Without revealing too much, the script by Cuaron and his son Jonas intersperses the hopelessness of their situation, lost in the black silence with seemingly no hope of getting home, with the desperate human compulsion to cling on to life. Ultimately, the film is about the rebirth of Bullock's character; at one point, Cuaron and Director of Photography Emmanuel Lubezki even frame her like a fetus in the womb as she sheds her outer skin (spacesuit) and allows herself a moment's respite, floating in zero gravity in a temporary space-station refuge.
With Cuaron and Lubezki applying a carefully calibrated patina of gorgeousness to "Gravity," Bullock's smooth, unlined face, pixie haircut and pilates-toned body are the perfect physical accompaniment to the storytelling, and her performance serves as the compelling emotional linchpin. As for Clooney, his wisecracking ends up becoming much more than simply light relief as "Gravity" hurtles towards its conclusion.
What's astonishing to realize is that, whenever the actors are floating in space and not filmed in the interior of various pods, shuttles and space stations, the only thing that's real is their faces. Every other element, from spacesuits to helmets to crumbling shuttles, debris and bodily fluids (a tear springs loose when Stone decides all is lost), was created using digital effects.
Besides being the single best advertisement for 3-D since "Avatar," "Gravity"'s images are so pristinely realized, and Cuaron's long, lingering shots allow for phenomenal sequences of astronauts bashing into metal, parachute silk and one another, that the experience, while often unsettling and frightening, becomes pure cinematic nirvana. Memories in the film business may be short but, if anyone needed reminding, "Gravity" reaffirms Cuaron’s position as a filmmaker of uniquely thrilling excellence.