Gravity: I Love You George Clooney But You Make Me Sick

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The 3D blockbuster is a rollercoaster of a ride but if you suffer self-diagnosed 'cybersickness', Gravity can really get you down

In space, no one can hear you swoon: George Clooney in Gravity. Photograph: Allstar/Warner Bros/Sportsphoto Ltd
My head is spinning and my stomach is lurching. Oh George, what have you done to me?

It's the beginning of Gravity and George Clooney and Sandra Bullock are playing astronauts on top of the world.

Or are they? Turns out Bullock's character is feeling a tad peaky. You try holding down your lunch at zero G, she tells mission control.

Uh oh. I feel your pain, sister. We're two minutes in and I'm starting to feel a bit iffy myself.

But look at that view! Spread out below the spacewalkers is the blue planet, the Earth, as most of us have only ever dreamed of seeing it. Hang on though, it's above them. Oof, it's below them. Urrrrrrrrrk, it's above them again ...

I should have known better. I was the annoying sister who always got to ride in the front seat because I was carsick. I've never been any good below decks. Computer games give me the willies. And I once got seasick in a surf flick.

I'm fine on rollercoasters. I've been paragliding and jumped out of a plane. If I can see that I'm moving, no worries at all. The problem comes in movies like these when what my eyes are seeing and the movement my inner-ear balance system is sensing don't match up. DOES NOT COMPUTE, some pesky part of my brain starts shrieking and suddenly I'm sick to the core.
Turns out it’s called "cybersickness". Sounds kinda cool, huh?

No. Really it isn't. I get flashes of it all day every day on my iPhone's iOS 7 when I press a button and the app zooms open to fill up the screen.

I'm not alone. Every few years a blockbuster 3D film comes out and a minority of cinemagoers report nausea, headaches and dizziness. Some viewers, it turns out, have eye conditions that make it difficult to see properly in two dimensions, let alone three.
Years ago I went to an Imax cinema and didn't like it much. When Avatar came out I braved 3D for the first and – until now – only time. A third of the way into that film I felt a bit seedy, so necked an anti-nausea drug I had in my bag and came through unscathed.

And so here I am, back at the multiplex, drawn in by gorgeous George and America's sweetheart and rave reviews about an out-of-this world thriller. I've rounded up a bunch of mates and swallowed my anti-vom pill.

At five minutes in, I'm feeling a little off. It will get better when they stop all this spacewalking malarkey and get inside their spacecraft, I think. I try taking off the 3D glasses but it does no good.

By 10 minutes in, I'm watching mostly from between my fingers. I've a developed a profound distaste for the swelling score – it's matched to the swirling movement.

After 15, I'm feeling as though I might really disgrace myself and wondering if I should walk out before I do. My friends all seem to be enjoying it, though, and I don't want to worry them. Besides, I want to know how it ends. I resolve to keep my eyes shut and peek only when the music dies down.

So that's how I watch Alfonso Cuarón's towering achievement, being acclaimed for its dazzling cinematic wizardry. As a radio play.

When it finally, FINALLY, finishes I stagger out to the foyer. The noise of queuing crowds, and the escalators carrying them up from the shopping centre below, is overwhelming. It takes me 10 minutes to regain my equilibrium so I can make it back to the car. I spend the next three hours in a dark room.

Even now, 24 hours later, I'm still not up to par. In fact, I've been downright queasy all day. Every second bus stop has a Gravity poster and Sandy and George are everywhere promoting the film.

And I have to stop writing because scrolling up and down this screen is making my stomach turn.
George, George, what have you done to me?