We’re halfway through #Venezia81 and my impression is that people are somewhat let down by the lineup so far. I’ve actually enjoyed most things and was particularly struck by the amount and quality of female-centric films in the program. There’s Angelina Jolie as the tragic opera diva in Maria, Nicole Kidman risking it all for sex and control in Babygirl, a trio of French actresses navigating the pitfalls of love in Three Friends, a superb, heartbreaking Fernanda Torres as the mother holding a family together under Brazilian dictatorship in Walter Salles’ powerful biographical drama I’m Still Here, and an ensemble of first-time actresses led by Martina Scrinzi in Maura Delpero’s gorgeously authentic family portrait Vermiglio. These incredible women are joined today by Oscar winners Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore in Spanish maestro Pedro Almodóvar’s English-language feature debut The Room Next Door. Tender, eloquent and humane, it’s a film about a rekindled friendship tested by the sudden prospect of death.
Writer Ingrid (Moore) and war correspondent Martha (Swinton) were close friends in their youth but haven’t stayed in touch. By chance Ingrid finds out that Martha has been diagnosed with cancer and decides to visit. The two catch up and realize how comfortable they still are around each other. That’s when Martha informs Ingrid that she’s acquired a euthanasia pill and hopes Ingrid would join her at a nice vacation home where she can spend her last days in peace knowing that, when she finally takes the pill, her friend would be right there in the room next door.
Adapted from Sigrid Nunez’s acclaimed novel What Are You Going Through, Almodóvar made some material changes to the story but the central themes remain intact. We get to know the protagonists intimately, from Martha’s sense of loss towards her estranged daughter Michelle, to both women’s dating history with the same man. There’s a feminine focus in the depiction of the various relationships that feels truthful and breezily relaxed. Then there’s the subject of euthanasia, a question of ethical, philosophical implications that has concerned thinkers and storytellers for centuries. Should human beings have the right to stop living? Does the prolongation of life justify a painful, undignified existence? And what is the right/merciful thing to do when one learns that their friend intends to die?
It took a while for me to get on board with the film. Its first 30 minutes or so, though never uninteresting and visually striking throughout, feel a little bookish. But when the central moral dilemma arises, the tension picks up and the film becomes more and more an Almodóvar joint. At the immaculately designed vacation home where the two women are staying, they would lie on the lounge chairs in the garden, soaking up the sun as if in paradise, while the thought of death hangs in the air between them unspoken but ever-prominent. When Ingrid is left alone and wonders (along with the audience) if her friend has taken her own life, Martha would appear behind the windows like an ambivalent ghostly presence. The play with colors and shadows, life and death, feels distinctly on brand for the Spanish auteur. When Michelle shows up at the end in a bit of stunt casting too delicious to spoil, you really know you’re in an Almodóvar dream where identities clash and anything goes.
The two leads are great both individually and next to each other. They share an easy rapport that makes the characters’ decades-long friendship believable and the unusual journey they go on plausible. Ingrid and Martha are not the closest friends, but friends who have drifted apart and now find themselves bonding over unique circumstances, and the actresses got that perfectly. Swinton has the showier part playing the dying Martha and is, as always, endlessly watchable. The camera often simply lingers on her face, letting her soulful eyes and beautifully aged skin tell the story. Martha may be terminally ill but she refuses to be a victim and is determined to decide how she’ll go herself. Swinton really brings that persuasion and dignity which mark her character. In the way she says: “Before cancer gets me, I’ll get me”, you understand everything you need to know about Martha.
For the majority of the film, Moore has the more passive role looking on as her friend explains her final wish. But the arc of Ingrid becomes more apparent as the story unfolds. Her reaction to Martha’s request, from the initial shock to reluctant acceptance and gradual understanding, is compellingly portrayed. When law enforcement is giving her trouble and she casually but firmly fights back, you see that Ingrid is not just a meek bystander but a woman of agency and convictions as well.
Probably no other filmmaker loves colors as much as Almodóvar and his team certainly got the memo. Inbal Weinberg’s production design and Bina Daigeler’s costumes are sumptuous and unapologetically dramatic. They bring an explosion of style that illustrates any film about dying is just as much about living. Meanwhile, Alberto Iglesias’ insistent, flowery score adds a note of suspense that further enriches the narrative.
Not even counting his celebrated, groundbreaking films from the 80’s and 90’s, I’ve loved Pain and Glory, admired Parallel Mothers, enjoyed Strange Way of Life, basically it’s impossible for me to not appreciate the work of the most consistently brilliant filmmaker alive. And fans can breathe a sigh of relief that that rare mix of intelligence and unabashed emotions which makes his films so special didn’t get lost in translation here. The Room Next Door enchants.
