‘The Room Next Door’ Review: Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore Save Pedro Almodóvar’s Uneven English-Language Feature Debut

As a film enthusiast with a keen eye for character-driven narratives, I find “Parallel Mothers” to be a profoundly moving and thoughtful exploration of life, death, and the human condition. The performances by both Swinton and Moore are nothing short of mesmerizing, delivering depth and nuance that resonate deeply within the viewer.

Among male filmmakers, none has consistently captured the essence of female characters and their portrayers as effectively as Pedro Almodóvar. This skill saves his debut English-language film from being weighed down by the heavy dialogue that characterizes its initial scenes, which feel more like written prose. Drawing inspiration from Sigrid Nunez’s 2020 novel What Are You Going Through, Almodóvar’s story revolves around a terminally ill woman seeking solace from an old friend as she prepares to end her life. Although it takes some time for the film to shake off its overly scripted feel, the change of setting and the captivating performances of Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore breathe new life into The Room Next Door.

Pedro Almodóvar dipped his toes into English projects by creating two short films: “The Human Voice“, a reinterpretation of Cocteau’s work that delves into the boundary between genuine emotions and artificiality, showcasing an exceptional performance from Tilda Swinton; and the humorous and lustful queer cowboy romance “Strange Way of Life“, featuring Ethan Hawke and Pedro Pascal. Both movies enthusiastically embraced melodrama in a typically Almodóvarian manner.

In “The Room Next Door,” the emphasis on melodrama and theatricality is minimized, leading to a thoughtfully paced drama revolving around life, death, and friendship’s obligations. At moments, it teeters on becoming a dry intellectual exploration. However, without the skillful performances of its two principal actors, it’s uncertain if this piece would be successful at all.

The director’s habitual focus on visual detail, such as the use of spatial lines, symmetry, and color to reflect his characters’ inner worlds, sets his work in motion from the get-go. In an Almodóvar film, you might stumble upon a hospital patient adorned in vibrant hues reminiscent of firetrucks (red), skies (azure), and gemstones (magenta). Bina Daigeler was responsible for these striking costumes.

Inbal Weinberg, the production designer, carefully adorns each interior set as a unique backdrop for the two female leads. However, it’s when the narrative shifts from Manhattan to a sleek, modern vacation home close to Woodstock that the story truly gains an emotional depth.

Nestled within a forested area, the house stands out as an architectural charm, appearing as a group of wooden and glass cube-like structures that seem to entice us to rearrange and unpack them. Simultaneously, it offers the movie an opportunity to do the same with its characters.

In this scene, the interior design maintains a functional aesthetic using sharp geometric lines to create a division among the women. A framing shot shows them reclining together on striped deckchairs, echoing Edward Hopper’s painting “People in the Sun” displayed within, forming an inventive use of color-blocking. Cinematographer Eduard Grau skillfully maneuvers the camera, bringing us closer to the characters and eliminating any remaining sense of separation between them and ourselves.

Moore portrays Ingrid, a thriving author, who’s autographing books at a Rizzoli literary gathering. It’s there she gets word that her acquaintance Martha (Swinton) has been admitted to the hospital due to cancer. Although they used to collaborate at Paper magazine, their friendship had faded over the years, partly because Martha’s job as a war correspondent for the New York Times kept her constantly on the move.

The awkwardness of semi-estrangement melts away instantly when Ingrid visits the hospital and Martha explains that she’s agreed to be a guinea pig in an experimental treatment for her Stage 3 cervical cancer.

I found myself wishing, as she delved into an extended backstory, that it felt less like Cate Blanchett was reciting passages from a book, almost as if from cue cards. Moreover, many of the details Martha divulged were likely already known to Ingrid since they predate their time working together at the magazine. It’s during this initial segment that I couldn’t help but think Almodóvar could have benefited from collaborating with a co-writer who could have smoothed out the English dialogue, making it flow more naturally.

