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After almost two decades of usurping cinematic norms and dismantling the Hollywood institution one long-take at a time, Cuaron finally nabbed a Best Director statue for his worst movie. “Gravity” isn’t bad per se — it’s a technical marvel, impeccably directed and arguably the most important mainstream science-fiction film since Kubrick’s “2001.” It made the first compelling argument in favor of 3D since… well, ever. Cuaron crafts a visually and aurally astounding experience, but it’s an emotionally hollow vehicle intended to further the possibilities of 3D at the expense of themes, idea, characters, emotions — you know, all those things Cuaron used to care about. If you’re the kind of person who would willingly see a post-“Hail Mary” Godard film, think of “Gravity” as the antithesis of “Goodbye to Language.” Godard’s movie is a formal experiment in sensory manipulation. Cuaron’s film, on the (very distant) other hand, immerses you, envelopes you like a magnanimous, tar-black ocean and suffocates you.
But once you get over that initial adrenaline-fueled high, you can see the vast nothingness at the film’s core. A genuinely great film, even one “made” for the big screen, should be able to work on a small screen, if there’s more to it than simple visceral excitement. “2001,” “Lawrence of Arabia,” “Playtime,” all work on a TV because they transcend visual grandeur. “Gravity” doesn’t. It’s a 21st-century reincarnation of Cinerama, a pretty but pretty superficial gimmick.
As visually-striking as it is uneventful, Cuaron’s gorgeous but placated reimagining of Dickens’ classic feels like a beautiful painting of a boring scene. Ethan Hawke is fine as Finn (Pip in the book), as is Gwyneth Paltrow as Estella, but there’s something missing here; Cuaron fails to find the lurking tragedy in the story. Cuaron has since said that he didn’t enjoy making the film, and a perceptive viewer should be able to notice how his singular voice really doesn’t sing out here like it does in many of his other films.
Cuaron returned to Mexico to helm what would become his breakout feature, a lewd but affectionate coming-of-age sex comedy about two perpetually horny young men, Julio (Gael Garcia Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna). The duo are close enough friends that they can lounge on swimming pool diving boards and jerk off while carrying on a conversation (a scene that’s capped-off with an unflinching pay-off shot). Together they embark on a road trip with a young married woman (Maribel Verdu). Cuaron and Lubezki forgo the lush camerawork and vibrant colors of their other efforts and instead rely on banal but practical long takes, which allow us to concentrate on the performances and dialogue (though English-speakers still have to read the copious dialogue via subtitles, unfortunately, as it comes fast and furiously). Mingling fart jokes with graphic sex and earnest conversations about boys, girls, and that unbridgeable chasm of adolescence, “Y Tu Mama Tambien” went on to become one of the most important films in the modern history of Mexican cinema.
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