A stunning, game-changing, cinematic achievement.

Rating: 10/10 (17 October 2013)

OK, so I'm supposed to be working right now, but I'm in one of those funky-ass, quasi-writer's-block ruts where I've written one of my characters into a corner, and now can't decide whether to solve the problem or just scrap 8 minutes of screen time.
Until I do, here's a few quick thoughts about "Gravity," which my girlfriend and I went and saw on a day date yesterday afternoon. I'm not writing this to be read by anybody, mind you. Rather, it's my attempt to distract myself by writing something entirely unrelated to my script, in the hopes a solution to my problem pops up when I'm not thinking about it. Feel free to adopt this perspective in your own situation the next time your boss tells you you're screwing around. You're welcome.
So, Gravity. Yeah. WOW. I suppose the simplest way to sum up this film is to say it is indeed, a truly new experience. In his autobiography, Charlie Chaplin recalled when he first saw Lumière's "Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat" (1895), which simply showed a steam engine approaching a station. To him, and millions, it was magic. Such is the case here with what I refer to as director Alfonso Cuaron's cinematic "Thriller," a singular evolution of storytelling that he (or anyone else, for that matter) is exceedingly unlikely to repeat in my lifetime.
Story-wise, though, "Gravity" is just your typical survival film which has been made aplenty, though, the elements are different in this setting with only a few broken spacecrafts and endless deep space. Survival films like "Gravity" are almost like one-off events, something that everyone should see at least once, but don't often stand the test of time. The allure of a movie like "127 Hours" was to see how James Franco would cut off his arm, but can anyone remember the rest of the movie? And does anyone care to? Fortunately, "Gravity" does have more going for it than most survival films, which primarily, is the various layers of fear: the fear of the unfamiliarity of space, the obvious fear of time, and finally the fear of not just dying but the question of how will your end come? A question I'm dealing with now in this unconscionable bitch of a script I'm trying to finish, I should add.
But more importantly, if you're anything like the film homer I am, "Gravity" is much more than a formulaic story of survival; it is an exquisite work of visual art. Unlike the 3-D technology so overly-hyped in "Avatar," the fact that the screen is so lacking in clutter and action only serves to immerse you in the film. Such was the promise of 3-D IMAX years ago, finally fulfilled here. The 3-D is so seamless and natural, there were moments when I had to remove my glasses for a moment, if for nothing else than to confirm that yes, a 3-D camera angle of a girl in a lake, shot from water level, is frighteningly realistic.
"Frighteningly realistic." That would also sum up this film, were it not for the fact that a mere moment after walking out of the theater, I was overcome with such emotion, I cried. As of this minute, I still have no concrete explanation for my reaction, except to speculate that while "Gravity" is by no means as great a film as "Citizen Kane," "Casablanca" or "To Kill A Mockingbird" (my favorite movie of all time), it is arguably the most beautiful cinematic experience I've ever been fortunate enough to have.
One last thing, I promise. Perhaps the most ironic (and tragic?) aspect of Cuaron's game-changing achievement is that part of what makes "Gravity" so singularly wonderful is precisely why it isn't likely to find much success once the IMAX well has run dry: I, for one, will never deign to see this film in any venue smaller than six stories. That'd be akin to going to the stadium to see your team play Game 7 of the World Series, only to sit in your car and listen to it on the radio.
See this, but only as it was meant to be seen.
OK, now back to work before the Hammer comes out here and tears me a new one.