In Pedro Almodóvar’s newest film, The Room Next Door, Tilda Swinton plays Martha, a former war correspondent who is battling inoperable cervical cancer. From the moment we meet her character, it is clear that we are not in a typical hospital setting. Almodóvar, known for his vibrant use of color and striking visual compositions, transforms what should be an impersonal, sterile space into a lush, aesthetically pleasing environment that exudes warmth and comfort.
Martha’s hospital room is lined with tasteful autumnal wallpaper, dotted with vibrant cut flowers, and features a bold lime green chair that pops against the rest of the decor. It’s as if Almodóvar refuses to let the standard image of a clinical, lifeless hospital room define Martha’s experience. The room overlooks a dreamlike Manhattan cityscape, adding to the otherworldly quality of the space. In one particularly striking moment, we witness pink snow falling gently outside the window—a scene that is pure Almodóvar in its surreal beauty.
A Vivid Friendship Revisited
One of the film’s most visually arresting moments comes early on, when Julianne Moore’s character, Ingrid, stops by to visit Martha. Ingrid, a successful novelist who sports an iconic burgundy lip throughout the film, walks into the hospital room, and the color palette of the scene becomes instantly mesmerizing. Martha, reclined in bed, is dressed in a bright red jacket and bold blue pants, while Ingrid enters wearing a rich burgundy coat and carrying a stylish navy intrecciato bag.
The contrast between the two characters’ wardrobes is striking: Martha, the one who is gravely ill, is dressed in bright, lively colors, while Ingrid’s outfit is more muted and subdued. It feels as though their energies have been reversed—Martha, though sick, exudes a sense of vitality, while Ingrid’s darker tones suggest a quieter, more reflective state of mind. This attention to detail in the characters’ visual presentation is a testament to Almodóvar’s skill as a director, known for using color and costume to convey deeper emotional truths.
As the scene unfolds, it’s hard not to appreciate the careful composition of the shot, as the two women embrace. The tableau is breathtaking, not just for the interplay of colors but for the underlying emotions that are bubbling beneath the surface. Their reunion, tinged with both joy and sorrow, sets the tone for the rest of the film—a meditation on life, friendship, and the approach of death.
A Reflection on Life, Death, and the Art of Dying
The Room Next Door is based on the novel What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez and marks Almodóvar’s first full-length English-language feature. While the film may be considered more of a minor work in his filmography, it operates as a companion piece to his 2019 release Pain and Glory. In that film, we followed the story of an older Spanish filmmaker who, due to various physical ailments, is unable to continue his work and is left grappling with feelings of purposelessness. Here, the focus shifts to Martha, who, due to her illness and chemotherapy, finds herself unable to engage in the activities that once defined her—writing, reading, even listening to music. The treatments have robbed her of her ability to focus, and with that, a significant part of her identity.
Yet, unlike Pain and Glory, The Room Next Door doesn’t place us inside Martha’s head. Instead, much of the story is filtered through the eyes of Ingrid, a character who recently published a book about her own fear of death. The film explores what it’s like to be close to someone who is dying, as Ingrid reconnects with Martha and is soon asked to accompany her to the Catskills, where Martha plans to end her life on her own terms.
What makes The Room Next Door particularly compelling is the way it navigates these heavy themes without ever feeling overly sentimental or preachy. Almodóvar avoids turning Martha’s acceptance of her fate into a grand, emotional revelation. Instead, the film is filled with moments of quiet reflection and even humor, grounding the story in a sense of realism that makes the characters feel all the more relatable.
Exploring Mortality Through Ingrid’s Perspective
While Pain and Glory was a deeply personal, semi-autobiographical exploration of Almodóvar’s own life and creative struggles, The Room Next Door takes a more detached approach to its themes of mortality and illness. By presenting the story through Ingrid’s perspective, Almodóvar offers a fresh take on the age-old question of what the dying can teach the living. Ingrid’s role as a mediator between Martha and the audience allows for a more observational, secondhand exploration of what it means to face death.
