In Gravity, I was brought back to that difficult time which I’ve recently written about. In many respects, resignation and hopelessness is like being alone in space. Even if I know I have family and friends who I can run to––even if they did help––there comes a low point, the lowest of lows, when you feel so alone in your journey and that there’s no one else to live for. And the idea of giving up becomes a comforting feeling––a welcome break amid all your anxieties––that it’s just so easy to give in, turn off the lights, and surrender to the darkness.
Hopefully, you hear that voice, that assuring voice: it could be from one person who matter to you, or from a complete stranger; it could be the collective voice of those rooting for you; or it could be from the comforting sound of home, like a dog barking in the distance––and so you cling on to it and fight your way out of that darkness.
I’ve never seen a film this nuanced and restrained, and yet, hit me with such force: so many things were said with so few lines and change of scene. This is a Terrence Malick movie––all the poetry and lyricism it represents––if Terrence actually had the heart for his audience and actors. But as it is, it is an Alfonso Cuarón film and he’s generous in letting us, the viewer, get his point of view (a universal truth, in any case), from the, literally, point-of-view shots to that haunting vignette of Sandra Bullock as a fetus (replete with a metaphorical umbilical cord), a portent for her character’s rebirth.
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This is a film you’d definitely want to see on IMAX. Opens in Philippine theaters on October 3.