Buried
Categorized as a psychological thriller, Buried is the perhaps the ultimate example of a solo character film. Opening on Ryan Reynolds as Paul Conroy, we quickly discover that he has woken up in a coffin-shaped box, buried in an unknown location. He finds that he has with him a lighter, flask, flashlight, knife, glow sticks, pen, and mobile phone. A phone call from his kidnapper – demanding a ransom of $5 million, without which he will be left there to die – begins a chain of communications through which we discover who he is, how he got there, and what is going on outside.
It transpires that he is a US truck driver working in Iraq, whose team was ambushed. He is sure his colleagues were all killed, before he was knocked out by a rock to the head. During the 95 minute length of the film, neither Conroy, nor the camera, leave the coffin. Communicating with his kidnapper, the State Department, a representative from the Hostage Working Group, his employer, and his wife – both by voice and by video – Conroy works to catch up with events, and tries to facilitate his own rescue.
There are two stunning achievements in Buried. Firstly, the way in which the director is able to bring action scenes into the film, via a telephone call, without ever leaving the coffin. The use of sound brings visual impressions of things we have no way of seeing – inevitably leaving the audience to ‘fill in the blanks’ with their own imagination, just as Paul Conroy does – which makes the entire scenario that much more disturbing. Secondly, the achievement of Ryan Reynolds, as an actor. That’s right – Van Wilder. The guy from Just Friends and The Proposal. The one that played The Green Lantern. For the rest of his career – whatever it may hold – Buried is the film that will define his abilities onscreen.
It feels like it lasts for a fraction of its running time – simply because we are entirely absorbed in Paul Conroy’s situation. We know nothing about him – he could have done terrible, terrible things – but we are invested in him as much as we are in the drama, right from the opening shot. The reason for that is his gripping performance. There’s confusion, panic, anger, and desperation. There’s grief for the people he knows has died, and for the person whose execution he is made to view on his phone. There’s shock, and a brief, traumatised disconnect from reality, before the crushing blow of realisation strikes once more. There’s the determination to comfort and reassure his wife, as he lays trapped in a coffin, and there’s the gut-wrenching tone in his voice as his emotional roller-coaster hits resignation.
This is the remarkable thing about the central performance in Buried. While Robert Redford is alone at sea – he has the boat and the weather to physically interact with. While Philip Baker Hall is alone in Nixon’s office, he has all that space to stomp around in. While Sam Rockwell is alone on the Moon, he has a clone of himself to deal with. Ryan Reynolds is alone in Buried, and can’t move beyond wriggling around in a space only slightly bigger than his own body. Everything that he conveys – everything that he makes us feel (and boy, do we feel it) – it’s all with his voice. The tone, the volume and the sounds he makes. It is an honest-to-goodness triumph of a delivery, in a film that is small in scale, but epic in impact.
