Paul Conroy drove a truck for a private company in Iraq in 2006, right up until the convoy he was part of was attacked by insurgents and he was buried in a box. He finds himself closed into the box with a Zippo lighter, a cell phone, and not much else. And that's all the audience has to go on, too.

Throughout the film, Conroy (Ryan Reynolds) screams, wails, curses, cajoles, and begs anyone he can get to answer the phone, and those he has to leave messages for, including his wife, his sister-in-law, a kidnapper, various government officials, and his Alzheimer-stricken mother. We are left to figure out whether or not he is a reliable narrator: Has he really done nothing wrong, or involved in the war, as he claims? Has he betrayed his country, his family, or the company he works for? Is he responsible for his position in the box or is it merely wrong place, wrong time?

We're given quite a few insights into political and social norms: his kidnapper says that he (Conroy) is responsible for the loss of his job, the death of his family, and the destruction of his community; Conroy says he was just doing a job, and that he's not a soldier. The man says that if Conroy is an American, then he's a soldier—quite a switch from the way many Americans view the war in the Middle East. From the company's perspective, Conroy becomes an asset they can wipe their hands of; the government is quick to cite, "the policy of the American government is that we do not negotiate with terrorists," a line often used in humor out of its natural setting, but rather grim for those imprisoned in foreign countries.

Buried took my breath away (no pun intended) in its horrific, real, and intimate portrayal of a man facing the end of his life all alone. Conroy attempts to save his life and reconcile his death all at the same time; he shows some of the 127 Hours-type resolve, but in the end, he knows that his rescue is not within his own control. He is lied to, betrayed, loved, and lonely, all within the box. In fact, he's a lot like us when we are wrapped up in depression, addiction, or fear, when we consider the world around us and give up hope.

Hope is in even shorter supply for Conroy than oxygen, because he doesn't believe in his own rescue, or that anyone actually cares enough to try. We can have hope: hope and faith in God's love for us, in the end of the story on this side or the other in the kingdom of God, and in the truth that all humankind is created in the image of God. There's good there, but sometimes, it's... buried.