'The Room Next Door' Review: Pedro Almodovar Latest Falls Flat
'The Room Next Door' Review: Pedro Almodovar Latest Falls Flat
Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton try to find meaning in this melodramatic cancer drama
There are moments of outright beauty to be found in director Pedro Almodóvar’s latest film The Room Next Door. From the lovely jewel tones of the costumes the characters wear — courtesy of costume designer Bina Daigeler — to the sumptuous, Edenic landscape surrounded the cabin wherein our leads are staying, the beauty of life is all around.
And, really, that’s what Almodóvar is trying to get at, that within the constant fear of death it’s easy to forget to take in the glory that exists. Unfortunately, within the beauty of the objects on-screen the ensuing story can’t rise to meet the occasion. With a script filled with equally florid dialogue, The Room Next Door becomes a staid exploration of life and death that uses it’s looks to cover its holes.
Ingrid (Julianne Moore) is an author whose latest book explores her chronic fear of death. When she hears that a former friend, Martha (Tilda Swinton), is in the hospital with cancer, Ingrid hopes to be there for her in her final months. However, when Martha proposes to Ingrid that she accompany her to a remote location and be there when Martha commits euthanasia, Ingrid reluctantly agrees. The two soon find themselves struggling to grapple with their individual decisions as Martha inches ever closer to leaving this world, on her terms.
Hollywood has its fair share of cancer narratives, and while the plot beats of The Room Next Door don’t break new ground, it’s the process of how things bear fruit that’s meaningful. Ingrid says at the beginning of the film, “I can’t accept that something alive has to die” and that’s the movie: the acceptance between both Martha and Ingrid that death is inevitable, and that’s it’s coming far quicker than either of them would like. But almost immediately there’s a jarring disconnect within our two leads. Ingrid is surprised to hear about Martha’s cancer, but they pair apparently haven’t spoken in years … for reasons. Nor do the stories told about their friendship imply a ridiculously close bond.
It’s one of many frustrating slights in the script, credited to Almodóvar himself. There’s one stray flashback, of a young Martha and her farewell hook-up with the father of her daughter, and it’s unclear why this specific memory gets fleshed out and not the central friendship between Ingrid and Martha. We hear about their life is stray asides — they shared a lover at one point, Ingrid eventually went her own way — but that’s all. The primary focus is on the here and now, and once Ingrid and Martha ensconce themselves in the cabin the film takes on a rather rote linkage of scenes wherein the pair bond and Ingrid worries if today is the day she’ll discover Martha’s door closed.
Moore and Swinton are GOATs at this point so it’s unsurprising that they hold this today, especially as they’re really the only actors of note for much of the film’s runtime. Moore’s Ingrid is constantly worrying about how death will affect her. In one scene she presumes Martha has died, causing Moore to go through a visceral series of emotions ranging from puking to sobbing. Martha glides into frame like an angel, though very much alive, for a moment of much-needed levity.
Swinton gets the harder role, quiet and contemplative while throwing out lines from James Joyce’s “The Dead.” Martha says “I swing between euphoria and depression” and it’s easy to see. But Swinton’s inner determination works wonderfully for Martha, a woman who declares “Cancer can’t get me if I get me first.” And Martha’s demise is inevitable, of that’s it’s certain. Unfortunately, the conclusion of Martha’s plotline opens the door for an additional 15 minutes of story, alluding to a possible murder investigation and Swinton in another role. Though Almodóvar enjoys his melodrama, these plot lines — which yield nothing — just feel like a means to unnecessarily extend the film.
The Room Next Door is far from Almodóvar’s best. Moore and Swinton are good, but aren’t they always? John Turturro arrives to give a speech on climate change, introducing how the death of one person is only part of the death of our entire planet. It becomes cumbersome considering Turturro feels so ancillary to things, but much of The Room Next Door feels knitted together from disparate threads. It moves quickly, but it runs over plot elements that would make you care deeper about everything.