Buried is a horror film by Spanish filmmaker Rodrigo Cortes that received publicity due simply to its one and only star, Ryan Reynolds. Throw a big name actor in a movie about a guy stuck in a coffin underground and it’ll probably get pulled out of many a RedBox. I was intrigued by this movie’s trailer months ago and decided to watch it because I wanted to know if I could be entertained by a story revolving around one character, who is in every scene, confined to a 7’ x 3’ set.
Reynolds plays Paul Conroy, a nonmilitary truck driver who finds himself in a most unfortunate circumstance. After his convoy is attacked by insurgents, he blacks out and wakes up buried inside a box. From this scenario, screenwriter Chris Sparling tries to whittle down the story to its bare essentials. I respect his attempt to narrow the plot to scenes exclusively within the coffin, but some challenges are just a little too tough to pull off. For a little over an hour and a half, Paul makes some strange decisions for a man in his situation. He makes use of the few items he finds in the box including a Zippo (a pretty important light source), a knife, his flask (which we hope all truck drivers carry) and most importantly a cell phone. The movie is essentially scenes of Paul trying to figure out where he is at, getting in touch with his family, informing certain parties of his plight and some awful scenes with him talking to his kidnappers. The Iraqis who put him underground want a $5 million ransom, but Paul soon learns that his best hope is to be found my a military unit specializing in finding hostages.
Buried succeeded in holding my interest (while the Playstation Network is down) and provided a few pulse-quickening moments at the cost of me suspending belief in how a rational person might actually react in Paul’s shoes. This is what really drags the movie down, because even though most horror films require the same disbelief, at least they don’t try and have moral underpinnings and make statements about corporate America. Many of the phone conversations provided the exact opposite emotion for me than I’m sure the filmmakers intended, and frankly, their absurdity often caused me to chuckle rather than become more invested in the character. For instance, Paul (again, buried alive) ends up on the cell being interviewed by the personnel director of his company about some inappropriate on-the-job fraternization. Even an audience with the dimmest view of big business isn’t going to find that scene ringing true to life.
The requisite plot device of calling up his mom and wife provides Reynolds with opportunities to be heartfelt – and he comes up short. He has acting frustrated down perfectly, but he never really shows us true fear or even sadness in his performance. Granted the writing in the film itself limits Reynolds’ range of emotion, but I was disappointed in the little he did with what he was given.
What the movie got right (and really why I kept watching) is how inventive the shots were. Going into the movie, I expected to grow tired of having the camera shoved straight up in Ryan’s face and was surprised to not feel cramped while watching it. They designed a clever coffin to allow for 360 degree movement around the actor and even some crane shots. I also liked how it was lit using light sources that Reynolds was interacting with too. These technical aspects are not near enough reasons to warrant rushing out to see this flick, so I’d say bury it in the bottom of your queue.
Summary: Balls Deep In Shit-Kickin’ Dudes, by Kato. I would read that and I don’t read shit. –Britt Reid
