‘The Room Next Door’ Review – Pedro Almodóvar Beautifully Explores The Meaning Of Death

What does it mean to die with dignity?

The discussion around assisted suicide is likely easier for most people to consider in the abstract than in the practicalities. After all, death is the one subject we’re supposed to fear the most and strive to delay for as long as science and circumstance allow. It’s easy to express horror and indignation when you’re not staring down the barrels of debilitating pain, diminished agency, and a life you don’t recognize but are expected to appreciate nonetheless because it is supposed to be a gift, no matter what. 

That is the reality facing Martha (Tilda Swinton) in Pedro Almodóvar’s The Room Next Door, the Spanish filmmaker’s first-ever English-language feature film. The journalist has terminal cancer and, rather than contend with a slow and likely agonizing decline, she seeks to end her life on her terms via a euthanasia pill. However, she doesn’t want to die alone. An opportunity presents itself when Martha reconnects with Ingrid (Julianne Moore), a former colleague who visits her after learning about her illness. Despite her reservations, Ingrid agrees to be there for Martha in her final days. The two subsequently embark on a journey that has them confronting past choices, present fears, and what death ultimately means to both of them. 

What immediately sticks out in The Room Next Door is its script, also written by Almodóvar. The dialogue is often expository and noticeably stilted, in language and delivery by its cast. It sounds and feels unnatural, almost approximating what the cultural intelligentsia Martha and Ingrid are meant to represent should sound like. It is jarring, and it would be easy to chalk up the unease due to Almodóvar’s first English-language script. Upon adjusting to the rhythms, which are smoother than one might assume, it’s clear that it’s a compelling feature. Death and all of its friends — regret, fear, uncertainty, anguish, anger, and relief — are challenging by nature. They rarely make for easy, flowing conversation, even between the closest relations. Almodóvar understands that, and with Martha and Ingrid, he scripts accordingly.

Martha and Ingrid’s conversations are frequently awkward and ungainly, with them practically tripping over themselves to relate to each other in this extreme circumstance. Their tense, slightly rambling, but genuinely empathetic words link us to what they aren’t saying. We understand Martha’s search for agency after a life on the margins, recording the world and allowing others to direct her decisions. We feel how Martha’s steadfast commitment to euthanasia completely upends Ingrid’s thoughts on life and death. Even Damian (John Turturro), Martha and Ingrid’s mutual ex-lover, snaps into focus through his terse rebuke of the country’s eventual political ruin, his nihilistic fears running amok. Even when they give voice to their feelings, they still direct us elsewhere, towards an understanding of life’s cruel mysteries and how to live despite them. 

That probably reads ironic for a film about ending one’s life, but The Room Next Door also engages with that. Almodóvar isn’t afraid to dabble in the humor that his rigid dialogue might evoke, nor does he fear the abrupt switch back to gripping drama. The slightly off-kilter approach keeps the film engaging, even at its most opaque. It also helps us appreciate Eduard Grau’s beautiful cinematography, with its vibrant colors and elegant framing. As with much of the film, it would be easy to fall back on a description of its aesthetic atmosphere as ethereal or otherworldly. I propose that the film’s look aligns well with Almodóvar’s ruminations about life. If anything, the heightened sharpness is a strong reaffirmation of the beauty of living, even as life ends.

Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore similarly meet Almodóvar’s guiding ethos. Both actresses seem keenly aware of their script’s deliberately shaky rhythms but, consummate, top-tier professionals that they are, keep firmly in the moment. They take the filmmaker’s words seriously but allow glimmers of the artifice to shine through their performances. It helps make the emotional truth they are conveying shine incredibly bright. Swinton’s dialogue leans heavily on the absurd, but she wrangles every drop of frustration and pathos out of Martha’s quest for bodily autonomy. As Ingrid and the audience surrogate, Moore is equally affecting, beautifully balancing empathy and discomfort with the heavy philosophical experiments at work. Together, they take hold of the material and fashion a surprisingly rich bond out of it, one of the best pairings of 2024.

It’s difficult to say if The Room Next Door will change anyone’s mind about assisted suicide, assuming that is the intention at all. I’d venture that it’s not. What I believe Pedro Almodóvar does accomplish is spotlight what makes the conversation difficult to even start in the first place. There is no rulebook to contend with death, especially death on one’s own terms. Often, the best we can manage is well-meaning, rambling words that sidestep the messy practicalities and emotional implications. However, his film shows that empathy for one’s choices and oneself ultimately makes the most significant difference. The words are immaterial; the feelings are what matters. 

The Room Next Door is currently playing in theaters courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.