Pedro Almodóvar’s The Room Next Door: A Bold Exploration of Mortality and Friendship

Exploring the Profound Shift in Pedro Almodóvar’s Latest Film, The Room Next Door

Renowned for his vibrant production design, whimsical storytelling, and audacious exploration of societal taboos, Pedro Almodóvar’s films often transport viewers to eccentric worlds that pulsate with life yet remain slightly off-balance due to sharp dialogue and flamboyant aesthetics. However, his latest endeavor, The Room Next Door, marks a significant departure from his established style. This film delves into the sensitive subject of assisted death, presenting it with a bold yet tender approach. Almodóvar’s signature tone and visual flair are still present but are now infused with a deeper sense of gravity.

This evolution in Almodóvar’s filmmaking approach is particularly intriguing as this marks his first venture into English-language cinema, following his shorter works, Strange Way of Life (2023) and The Human Voice (2020). As he previously noted, this transition signifies the beginning of a “new era” in his artistic journey, yet the right project for such a momentous change did not emerge until he encountered Sigrid Nunez’s novel, What Are You Going Through. The novel’s core explores the intimate conversations between a woman and her terminally ill friend, providing a poignant backdrop for Almodóvar’s exploration of mortality.

Related

• Venice 2024 review: ‘The Order’ – Jude Law vs white supremacists
• Venice 2024 review: ‘The Brutalist’ – Brady Corbet’s masterful American saga

At the heart of The Room Next Door lies the character of Ingrid (played by Julianne Moore), an autofiction writer grappling with her fear of death, even as she works on a book intended to confront this very fear. Her life takes a poignant turn when she learns that her old friend, Martha (embodied by Tilda Swinton), is facing terminal cancer. This revelation prompts a profound reconnection between the two, culminating in Martha’s request for Ingrid to stay with her in a rented house, where she plans to take a euthanasia pill: “I’m ready to go,” she confesses. “I’d even say I’m impatient.” 

Echoing the structure of a theatrical play, where time and space condense into a singular setting, Almodóvar’s film shines brightest in its portrayal of the evolving bond between Ingrid and Martha. Their relationship unravels within the confines of homes adorned in vibrant colors—lush greens, striking reds, and whimsical banana-themed decor. As Julianne Moore articulated during a press conference following the film’s premiere at the Venice Film Festival, “We very rarely see a film about female friendships, and especially female friendships that are older.”

The essential theme of autonomy over one’s own life and death resonates throughout the film. While this topic has been touched upon in cinema before—most notably in films like 2007’s Le Scaphandre et le Papillon (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) and 2022’s Plan 75)—it remains a largely taboo subject. Euthanasia, for instance, is currently legalized in only four European countries, and the broader discussion of mortality is often shied away from in Western culture.

Related

• Venice 2024 review: ‘Babygirl’ – Nicole Kidman shines in sex-positive BDSM drama
• Venice 2024 review: ‘Maria’ – Angelina Jolie’s (divine?) take on Maria Callas

The Room Next Door effectively sheds light on these pressing issues in a mostly impactful and resonant manner, particularly as the narrative approaches its second act. However, there are moments where the dialogue feels overly simplistic and literal. For instance, during a conversation in which Martha informs her ex-boyfriend about her pregnancy, his response is notably detached: “I was planning on moving to San Francisco next week.” Another instance features Ingrid suddenly discussing finding a gym in the midst of a serious conversation about death, as if every fleeting thought must be verbalized. While this blunt style is characteristic of Almodóvar, the film’s first English-language script may contribute to a sense of disconnection in a narrative addressing such sensitive themes, potentially undermining its emotional authenticity.

Despite these occasional narrative hiccups, the film’s core message remains poignantly clear: the importance of having autonomy over our own existence. While the majority of us may never have the privilege of choosing to pass away in a lavish glass house, adorned in red lipstick and lounging on Hockney-colored sunbeds, we should still possess the fundamental right to dictate the course of our own lives and deaths—especially when faced with a diminished quality of existence. As Martha poignantly reflects, “there are lots of ways to live life inside a tragedy”—thankfully, The Room Next Door is not one of them.