First time space traveler and scientist Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) and experienced shuttle pilot Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) are in space working on the Hubble Telescope. They've been warned by Houston's control center that satellite debris traveling faster than a bullet is headed their way. Without much time for escape the shuttle gets pummeled by orbiting shrapnel and Stone gets propelled into space. As she's spinning out of sight into nothingness, the earth's bellowing presence gives one the sense of her physical and mortal insignificance. A spinning speck in the darkest abyss. I remember seeing Deliverance as a teen and being awed by the story of human capability, especially with the reality of doom. Since, I have often wondered of my own capabilities and limitations in the presence of assured defeat. But this isn't killer rednecks here, this is hopelessness personified. This is outer space. Stone is to be defeated by a faceless foe, by darkness itself.
The triumph of human will is celebrated in prose. It is often the backdrop of many films and books. It is something man gravitates toward without reasoning. The idea that anyone, regardless of talent, accompanied with the right mindset can achieve hero status or conquer a nation. That ordinary can accomplish extraordinary. Or, in other words, a spinning space speck can stop spinning and will itself back to earth. And no story of human triumph would exist without the accompaniment of self-sacrifice. Eventually, with the aid of a prototype jet pack, Kowalski finds Stone and tethers himself to her. They then head toward the international space station. Stone admits some personal stuff to Kowalski and begins illustrating the why behind an obvious and physically expressed sadness. Kowalski is mr. cool, a 'been-there-done-that' sort of guy. He latter becomes the sacrificial lamb that would act as catalyst for Stone to save herself. He has far less emotional baggage and therefore less emotional gravity. He doesn't have a problem with letting go.
Gravity (the film) screams various depths of uniqueness, it's incomparable nature allows it to stand out in film cannon and it's timeless essence gives it a hopeful sense of longevity. I don't recall having such a visceral and genuine reaction to any other film. The perspective of life and death played in the foreground of a silent world is more then just a mechanism or artificial devise. It's more than a metaphoric vehicle and more than a genius digital accomplishment. It is, in essence, the realization of one's own flaw-filled and ego-driven perspective hallowed out to insignificance. The world is so much bigger and heavier than what we see, yet what we see makes us feel bigger than what we are. In other words, gravity is metaphysically pulling at our mass both physically and emotionally. The less baggage we have and the less 'weight' we carry, the less earthbound we are.
