by Hudson Moura
Pedro Almodóvar’s first English-language film, The Room Next Door, masterfully explores themes of mortality, hope, and human connection through the poignant journey of two women confronting the inevitability of death. Adapted from Sigrid Nunez’s novel What Are You Going Through, the film blends introspection and artistry, showcasing Almodóvar’s signature style with a fresh linguistic palette. The shift from Spanish to English adds an intriguing layer of universality to his storytelling. Yet, it raises the question: does this linguistic transition expand his narrative reach or reframe his familiar themes for a broader audience?
Tilda Swinton stars as Martha, a former war journalist undergoing experimental cancer treatment. In a sterile hospital room, she reconnects with her long-estranged friend Ingrid, played by Julianne Moore. As Martha confronts her mortality with quiet resolve, Ingrid struggles to accept the inevitability of death, echoing the prologue of her latest book, where she describes death as an unnatural affront to life: “I can’t accept something alive has to die.” Together, they navigate themes of survival, guilt, and resilience, their dialogue revealing the stark contrasts and shared vulnerabilities that define their relationship.
While Swinton’s performance is predictably commanding, it leans into a deliberate theatricality, evoking memories of her iconic collaborations with Derek Jarman in Caravaggio (1986) and Edward II (1991), as well as with Sally Potter in Orlando (1992). This stylized approach contrasts sharply with Moore’s more naturalistic portrayal, creating a compelling interplay that underscores the characters’ differing ways of grappling with life’s fragility. This dynamic departs from the sharp, vibrant exchanges typical of Almodóvar’s Spanish-speaking films, often brought to life by his colorful and delightfully unconventional characters. However, it preserves his hallmark of long, intimate conversations that deeply explore the inner lives of his characters. Here, the two friends engage in deep, reflective conversations, inviting the audience to share their profound impressions of life and the emotional turmoil of facing the inevitable.
Almodóvar retains full command of his creative vision, crafting a film deeply rooted in his distinct cinematic identity. Visually, The Room Next Door is unmistakably Almodóvar. His hallmark use of primary colors, evocative art direction, and an instrumental soundtrack weave a rich tapestry. A standout scene features “pink snowflakes”—a surreal yet poignant consequence of climate change—falling outside Martha’s hospital window as she recites the ending passage from James Joyce’s The Dead. The tableau mirrors Douglas Sirk’s melodramas, where the serene image of snow falling outside a window reflects the complex interplay between external hope and internal despair or vice-versa. Almodóvar uses this dynamic to question whether the belief in salvation—medical or emotional—is a genuine source of strength or merely a way for others to project their need for resolution onto those suffering. This layered narrative weaves a poignant commentary on the need to find meaning amidst uncertainty and loss.
The narrative explores terminal illness’s philosophical and emotional intricacies, probing society’s contrasting perceptions of survival as triumph and succumbing as failure. Martha challenges the often glorified narratives of cancer survivors, poignantly asking what is left to say about those who do not overcome their illness. The film subtly echoes Douglas Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession, exploring themes of hope and faith through the lens of characters who invest in the promise of a cure, often with more conviction than the afflicted themselves. Ingrid’s ever-present green wardrobe is a visual metaphor for unyielding optimism, starkly contrasting with Martha’s increasing despair, encapsulating the tension between hope and resignation.
As the story progresses, the film shifts from contemplative to suspenseful, addressing the weighty moral questions regarding the person’s individuality. Martha’s decision creates a harrowing tension, forcing the viewer to confront the boundaries between hope and acceptance. Almodóvar broadens this reflection beyond personal struggles, situating it within the greater context of humanity’s fragile relationship with a planet teetering on the edge of collapse. Could this be a nod to his American audience, addressing a theme somewhat uncharacteristic of his usual narratives?
The Room Next Door is a dramatic, suspenseful, and visually stunning meditation on mortality, brought to life through Almodóvar’s masterful storytelling and stylistic finesse. However, the film lacks the vibrant melodramatic flair that often defines his most iconic works, where music, diverse characters, and comedic undertones infuse levity and social resonance into deeply emotional narratives. Perhaps this is one of the most intellectual and serious films Almodóvar has ever crafted—a sentiment that increasingly characterizes his recent works. Even so, the film boldly confronts uncomfortable questions about faith, survival, and the resilience of the human spirit, leaving viewers deeply moved and haunted by its profound beauty and depth long after the credits roll.
(4.2/5)