The Room Next Door
The beauty of primary colours and Julianne Moore
There is something really fun about attending big festivals and watching the films you’ve seen there roll out in cinemas for the entire next year. I would lie if I said it doesn't give me a bit of a superiority complex at times – oh, they still haven’t released the trailer for Queer? Well, I’ve seen the whole film already. But, there is another side to it, losing out on tickets for really in-demand films and having to wait to see them in cinemas with the rest of the general population. For me, Pedro Almodóvar’s The Room Next Door was one such TIFF film, having missed out on – very limited – available tickets for its North American premiere at the festival. I was lucky it was one of the films getting a fall release this year, though, so my opportunity to see it came already this week.
Ingrid (Julianne Moore) is an author whose latest book reflects on death but she is terrified by the idea of it. An old friend at her book signing informs her that Martha, an old magazine coworker turned war correspondent and friend, is sick which leads to Ingrid choosing to reconnect with Martha as Martha nears the end of her life. Thematically, the film is hitting all the right buttons as it reflects on the moral dilemma of (illegal) euthanasia and death in general through a lens of two 60-something, career-driven, successful women.
The Room Next Door left me with quite a few thoughts, and some mixed feelings, but I'll start with the highlight – Julianne Moore. I love Julianne Moore. She’s always been one of those actors whose filmography and whose quality of work I was aware of but never someone who acted in films I personally loved or experienced in ‘real time,’ i.e. got to see in cinemas at the time of their release. The Big Lebowski (1998) came out before I was born, Magnolia (1999) shortly after I was born, Crazy Stupid Love (2011) came out when I was 12. You get the gist. I wasn’t really in on the Julianne Moore hype until the last 12 months or so, at least not in a way that felt tangible. I loved her in May December (2023) and I absolutely adored her performance in Mary & George (2024), which I still maintain was the biggest snub at the Emmys this year with only one nomination. The Room Next Door does very little to help ease my recent Julianne Moore obsession. In fact, it does a lot to make it worse. Moore is captivating in every scene she’s in. Her character, Ingrid, serves as a means to tell the story of Martha and acts as the audience’s eye and ear into the events of Martha’s life that led her to her current predicament. She delivers the performance with grace and a subtle level of emotion that seems appropriate and in line with what we know about her character. The frustrating part, however, is that we don’t know a lot.
The film is regretfully filled with plot holes and narratively nonsensical choices. The very first scene introduces us to Ingrid’s fear of death, which is reiterated throughout the story, but we never learn where that fear comes from. Martha and Ingrid are supposed to have been very close friends, yet Martha never told Ingrid about her daughter’s father until the events of the film. If they were so close, what was the reason they haven’t spoken in years? The Room Next Door sets up a believable story – friends drifting apart, reuniting years later in light of tragedy – but it only sets it up abstractly, leaving the audience with too many unanswered questions.
Dialogue is my other major point of confusion. It is, without a doubt, clunky and stilted, sometimes sounding so absurd it takes you out of the moment completely. While I wouldn’t necessarily call it bad as I found it rather entertaining at times, it undoubtedly feels out of place given the general vibe and emotionality of the film.
Visually, The Room Next Door is a wonderful film. Production design is easily among my favourites of the year, and Almodóvar’s signature vibrant colours and style are recognisable from the very first shot and stay persistent throughout the film. The use of colour is particularly satisfying in the contrast between Ingrid’s vibrant wardrobe and Martha’s pale skin and more muted fashion choices as she nears her death.
While The Room Next Door undoubtedly left me with questions, it also left me with an urge to dive deeper into Almodóvar’s filmography. It made me want to overhaul my wardrobe with primary colours and perhaps dye my hair red. It made me want to watch every project Julianne Moore has ever been in, no matter how big or small. It’s one of those films where its shortcomings never outshine the masterfully done individual components.
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