Buried (MA). Director: Rodrigo Cortés. Starring: Ryan Reynolds, José Luis García Pérez, Robert Paterson. 95 minutes
Ninety minutes stuck in a box — not the most compelling sales pitch for a film. Until you realise that a set-up like that requires plenty of clever scripting and camera work and a great lead performance to succeed. The buzz is that Buried succeeds very well. I concur.
As the film's hero, all-American truck driver Paul Conroy, Ryan Reynolds offers an arresting performance. Paul spends the duration of the film inside a rudimentary timber coffin, buried, apparently, in the Iraq desert. Best known for his comedic work, Reynolds utilises his comic timing to match the beats and rhythm of this pacy thriller and to give the character a manic edge.
The camera takes us into every corner of the coffin. We share that confined space with Paul, along with his claustrophobia, his panic attacks, his fear and occasional hope, his determination to find an escape, his slumping hopelessness. Director Cortés serves also as editor of the film, and thus deftly controls the space and pace of his story.
The coffin is not bare; Paul has a selection of tools at his disposal. Primarily a mobile phone, left by the kidnapper, which Paul uses to make contact with his family, and with those he hopes can rescue him. These variously panicked, anguished and angry conversations allow Paul to spell out his back story: he's a civilian contractor who was working in Iraq delivering supplies. His last memory prior to waking up in the coffin is of his convoy being attacked by insurgents.
Lighting is key to the film's effectiveness. Long seconds are spent in total darkness, puncutred by the arythmic percussion of Paul's rasping breath and his bumps and scrapes against the sides of the coffin. At other times, he is (and we are) offered relief: the orange flicker thrown by a Zippo lighter; the phone's ghostly blue hue; the green of a glow-stick; the tenuous glare of the world's most unreliable torch. These shades and effects are cleverly used to control the mood of the film and provide visual interest.
To the viewer, the other characters in Paul's life exist only as disembodied voices set adrift within his isolation cell. In that regard Buried can perhaps be taken as an allegory for modern communication, where the handheld electronic device is the primary conduit to networks of interaction and intimacy.
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