The Room Next Door

It's really sad that this great theme and these great actors were used to make this mediocre, banal and almost demented movie.

The story is good, though I'm guessing the original book does it a better service, but the writing and directing of the dialogue is so bad I first thought it was ironic. Sadly it wasn't. The actors save what can be salvaged with really good performances, but every time they talk you find yourself waiting for them to stop. And most of the movie is dialogue.

There are beautiful shots and great lighting, and a lot of colours borrowed from Edward Hopper, to which the characters even point to not so subtly.

I'm really sad this movie wasn't better.

The Room Next Door feels like Pedro Almodóvar stepping into uncharted territory. It's his first English-language film, and while it's undeniably beautiful, it left me wishing for a bit more substance beneath the surface. The story focuses on Martha, a war photographer facing terminal cancer, and Ingrid, a novelist whose friendship with Martha has grown distant. Almodóvar brings his signature style-bold colors, symbolic spaces, and carefully crafted visuals-but somehow, the emotional depth he's known for doesn't quite land.

Color plays a huge role here, especially red. Almodóvar uses it as a recurring theme-it's in Martha's outfits, Ingrid's scattered notes, and the carefully chosen decor of the house where most of the story unfolds. Normally, his use of red bursts with life and passion (Volver, anyone?), but here it feels muted. Instead of adding emotional weight to Martha's struggles with agency and mortality, it seems more decorative than symbolic, like it's there to remind us we're watching an Almodóvar film but not much else.

The house, though, is stunning. It's this sleek, modernist marvel of icy blues and greys, with pops of red, yellow, and green breaking through the sterile perfection. It's a powerful metaphor for Martha and Ingrid's fragile connection-a place that feels both protective and isolating. But as much as I loved how the house looked, I kept waiting for it to feel like a real part of the story. It's a backdrop with so much potential, but its symbolism doesn't dig deep enough to make the emotional stakes feel real.

Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore are, unsurprisingly, excellent. Swinton gives Martha a quiet fierceness, and Moore portrays Ingrid with a mix of regret and tenderness. But the dialogue between them sometimes falls flat-it's too heavy on exposition and not raw enough to pull you in. Their interactions often feel more like scripted exchanges than heartfelt conversations, which makes it harder to connect with their journey.

Ultimately, The Room Next Door is a feast for the eyes, but its heart doesn't quite match its visual brilliance. It's beautiful, yes, but it feels like it's searching for the emotional depth that made Almodóvar's earlier films so unforgettable. I respect the ambition, but as the credits rolled, I couldn't help but miss the vibrant storytelling of his past works.

Seeing an Almodovar movie in English is a bit weird. This is such a quintessential Spanish director, that the lack of Spanish (apart from one short sentence) seems to take away an essential element from the movie. But even in English, Almodovar stays Almodovar, just like Woody Allen stayed Woody Allen in his French film.

I think this is one of the best movies he has made. It's beautiful, it's touching, it's meaningful. Not many films combine those three qualities. It seems as if with every new movie he directs, he gets closer to the purest film making. In this case, it's a story about two friends who both have to come to grips with death. Martha is dying of cancer and wants euthanasia, Ingrid is an old friend who is afraid of death but nevertheless agrees to accompany Martha in her last days.

This sounds as if the film is very depressing. Let me assure you: it is not. Far from it. There are far more happy moments than sad ones. Even Martha embraces life in her last moments, because she wants to spend them in a stunningly luxurious villa in the woods.

Almodovar once again creates a world of beauty, full of colour and aesthetics. His sets are, as usual, carefully designed. But this is also a very moving film, showing how valuable good friendships can be and how, even in death, dignity and respect are essential values.

Almodovar includes many references in his film. Martha and Ingrid watch movies by Buster Keaton and John Huston, and they go to a cinema where a Rosselini movie is playing. But the most obvious influence, I think, is Ingmar Bergman. Not only is the story reminiscent of Bergman's Persona, but the whole movie has a Bergman-esque feeling. Just like many Bergman movies, it relies heavily on dialogue, tackles themes like death and religion, and has a limited number of characters. The difference: Almodovar adds some Spanish warmth and colour.

It's hardly imaginable that there has been a more stylish, more elegant and more sophisticated movie about death before this latest achievement from Pedro Almodovar.

The set design, choice of colors and costumes makes this an almost too extravagant aesthetic pleasure to watch.

My problem is that the movie never finds the depth, which should be required in dealing with such a serious and profound topic. Should one have the freedom and autonomy to decide for oneself whether it's time to put an end to your life or not?

Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore do their very best in focusing on this question, characterizing a close friendship facing its very last and most complex challenge of all.

But the long dialogues felt wooden and too formulaic for my taste. I was stunned by the visual richness of the movie, but it never touched me emotionally, something I'd have expected from a great director like Almodovar.

Story could be good. But something is totally wrong with the way the movies sounds in terms of dialogues. Feels like someone took a proper film and cut it badly having to leave only 'essential' phrases. Most often scenes do not have that entry that makes culmination feasible and striking. Instead, each scene seems to be cut just to its major message.

Dialogues thus feel sour, sometimes smelling like clichés. What could have been powerful moments, just browsed through like a deck of cards. Talents of actresses do not save them.

Sometimes it felt like the script was written in another language and then translated.

Right ingredients. But bad tasting dish, regretfully.