty-three minutes: No. Chilled urine is nothing like sauvignon blanc

Forty-five minutes: Idea strikes him. Stomach turns... Even more than at the thought of drinking pee.

Forty-eight minutes: I think the thing with the contacts bothers me more than it should, only because I know how helpless I feel when I don't have mine.

Forty-nine minutes: He's dating Fleur? I guess she got over Chuck Bass awful fast. Also, didn't she just marry Bill Weasley?
Fifty-three minutes: James Cameron is in the house

Fifty-five minutes: Wait, was it even raining? At least he's keeping his spirits up somehow.

Fifty-seven minutes: Lesson number 127? TELL PEOPLE WHERE YOU WILL BE. Ferrealz, yo.

ONE HOUR: We have punctured skin. 

Sixty-one minutes: I'm having a Dumb and Dumber moment.... "This tastes like piss"

Sixty-three minutes: "If you keep singing Phish, you're never going to get a girlfriend." Somebody please tell GuitarHero to see this movie.

Seventy minutes: I LOVE THIS MOVIE. Even if you hate this rock.

Seventy-three minutes: Wait, since when does Dido still exist?

Seventy-four minutes: We have broken bone.

Seventy-six minutes: Is this nominated for best score? It really deserves to be. OMIGOD I MIGHT PEE MYSELF

Seventy-seven minutes: Release. Though it hardly feels like freedom. Mere survival is all.

Eighty-four minutes: Yup, tears again. Can you imagine being the family that found him? Can you imagine being him, upon being found?

Eighty-eight minutes: Oh, hey, @RealAronRalston. I'm glad you tell people where you will be now. And stopped singing Phish