VENICE, Italy—Ingrid (Julianne Moore) is a writer, signing copies of her new book. She’s written it to help process her fears about death, but that hasn’t worked. An old friend, Martha (Tilda Swinton), surprises her at a book signing with some unfortunate news: She is dying from an aggressive cancer. The pair haven’t seen each other in years, but when Ingrid visits Martha in her hospital room, the two immediately reconnect; they haven’t lost a step. Going to the hospital to see Martha is a decision that will change Ingrid’s life forever.
The Room Next Door, which just premiered at the Venice Film Festival, is a gorgeous film about the unbreakable bonds of friendship. It’s slower and more contemplative than what we’ve come to expect from Pedro Almodóvar, yet this bold new avenue feels like a perfect fit.
His first feature film in the English language (after the gay cowboy short Strange Way of Life), Almodóvar’s dialogue is not lost in translation. It’s sparkling, refreshing, natural, and profound. The Room Next Door is largely a two-hander, with Moore and Swinton alone together on screen for the vast majority of the film. Nearly every scene is a pairing—rarely does a third person enter a scene. This is a film about connections between two people, be they friends or lovers, and how they interact with one another in times of uncertainty. It’s often poetic and uplifting: “There are lots of ways to love inside of tragedy,” one character reveals.
Almodóvar is no stranger to leaning into sadistic tendencies in the treatment of his characters—his film Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! was one of the earliest films to receive the NC-17 rating on release. But The Room Next Door has a very different, more contemplative version of Almodóvar at the helm. It continues the trend of the Spanish writer-director’s later work, including Julieta, Pain & Glory, and Parallel Mothers.
This film is tremendously sympathetic to both Martha and Ingrid. Almodóvar largely stays away from his trademark bursts of melodrama here, save for one great scene involving a false realization. Reflecting the treatment of his characters, The Room Next Door is an achingly tender movie, allowing the director to offer up numerous poetic conversations about love, loss, and the end of life.
Women have always been revered, cherished, and celebrated in Almodóvar’s films. The Room Next Door is no exception, and it is perhaps his most sensitive portrayal to date. This is a film about accepting and coming to terms with the hardest thing we all ultimately must face: death. Stylistically, it’s an absolute marvel. No filmmaker has an eye like Almodóvar, and he always employs a bold, rich color palette to evoke feeling—and his use of green and red tells a story entirely in its own right.
Both Moore and Swinton, who are in nearly every scene, deliver terrific work, both sensitive and soul-searching. Though we spend the most time with Ingrid, we learn surprisingly little about her, perhaps because, as her friend Damian (John Turturro) puts it, “You’re the only person who knows how to suffer without making people feel guilty about it.”
She’s a wholly devoted person, giving the entirety of herself to Martha to ensure her end of life is as beautiful as it can be. And beautiful it is, as they spend their days watching old movies, reflecting on their favorite books and artists, and absorbing the pleasant weather in their remote home, surrounded by lush green forests. Martha is more calculated and accepting of the end than Ingrid is; she’s ready to move on and be free of the pain that’s made her final years so challenging. Both Moore and Swinton are magnetic.
Almodóvar has been celebrated as a bold, courageous filmmaker for decades. His films are unafraid to tackle challenging topics or have bracing conversations. He’s championed the queer community time and time again, long before it was widely acceptable to do so.
For years, his work has been purposefully outrageous, veering deliberately into melodrama and increasingly absurd situations. Taboo and shock feel embedded in his DNA. Yet The Room Next Door feels like a new phase of filmmaking for the director, something far more patient and lived-in than his classics. It’s a bold new direction for Almodóvar. Taking a creative chance, as he does in The Room Next Door, while working in a new language is no small feat. And it pays off in dividends: His style is bold as ever, and this new played-down tone complements it beautifully.
While several of his recent films can be seen as bridging the gap between the old Almodóvar and the new one, The Room Next Door is confirmation that a more patient, tender director has arrived. This is not the film you may have expected, but this is a film you can cherish. Its characters bursting with life, its music playful, its visuals astonishing, its plot inviting, and its heart is open. All you have to do is listen.
