It’d be hard to compile any list of the most influential writer/directors of the past several decades without Pedro Almodovar. In addition to the loyal fanbase that has meticulously followed his work, Almodovar has shown a willingness to evolve his style. Almodovar’s early films, such as Women On The Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, masked nakedly emotional truths within a veneer of graphic, anarchic comedy. Almodovar’s transition into softer, intentionally melodramatic fare with All About My Mother and Talk To Her indicated the empathy he had for his characters. Those that were afraid Almodovar had lost his edge appreciated the transfixing noir of Bad Education and the thrills of The Skin I Live In.
Almodovar’s reached a point where it’s easy to assume that he has peaked; 2019 saw the release of his personal drama Pain & Glory, which drew upon his own sexual awakening and birth as an artist. It made sense that Almodovar would dedicate the next stage of his career to something radically different. Although his 2021 feature Parallel Mothers merged his classical humanist themes with a deconstruction of Spanish history, Almodovar’s next step was to experiment with short form content. The Human Voice and last year’s Strange Way of Life received a significant amount of attention, which is rare within the relatively niche world of theatrical shorts.
Strange Way of Life, a romantic western that starred Pedro Pascal and Ethan Hawke, was notably the first English-language Almodovar film. It was a flawed concept from the beginning, as Strange Way of Life set up such an expansive world that it seemed odd to confine the narrative to 30 minutes. Unfortunately, Almodovar’s first feature length English-language film has suffered the exact opposite problem; the narrative of The Room Next Door is so sparsely interesting that even Almodovar’s notable idiosyncrasies can’t be enjoyed.
Based on the novel What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez, The Room Next Door is centered on the bestselling author Ingrid Parker, played by Julianne Moore. Ingrid has been taken aback upon the revelation that her old friend Martha Hunt, played by Tilda Swinton, is terminally ill. Their reconnection allows for a period of reflection, but Martha has enlisted Ingrid for a much more important task than simply spending time with her during her final months. Due to her fear of the prolonged effects of illness, Martha’s intention is to self-euthanize with a colleague who can dutifully watch from afar in the titular “room next door.”
Convoluted narratives, confused motivations, and darkly comedic plots are all part of the kaleidoscopic style that Almodovar has mastered. However, the brilliance of Almodovar’s best work lies in their understanding of a specific time and place. All About My Mother was a perfect encapsulation of the AIDS crisis that simultaneously showed compassion for Madrid’s theater scene; Bad Education tackled child abuse within Spain’s Catholic Church, but weaved in a metafictional film-within-a-film tied to the country’s genre fiction. Comparatively, The Room Next Door is devoid of these specific nuances, as the context of the characters’ professions, past experiences, and class status are incidental to the zany conspiracy at the film’s center.
Almodovar has earned the right to dive headfirst into Americana, as he wouldn’t have been the first non-English language filmmaker to master the transition; between Park Chan-wook’s Stoker, Alfonso Cuaron’s Children of Men, and Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things, the past several decades are filled with great artists that have immersed themselves within a different culture. The issue with The Room Next Door is that the few attempts that Almodovar makes at a larger point are stilted and awkward. The film’s commentary on the burgeoning threat of climate change is mostly summarized by the cynical Damian Cunningham (John Turturro), an ex-lover to both Ingrid and Martha. His bizarre doom-speak about the impending global meltdown may have been intended to be satirical, but it leaves the specificities of Martha’s struggle trivialized.
The Room Next Door is more interested in the ethical debate inherent to its premise rather than eliciting any sympathy for the characters. Moore has proved that she can ugly cry on command, but The Room Next Door doesn’t provide an opportunity for Martha to reflect upon what life without Ingrid would look like. Perhaps this was Almodovar’s intention, as the concept that these two women were friendly, but not necessarily close, adds a different wrinkle to the responsibility that she’s saddled with. Unfortunately, the intent isn’t enough to make The Room Next Door a compelling narrative; there’s a point in which the clipped, mannered dialogue becomes a burden.
It’s to Almodovar’s credit that he swerved, and applied his instantly recognizable style to an adaptation that could’ve been very impersonal. But even Almodovar is bound to have a few clunkers; if he’s the “Alfred Hitchcock of his generation,” The Room Next Door is closer to Topaz than Rear Window.