Martha admits that she barely interacts with Michelle, her teenage daughter, whom she never felt a strong motherly bond towards. She explains that Michelle has always been resentful due to the absence of a father in her life since childhood. Flashbacks depicting Martha’s fleeting relationship with Michelle’s father appear, showing his return from Vietnam as a traumatized man and a fateful incident that claimed his life. While these scenes add a powerful visual element, they seem somewhat unrelated to the main narrative.

Ingrid’s conversation about her upcoming book, which revolves around the semi-fictional retelling of an unconventional love story between Dora Carrington and Lytton Strachey from the Bloomsbury Group (who was gay), is similar. When they reunite outside the hospital, Martha reminisces about a foray into fiction she never published, featuring another queer romance inspired by two Spanish Carmelite missionaries she encountered in Baghdad.

In Nunez’s book, there are instances where the narrative veers off towards others’ tales, which might appear as a pause or delay in the main storyline, until eventually, it becomes evident that Martha is about to make a significant request to Ingrid.

Martha openly discusses that the treatments have proven unsuccessful and the cancer has progressed, spreading throughout her body. She acknowledges that war provided an intense adrenaline rush alongside fear, but she’s not one to endure pain stoically: “I believe I deserve a peaceful demise.” Martha has obtained an illicit euthanasia pill and has been mentally prepared since her initial diagnosis. However, she wishes for a friend to be present in the adjacent room when she takes it, shuddering at the idea of a stranger discovering her body. She also wants this final act to occur in a place where she has no past connections.

After publishing a book about her fear of death, Ingrid initially hesitated, but eventually agreed to accompany Martha during her last month. Although Martha can no longer focus on activities she once enjoyed such as reading and writing, she finds simple joys in listening to the melodious chirping of birds in the forest or watching classic Buster Keaton films late at night while resting her head on Ingrid’s lap.

Though Martha takes great care to avoid involving Ingrid, Swinton portrays her character as self-centered and inconsiderate towards the emotional strain she’s causing her friend. Despite this, they spend minimal time together experiencing significant conflicts.

Due to Martha’s strong-minded nature, there’s no question about whether she will or won’t do something, which is not a concern for Almodóvar. Also, there’s no ethical discussion regarding the right-to-die matter. Instead, it’s captivating to observe two incredibly engaging actresses portray women discussing both trivial and profound issues. There’s also a poignant sense of finality in Martha’s decision at the end, which carries a subtle beauty.

In this film, Swinton and Moore infuse a sense of warmth initially hard to find, alongside themes of dignity, humanity, and empathy – elements that are as crucial to Almodóvar’s narrative as mortality itself. What truly makes the movie touching is its portrayal of the comfort found in companionship during life’s loneliest moments.

In the supporting roles, John Turturro delicately portrays a past boyfriend that Ingrid obtained from Martha. Now, Martha is speaking publicly about climate change and other worldwide issues facing a planet on the brink of extinction. The despair that has irrevocably consumed him serves as a contrast to Martha’s resilience. Meanwhile, Alessandro Nivola offers a compelling character analysis within a single scene, playing an overbearing cop who boasts about his self-righteousness: “As a police officer, as a human being, and as a man of faith.”

The movie feels sometimes subdued to a fault and could have used a few more notes of gallows humor to vary the tone, but it benefits enormously in terms of emotionality from the luxuriant carpeting of Alberto Iglesias’ score. Grau’s sedate camerawork has a contrasting calming effect, suggesting peace for Martha and sorrowful acceptance for Ingrid. The production appears to have shot mostly in Spain with just second unit work in Manhattan, but it captures an idea of New York, if not much sense of place.

One particularly moving element that adds depth to the climactic scenes is a quote taken from James Joyce’s book and John Huston’s movie adaptation of “The Dead“. This quotation serves as a poignant conclusion, imbued with poetic beauty.

2024-09-02 20:25

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