This shift in perspective may make the film feel less intimate than Pain and Glory, but it also opens up new avenues for thematic exploration. The film becomes less about Martha’s personal journey and more about how those around her—especially Ingrid—cope with the impending loss of a loved one. Despite this more distanced narrative, the film never loses its emotional impact, thanks in large part to the chemistry between Swinton and Moore, who bring depth and nuance to their roles.
One of the most touching aspects of the film is the way it portrays the long-standing friendship between Martha and Ingrid. Their relationship, though tested by time and distance, is filled with tenderness and quiet understanding. Much of the film is spent in the company of these two women, as they navigate their emotions in settings that range from Martha’s tastefully designed hospital room to the airy, modernist home in the Catskills where Martha plans to spend her final days.
A Unique Approach to Death and Dying
The Room Next Door is not your typical film about illness and death. While Martha’s decision to take control of her own fate and end her life on her own terms is central to the plot, the film never feels like a straightforward narrative about assisted dying or the acceptance of death. Instead, it feels more like a reflection on the aesthetics of dying—on what it means to be able to choose the time, place, and even the outfit in which one will face the end.
In many ways, the film feels like a continuation of Almodóvar’s fascination with the intersection of art and life. Just as he explored the connection between memory and creativity in Pain and Glory, here he examines how the process of dying can be seen as a kind of final act of self-expression. Martha’s journey is as much about finding peace with her situation as it is about crafting the perfect setting in which to face her fate.
Yet, despite these philosophical underpinnings, The Room Next Door never feels overly intellectual or detached. Almodóvar infuses the film with moments of beguiling strangeness and humor that keep it grounded in the real world. For instance, there’s a scene in which Ingrid tells her personal trainer about Martha’s condition, only for him to awkwardly inform her that he can’t give her a hug due to new rules about client contact. It’s a small, funny moment that feels incredibly human, a reminder that life goes on in the most ordinary of ways, even in the face of death.
A Poignant Journey Through Friendship
At its heart, The Room Next Door is a film about friendship, and it is in the moments between Martha and Ingrid that the film finds its emotional core. The two women, once rebellious and full of life, now find themselves in a very different stage of their relationship. As they spend their final days together, there is a sense of nostalgia for the past, but also an acceptance of the present.
Swinton’s portrayal of Martha is nothing short of remarkable. She brings a quiet dignity to the role, avoiding the clichés of playing a terminally ill character. Instead of focusing on Martha’s physical decline, Swinton highlights her emotional complexity, showing us a woman who is both at peace with her situation and still deeply human in her fears and desires. Moore, too, delivers a standout performance as Ingrid, a woman who is forced to confront her own feelings about mortality while trying to support her friend.
One of the film’s most visually striking scenes comes when Ingrid joins Martha in bed one night. The camera lingers on their faces, which rest on adjoining pillows, creating an imperfectly merged image that feels almost Picasso-like in its abstraction. It’s a powerful representation of their bond—a friendship that has endured despite their differences and the passage of time.
A Surprising Ending
Perhaps the most unexpected aspect of The Room Next Door is its ending. Just when you think you know where the story is headed, Almodóvar throws in a few twists that keep the narrative from becoming predictable. Rather than offering a tidy, emotionally satisfying conclusion, the film leaves certain questions unanswered, allowing the story to trail off into the credits with a sense of ambiguity.
While some viewers may find the ending unsatisfying, it feels true to Almodóvar’s style. He is a director who thrives on complexity, and his refusal to provide easy answers is part of what makes his work so compelling. In a way, the ending is a reassurance that, just like life itself, storytelling is an ongoing process, full of unexpected turns and unfinished business.
The Room Next Door is a visually stunning, emotionally rich film that offers a unique take on death, friendship, and the art of living. Almodóvar’s signature style is on full display, with his use of color, composition, and humor elevating the story to something truly special. While the film may not have the same autobiographical intimacy as Pain and Glory, it stands on its own as a poignant meditation on what it means to face the end of life on one’s own terms.
Swinton and Moore deliver captivating performances, bringing depth and nuance to their roles, while Almodóvar’s direction ensures that even the smallest moments carry emotional weight. With its blend of beauty, humor, and quiet reflection, The Room Next Door is a film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll, reminding us that even in the face of death, there is still so much life to be lived.
