We’ll float in space, just you and I

I had reservations about Gravity going in, as it has been compared to (amongst other things) 2001, which for me is a tediously dry art piece rather than an actual film. I needn’t have worried, as Alfonso Cuaron’s film is far more concerned with the fates of actual characters than pretentious esoteric musings on the nature of humanity. No monkey suits, either.

It starts off with Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock), Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) and some other guy – who, if this were Star Trek, would be sporting a really red shirt – on a spacewalk. Sandra is nervy and inexperienced, whilst George is all smooth and Clooneyish. Some technobabble later and sundry space junk is flying at them at alarming speeds. Let the thrills begin.

The BBFC now quite often warns viewers, tongue often in cheek, when films contain ‘mild peril’. Gravity boasts sustained sequences of genuine jeopardy, of the type that’s conspicuously absent in, say, Superman and General Zod smashing up an entire city of people with zero emotional heft. Even if a good recent blockbuster is chosen as a comparator, eg Avengers Assemble, the inherent cartoonish nature of the FX and super-skills creates distance from the viewer.

This, on the other hand, feels deadly real. Here are knife-edge moments where one failed grip would leave one tumbling through the void of space with literally nothing to cling to. It’s heart-thumping, armrest-gripping stuff.

Cuaron and his crew’s technical achievements will take some beating. Everything feels seamless and hyper-real, with the Earth looming in the background as a reminder of how far we are from home. At one point the camera frames Bullock’s face before zooming right through her helmet and becoming a POV shot, which sounds ridiculous written down but is a thing of genuine beauty onscreen.

Plus, the physics of space makes the 3D properly immersive – things float around unpredictably, as opposed to random objects being awkwardly lobbed towards the screen, or the camera performing convoluted acrobatics just to get the odd cool effect.

There have been plenty of accusations of cheesy dialogue and trite plotting, which have apparently spoilt the film for some. But such things must be considered in the wider context – Clooney being Clooney and Sandy missing her daughter ground the film in a recognisable reality, the simple story acting as a counterweight to the extraodinary floatiness elsewhere.

More off-putting for me was Bullock’s eerie resemblance to the late-period Michael Jackson, which I wish I hadn’t been tipped off about beforehand. Perhaps that’s just what space does to you. And it doesn’t detract from the fact that this is a landmark film, perfectly realised.