There's a common saying that goldfish grow to the size of their bowls. This, in turn, is used to describe the limits or extent of a person's world view, often implying one of two things – either that you can have a very narrow and limited view of your environment if you allow it to be that way, or alternatively, that by pulling off someone's blinkers, you can set their mind free into all kinds of untold possibilities.
Room explores, brilliantly, both of these extremes in a way which is touching, tender, emotional, yet also has tension, precision and power. The first section is claustrophobic in the extreme in some respects, the goldfish clearly trying to be kept restricted and contained. Four bleak walls and one distant skylight form the landscape, with tattered crayoned pictures and grubby misshapen items offering little relief.
Yet the creativity and determination of Joy towards her young son Jack lights up much of this segment. At least initially. Things very quickly take a more sinister turn as we're introduced to old Nick, their captor, who is initially a shadowy and ill-formed figure, viewed from the wardrobe.
As plans are fomented to deal with the situation at hand, the action and acting, accompanied by the music, interplay in quite magnificent ways to ratchet up the dramatic tension. Even then, little moments of tender humanity and humour are allowed to show their faces, making this feel like your peering into their tiny bowl. And when finally the break for freedom happens, you're left almost unable to breathe with fear and hope, as the brave new world swings tantalisingly into view.
The second section, unsurprisingly, takes more than a few blinking moments to come into view. Suddenly the bowl is huge and scary and although we're allowed to breathe again, it's in a short shallow slightly shaky way. We meet more people who we're given to understand in an understated way have also been finding things difficult to cope with. This is in many ways at the crux of what we see unfolding, although there's also a beautifully played subplot about growing up and letting go.
There was one what I felt was a slightly clunky moment during a TV interview, but with hindsight, I can see this was a plot device used to take you deeper into the mindset of Joy, helping to explain subsequent events. The juxtaposition happening before you is unsettling at the same time as it's uplifting and yet the director manages to tie things up and bring closure to the production in a beautiful way. Although certainly elements are harrowing, it is never mawkish or gloom-ridden and it strikes a particular balance between dark and light throughout.
The score, edits and photography are superb, really adding to the piece overall, with the music in particular hitting the sweet spot. I've spent most of the past 24 hours with things from this movie bubbling around in my mind, in particular, picking over details of what we've seen as well as wondering about what happened next (I know I know, it's fiction but that's how engaging and embracing I found this).
One of Jack's little soliloquies towards the end in particular had a resonance that went far wider than the contained events we were presented with – he's outside the bowl looking in now methinks.
5
Room explores, brilliantly, both of these extremes in a way which is touching, tender, emotional, yet also has tension, precision and power. The first section is claustrophobic in the extreme in some respects, the goldfish clearly trying to be kept restricted and contained. Four bleak walls and one distant skylight form the landscape, with tattered crayoned pictures and grubby misshapen items offering little relief.
Yet the creativity and determination of Joy towards her young son Jack lights up much of this segment. At least initially. Things very quickly take a more sinister turn as we're introduced to old Nick, their captor, who is initially a shadowy and ill-formed figure, viewed from the wardrobe.
As plans are fomented to deal with the situation at hand, the action and acting, accompanied by the music, interplay in quite magnificent ways to ratchet up the dramatic tension. Even then, little moments of tender humanity and humour are allowed to show their faces, making this feel like your peering into their tiny bowl. And when finally the break for freedom happens, you're left almost unable to breathe with fear and hope, as the brave new world swings tantalisingly into view.
The second section, unsurprisingly, takes more than a few blinking moments to come into view. Suddenly the bowl is huge and scary and although we're allowed to breathe again, it's in a short shallow slightly shaky way. We meet more people who we're given to understand in an understated way have also been finding things difficult to cope with. This is in many ways at the crux of what we see unfolding, although there's also a beautifully played subplot about growing up and letting go.
There was one what I felt was a slightly clunky moment during a TV interview, but with hindsight, I can see this was a plot device used to take you deeper into the mindset of Joy, helping to explain subsequent events. The juxtaposition happening before you is unsettling at the same time as it's uplifting and yet the director manages to tie things up and bring closure to the production in a beautiful way. Although certainly elements are harrowing, it is never mawkish or gloom-ridden and it strikes a particular balance between dark and light throughout.
The score, edits and photography are superb, really adding to the piece overall, with the music in particular hitting the sweet spot. I've spent most of the past 24 hours with things from this movie bubbling around in my mind, in particular, picking over details of what we've seen as well as wondering about what happened next (I know I know, it's fiction but that's how engaging and embracing I found this).
One of Jack's little soliloquies towards the end in particular had a resonance that went far wider than the contained events we were presented with – he's outside the bowl looking in now methinks.
5