Pedro Almodóvar is undoubtedly the king of camp. His films are colourful, bold and perfectly over-the-top, exploring the dramatics of everyday life with a hedonistic frivolity.
★★★★☆
Pedro Almodóvar’s new movie, The Room Next Door, is the director’s first full-length English language film. Based on the book What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez, the film follows Ingrid (Julianne Moore) and Martha (Tilda Swinton), estranged friends who reconnect after Martha’s cervical cancer diagnosis. As they grow closer, Martha asks Ingrid to be with her, in the room next door, when she decides to take her own life rather than suffer through rounds of experimental treatments. The film is eerily poignant, screening in the UK the same week that the government is set to vote on a new assisted-dying bill. The debate has, needless to say, been heated and the film seems to both synthesise and temper the arguments.
In the film, Ingrid, who is terrified of death, is unsure of Martha’s decision and continuously questions her. She echoes those on the debate who fear that by legalising assisted dying it would pressurise the terminally ill to take their own lives prematurely, seeing death as their only option. As the film progresses, however, we see that death is not a final punishment for Martha but a way of honouring a compelling and multi-faceted life. The film curves and bends around several stories, recounting Martha’s strained relationship with her daughter, a past lover once shared by Ingrid and her life as a war correspondent.
Whilst death is indubitably central to the film, it also touches on the pleasures of life. In the beginning of the movie, Martha explains how she swings between bouts of ecstasy and depression, a fact that becomes clear in her final days. We see her delight at the sound of birdsong, revel in the sunshine and marvel at a Hopper painting whilst simultaneously lamenting her inability to write, her waning attention that hinders the pleasure of reading and the way that music seems to interrupt her rather than inspire.
With this film, Almodóvar, who supports the right to assisted dying, suggests that whilst it may be difficult and uneasy, we should grant dignity and respect to those who choose death. Loving them enough to cherish their life and abhor their suffering. Martha’s sensitivity to beauty and pleasure are not reason enough to power through in the face of pain, but the response to a life well-lived. One under threat of corruption.
Beyond its subject matter, the film is also stylistically challenging to watch. With regard to Almodóvar’s idiosyncratic storytelling, there is something at once familiar and jarringly different. All of the major road signs that signal an Almodóvar film are present: a swooning soundtrack by long-time collaborator Alberto Iglesias, tense and melodramatic dialogue, even the quintessential ‘Almodóvar woman’ we see time and again in his work—both Moore and Swinton’s performances are exquisite, expertly stepping into this role whilst never letting it fall into caricature.
Despite all of these elements, there seems to be something of his typical spark missing. Previously, Almodóvar has imbued his cinematic universe with a stereotypical Spanish flare: the characters are fiery and loud with a fierce lust for life. It begs the question whether his distinctive and sensuous style survives a feature length translation. The joy and wonder that one usually feels in response to Almodóvar’s work is subdued. The dialogue doesn’t quite have the right level of histrionic grandeur in English and even the colours on screen are muted, eschewing the vibrancy of his earlier work. Perhaps, however, that is the point of the movie. Where a campy joviality may have been lost in translation, a more mature, brooding kind of romanticism has been gained, one appropriate for its subject matter.
It’s understandable to feel upset or disappointed when the stylistic choices of an auteur don’t land in the ways we expect. However, we should dig deeper and expect more from our directors than a lazy kind of spectatorship that simply satiates a desire for the known.
The Verdict
There is a wonderful symmetry between the change in Almodóvar’s aesthetic and the themes of life and death explored by the film. When Martha asks Ingrid to accompany her in her final days, she says she doesn’t want to go anywhere she was previously happy, that when one returns to the scene of great happiness it tarnishes the memory of it. This seems to speak to Almodóvar’s style in a new language or perhaps, more generally, in a new phase of his life. One cannot expect to go back, to relive the same happiness that one felt before. Instead, all one can do is bring themselves and their artistry to a different terrain and see what new worlds unfold.
Words by Kit Gullis
The Room Next Door was released in the UK on 25 October 2024.
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