The Room Next Door

I was curious to see what Pedro Almodóvar would do differently in his first non-Spanish-language film, built around two of the most talented actors working today. The answer, alas: it's disappointing. There are many ways in which "The Room Next Door" lacks what makes Almodóvar's work so distinctive - the spontaneity, the sense of improvisation, the comic timing, the fizzy ensemble work -- but this film's main fault, as I see it, is that it's just plain overwritten, something that is rare in his previous work.

The screenplay (which he is credited with writing) was adapted from a novel by Sigrid Nunez that I have not read, but it sounds like vast swatches of the dialogue were lifted verbatim from it, with much that is ponderous and stilted, slowing down and emptying the film, where Almodóvar's work is usually characterized by lapidary dialogues and madcap forward movement, plunging you into the characters' world with little exposition - as a viewer, you are kind of just there, hanging on for dear life, and figuring out relationships and social context as you go, grabbing at what you can. Even in films that deal with dark subjects ("Pain and Glory" or "Bad Education" come to mind), the action and its background unfold in convincing ways (even when these are actually crazy if you stop and think about them) that draw on our intuition and empathy and depend only marginally on extended expository narration.

Here, it is the opposite: the characters talk and explain on and on, with a few awkward flashbacks to establish context. Little is left to our imaginations. So, while some of the usual Almodóvarian hallmarks are there, particularly in the exquisite use of saturated, cunningly coordinated color and in the tastefulness of many of the sets and costumes (here with lots of lovely still lifes of flowers and fruits), these are reduced to props - they don't serve to tell the story and overwhelm you into accepting the reality of his crazily artificial visual worlds in the way they do in most of his films. And the computer-generated backdrops of New York feel completely artificial and thus become meaningless. Almodóvar's films certainly have plots, often quite convoluted (which is part of the fun), but they don't feel plot-driven, even when they are. "The Room Next Door", on the other hand, is all about its plot, and it is the weaker for it.

With talents like Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore (plus the estimable John Turturro) in front of the camera, there have to be, and are, some great, often very moving, moments - how could there not be, especially given the plot's central premise and the way it both reinforces and strains a longstanding , close friendship in its final days? But the wordiness of this screenplay undermines Swinton, in particular. Her awesome strength lies in her powerful, enigmatic presence and in her understatement. In my unscientific assay, she speaks as much dialogue here as she has done in at least the last three or four of her films (the ones I've seen, that is) combined. Think of her stunning performances in another fairly recent film about the fraught relationship between two women, "The Eternal Daughter" (2022), in which she plays, devastatingly, both an aging mother and her middle-aged daughter. The relationship between the two is subtle, shifting, complex, rich and involving - and yet so little of that is based on explicit dialogue. Or take her terrific performance in "Memoria" (2021), the enigmatic masterpiece of cosmic messaging by one of the greatest of all non-verbal directors, Apichatpong Weerasethakul. These are the kinds of films in which Swinton flourishes, going all the way back to "Orlando" (1992). (She did make "The Human Voice", speaking an extended monologue by Jean Cocteau - remarkable, and showing her versatility, but not characteristic of her.) In "The Room Next Door", she is required to deliver page after page of stilted - downright unnatural - prose in ways that are uncomfortable to watch and that are alienating, at least for this viewer. (This is all made worse by the upper-class, educated-American accent Swinton is required to employ. It's impeccably observed, as you would expect from her. But, as is so often the case with actors speaking lines in accents that are not their own, you sense that a lot of the energy that should be going into the interpretation is instead being directed into making sure they get the accent right. That is definitely the case here, especially since so many of her monologues are delivered in exceedingly tight shots.)

So I speak in sadness, as someone who's been an unconditional admirer of Almodóvar going back to the 1980s. His films have always been based on his own very peculiar, very specific vision of a Spanish culture that may never have existed in reality, but in which he makes us want to believe. Stepping out of that into English and into such a different, and less compelling, American world appears to have been a mistake. Let's hope that Almodóvar, as he pursues his amazing, extended, and rich career, will quickly go back to being himself, not the unnatural, wordy, uncompelling version that we are given here. This one, I fear, was a mistake.

