“Life in space is impossible.” The recent box-office phenomenon, Gravity, begins with this ominous prediction. The rest of the film, both as a work of cinematography and as a narrative in its own right, debunks this assertion. Directed by Oscar nominee Alfonso Cuaron, Gravity is the story of two astronauts stranded alone in space when their mission goes terribly wrong. Dr. Ryan Stone, played by Sandra Bullock, is a brilliant medical engineer on her first shuttle mission. Matt Kowalsky, played by George Clooney, is a veteran astronaut. After space debris torn from a Russian satellite destroys their shuttle, instantly killing the rest of the crew, Stone and Kowalsky are left severed from their shuttle and alone, floating together through endless space. Survival becomes the only goal—a chance against all odds.
Like any good thriller, viewers are left on the edge of their seats for a solid hour and a half (the film’s duration). But what set this film apart is not the impressive special effects, adroit camerawork, and masterful manipulation of the 3-D viewing experience. What makes this film unique is Cuaron’s ability to weave a personal, intimate and simple story of heroism between the special effects. The vulnerable story of survival that pulsates at the core of this film is never overshadowed or overwhelmed by the special effects. Even while tumbling through space with our protagonists (and, thanks to the 3-D viewing experience, that does mean quite literally), viewers are never distracted from the characters’ fears and triumphs. Unlike other big-budget films of the moment, laden with noise, pop and glam, Gravity’s unencumbered plot heightens, rather than detracts, from the film’s poignancy.
In a recent interview with The New York Times, Cuaron revealed that it was his goal to create an “unadorned narrative.” In the beginning, he and his son Jonás, with whom he wrote Gravity, had no intention to create a space epic. They wanted to craft a story that focused on “one or two characters.” Setting the movie in space proved to be much more technically complicated than he ever anticipated. However, the simplicity of the idea appealed to him. “A human isolated in a cocoon far above the Earth — to me there is something profound in that,” said Cuaron.
Bullock’s performance as Dr. Ryan Stone successfully grants the film the desired note of profundity. Aside from being a medical engineer and astronaut, Stone is a grieving mother. Viewers find out early on in the film that Stone’s young daughter died abruptly after she fell from the monkey bars and hit her head. (This is not the only instance of subtle irony within the film.) Speaking briefly about the loss to Kowalsky as they float through space, oxygen tanks running dangerously low, Bullock strikes the perfect balance of vulnerability and temerity. In a scene later on when Bullock, alone and without fuel for her space shuttle, is on the verge of suicide, the memory of her daughter pushes her to continue on. “If you see a girl with tangly brown hair up there, tell her to wait for me,” Bullock says, as she decides resolutely to keep fighting. Instead of letting the memory of her daughter’s death encourage belief in life’s futility, she uses the memory to inspire her will to live.
While sticking closely to the script of a survivor’s tale, this film is far from a happily-ever-after. Cuaron skillfully plays with viewer expectations when Kowalsky, calm and unfazed by the perilous circumstances, is lost and never found. Kowalsky detaches himself from Stone and sacrifices his own life so that she is able to reach the space station. The unspoken hope that he will return is realized when he knocks on Stone’s space shuttle later on in the film, just after she has turned off the oxygen and is preparing to commit suicide. “How did you survive?” Stone asks Kowalsky in disbelief. “It’s a crazy story—not for now,” responds Kowalsky. Viewers are lured easily into the trap, believing that he has, in fact, returned unharmed. Viewers realize, minutes later, that he was Stone’s hallucination. Cuaron challenges the notion of the indestructible hero, to which viewers today have grown so accustomed. He instead encourages a realistic, albeit uncomfortable, recognition of sacrifice and loss, death and mortality.
Ultimately, this film is not about victory. It is a film celebrating sheer endurance, resilience and the unquenchable human will to live. The film ends with Bullock crashing through the ozone layer, swimming to shore, and finally crawling up onto dry land. As she stands and takes her first unsteady steps, the cycle of evolution seems to start again. With a new beginning, the screen goes black.