Sam Woolf’s “Gravity Review” Is a Protracted Missive That Says Too Little
By Marcus Julianus, Associate Critic
In “Gravity Review [TIFF 2013],” Sam Woolf courts an audience of one in a wearisome love-letter that audiences likely won’t see through to the end.
Gravity Review finds Woolf expounding the virtues of director Alfonso Cuarón’s latest feature without offering much in the way of value to the reader. It’s sadly to be expected of a piece that extols the “love of long takes” as a kind of merit badge.
Like floating adrift in the vast emptiness of space, readers will be looking for any vestige of substance to cling to as this review hurtles on what can only be described as a death mission. Success depends on the dubious prospect of a reader living long enough to make it through.
Poor proofreading leads to “moments of melodrama when the characters have room (and oxygen) to breath [sic],” a notion that, correctly stated, applies to every reader who takes to the challenge of this epic piece.
What’s frustrating is that Woolf is no amateur and clearly has much to offer in terms of imagination and wit. What he lacks is the ability to revise, censor himself when idol-worship contravenes valuable exposition, and keep himself planted to the ground. Off-the-rails would have been refreshing in comparison to having readers lost in space.