To live or to die is a decision many of us are probably reluctant to address. The fear of this great unknown is enough to keep the notion at bay. But what if we were to find ourselves dealing with a terminal illness with little hope for the future? Would we be willing to nobly soldier on, knowing that our circumstances are only going to get worse, or would we choose to transition to what's next on our own time and under our own terms? Such is the scenario involving two old friends, Martha (Tilda Swinton), a former war correspondent who has lived a rich, full life but is now afflicted with terminal cancer, and Ingrid (Julianne Moore), a successful author who recently penned a book detailing her personal fear of death. When Martha's condition takes a turn for the worse and her joy of living rapidly begins vanishing, she decides she wants to pass on before she significantly deteriorates. She willfully chooses to die with dignity in a comfortable and beautiful setting of her choosing. But she doesn't want to be alone when the time comes: She wants to be in the presence of a compassionate soul in those final moments, someone not to act as a facilitator but who can provide company, comfort and support "in the room next door" as she slips away. And so it's indeed ironic when Martha asks Ingrid to be that person. It's a proposal about which Ingrid has serious reservations, but she also recognizes that she can't in all good conscience turn her back on a friend. These circumstances also provide her with an opportunity to face firsthand the fears she's just written about. But, those well-intentioned considerations aside, how will matters unfold for all concerned when events are no longer theoretical and turn real? That's what writer-director Pedro Almódovar explores in his latest feature offering, providing viewers with a thoughtful, profound yet practical and eminently moving take on a controversial subject, one that's been surfacing more candidly and more frequently in public discourse than it once did and that carries myriad ramifications ethically, emotionally and legally. While the film periodically veers off onto somewhat unrelated narrative tangents and occasionally becomes a little too talky for its own good (qualities that often encroach upon Almódovar's works), this is arguably one of the filmmaker's finest efforts both in terms of the sensitivity employed in the treatment of its subject, as well as in raising questions about the validity and propriety of right to die matters. It's particularly noteworthy for the superb performances of its two principals, both of whom turn in some of the best work of their careers, as evidenced by Swinton's Golden Globe Award nomination for best lead actress in a drama. It's long been believed that none of us will know the time when we'll pass, that it's something left up to fate. But must it be that way, especially if we deliberately put our minds to our circumstances? "The Room Next Door" gives us much to ponder in this regard, showing us how leaving matters to chance ultimately might not be the wisest or most fulfilling course for all of us to follow.

I had high hopes for this movie because of the cast. However, the movie disappointed me. While watching it, I got the feeling that when making the movie, it was thought that good actors and a theme of death were enough to make a great movie. Nothing else happens and the whole movie could have fit perfectly into 30 minutes. And this is not a case where the action takes place slowly and deeply until it reaches the main idea or climax. In this case, the film went along a rather boring path without any deviations, as a result of which even the tears of the actors did not move me at all. Pretty bland and lacked depth.

There are more happy moments than sad moments in this film despite its main theme being death & how we cope or don't cope with it.

I haven't watched a lot of Almodovar but I was interested to see his first English film especially with Julianne Moore & Tilda Swinton in it.

Other reviews say that it's nothing new from the director. Having not seen many of his films I can't confirm that. I do admire how he can take something we struggle to talk about and bring colour & happiness to it.

There seems to also be a consensus that more could've been done with the characters considering the quality of actors available to Pedro Almodovar. I don't know about that, I think less is more.

Enough of the characters backstory is expressed to tell the story. Why do more?

The Room Next Door feels like Pedro Almodóvar stepping into uncharted territory. It's his first English-language film, and while it's undeniably beautiful, it left me wishing for a bit more substance beneath the surface. The story focuses on Martha, a war photographer facing terminal cancer, and Ingrid, a novelist whose friendship with Martha has grown distant. Almodóvar brings his signature style-bold colors, symbolic spaces, and carefully crafted visuals-but somehow, the emotional depth he's known for doesn't quite land.

Color plays a huge role here, especially red. Almodóvar uses it as a recurring theme-it's in Martha's outfits, Ingrid's scattered notes, and the carefully chosen decor of the house where most of the story unfolds. Normally, his use of red bursts with life and passion (Volver, anyone?), but here it feels muted. Instead of adding emotional weight to Martha's struggles with agency and mortality, it seems more decorative than symbolic, like it's there to remind us we're watching an Almodóvar film but not much else.

The house, though, is stunning. It's this sleek, modernist marvel of icy blues and greys, with pops of red, yellow, and green breaking through the sterile perfection. It's a powerful metaphor for Martha and Ingrid's fragile connection-a place that feels both protective and isolating. But as much as I loved how the house looked, I kept waiting for it to feel like a real part of the story. It's a backdrop with so much potential, but its symbolism doesn't dig deep enough to make the emotional stakes feel real.

Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore are, unsurprisingly, excellent. Swinton gives Martha a quiet fierceness, and Moore portrays Ingrid with a mix of regret and tenderness. But the dialogue between them sometimes falls flat-it's too heavy on exposition and not raw enough to pull you in. Their interactions often feel more like scripted exchanges than heartfelt conversations, which makes it harder to connect with their journey.

Ultimately, The Room Next Door is a feast for the eyes, but its heart doesn't quite match its visual brilliance. It's beautiful, yes, but it feels like it's searching for the emotional depth that made Almodóvar's earlier films so unforgettable. I respect the ambition, but as the credits rolled, I couldn't help but miss the vibrant storytelling of his past works.