127 Hours Page #21

ARON:

(spitting out this

declaration at the rock)

I AM NOT GOING TO DIE.... HERE.

CUT TO:

C/U:
DIGITAL NUMERALS.

11.34 am

CUT TO:

INT. CANYON. DAY.

He's busy packaging his stump in the plastic grocery sack and

then wrapping that with the yellow webbing he wore as a

chocker to keep his neck warm in the night. He stuffs the

repackaged arm into the empty Camelbak backpack and throws

the straps over his neck to hold the arm in a makeshift

sling.

Packs his bag, water reservoir, full bottle of shiny urine,

video, pocket knife. Grabs his climbing rope, messy and

knotted from its use as insulation, and heads off down the

canyon.

Stops almost immediately and hesitates for a beat. He returns

69.

to take 2 photos on his still camera of the rock and his

hand.

Goodbye.

CUT TO:

INT. CANYON. DAY.

And now the motion and energy and life force of the action

movie returns...

It's like Ray Liotta's final day in Goodfellas; relentless,

frustrating, pressure of life again now he's free from his

tomb. Deeper and deeper, down and down into the swirling

scoops of the sandstone. Couple of difficult manoeuvres, lots

of slipping and bumping, despite his best effort occasionally

his right shoulder takes the brunt and he stops, winces and

grunts thru the pain.

But on he goes, 100 ft of the rope trailing behind him. As

we follow its progress snaking after him we see specs of

blood on the lower walls.

The canyon becomes a chute increasingly steep in which he

ignores the shrinking daylight above because he has another

target; the twists and turns of the curricles of sedimented

sandstone lead to a soft glow, red, translucent, growing and

growing in intensity. He pushes forward, the tail of rope

whipping faster and faster along the walls and floor.

CUT TO:

INT/EXT. ROCK SHELF. DAY.

Finally, we burst into the dazzling midday sun on a rock

shelf halfway up a sheer walled amphitheatre, 200ft high. The

scale of the slated cliff face opposite is breathtaking, the

dazzling sunlight poaches the air he sucks in and burns his

dry eyes.

He sees, for the first time in his new life, green. The deep

green of a healthy 50ft tree below him and to his left, and

he knows. He looks for the bolts drilled into the rock, and

he knows. Now he can look down. Right to the edge of

vertiginous drop and there below is a puddle of shallow

turgid water. Life itself. He wanted it to be there and now

he's mesmerized by it. A pair of swifts leave the tree and

zig zag up and around him. He wobbles and has to stop himself

lunging head first over the precipice. Instead he drops to

the bolts and kisses them like the pope arriving in a foreign

land.

Unravelling the rope of its knots, he's baking in blazing

70.

light. He can't go yet, every knot must be undone pulled open

between his teeth and his hand. But he'll die if he can't

have moisture. He tips the saved urine over himself and

licking and retching simultaneously he suddenly stops and

listens. He can hear a shuffling, a zip-zip... The rope is

uncoiling over the ledge. He put it down to drink. Picking up

speed the more it falls, there's only a few feet left. He

lunges across the ledge and catches it just in time. That was

his future disappearing over the ledge.

CUT TO:

EXT. CANYON. DAY

We're far below - 6 storeys - and see him inch over the edge.

Something's not right. It's a difficult overhang and he's

awkward and vulnerable with only one useful arm. His bad arm

catches horribly on the lip of the ledge. Suddenly he starts

coming fast, faster and then hideously, much too fast,

accelerating out of control and smashing into the water with

deadly force.

CUT TO:

INT. UNDERWATER. DAY.

We're underneath, deep in the pool, and he crashes in an

explosive cascade of air forced into the water.

CUT TO:

EXT. C/U:
DAY.

His feet gently touch the sandy floor, 10ft to the side of

the pool...

CUT TO:

EXT. POOL. DAY

... he's a great climber and even in his present condition

has perfectly executed the descent. And the pool is a puddle,

swimming with dead leaves and insects, 2 inches deep at most.

He falls on it with his bottles, filling them and dipping his

mouth into the water, He washes his head, drinks and fills,

drinks and gargles, and drinks again-insects, leaves,

tadpoles, everything. Blood splashes in beside him so out

comes his map again as he plots his way out. He sees a great

goose- necked avenue before him bending to the right.

71.

Checking the map... there's a long way to go and he's small,

nothing in this landscape.

CUT TO:

EXT. (VARIOUS)CANYON. DAY.

He walks shedding any weight that might reduce how long he

can keep going; his equipment, carabiners, headphones; his

harness left like a spent snake skin behind him. He keeps to

the shadows of the huge Monument Valley-like cliffs when he

can.

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