Room is a gut punch. This film snuck up on me and overpowered my emotions. I knew the general gist before sitting down, but I wasn’t prepared for how powerful the film would be. Lenny Abrahamson’s critically acclaimed film concentrates on a horrifying, immensely terrible situation – the imprisonment of a woman with the subsequent birth of a child in captivity – and does so with verve, intelligence, and a keen understanding of what constitutes as cinematic. Brie Larson, in nothing less than a shattering performance, conveys every emotion you might think possible for a human being, never over emoting or coming off as grandstanding; there’s a level of sensitivity to her work in this film that was gracious and revealing, though all of her previous performances have hinted at this doozy of a role. In film after film, especially Short Term 12, Greenberg, and her scene stealing work in Trainwreck, she’s been a major attraction, and in Room, she’s given a part that every single actress must’ve been dying to get. And very much her equal is newcomer Jacob Tremblay, who plays her five year old son, and does so with a sense of honesty and openness usually reserved for actors ten times his age. The filmmakers have taken the interesting approach by focusing the story on Tremblay, with much of the film unfolding through his internalized point of view, which makes the narrative even more contextualized and layered. It’s important to note that, yet again, another challenging and distinctive piece of art was produced by the people at A24; if only they could figure out the distribution portion of the filmmaking process.
Make no mistake – this film is not going to sit well with many people, as it’s themes are beyond disturbing, emotionally devastating, and all too believable; this sort of thing happens way too often. By shooting in 2.35:1 widescreen in such a cramped setting, Abrahamson and his sharp cinematographer Danny Cohen play with expressionistic angles and skewed vantage points, as the first 45 minutes of this movie are almost entirely contained to the nightmarish shed that Larson and Tremblay have been calling home. The sequence showing Tremblay’s escape is knot-in-your-stomach intense; I haven’t been that edge of my seat in a long time in a theater, at least since the tunnel sequence in Sicario. And when you mix in “This Will Destroy You” by The Mighty Rio Grande on the soundtrack, those moments take on massive visceral impact. Again, Abrahamson’s inherent understanding of what’s cinematic in a story like this is sort of bracing to witness; time after time, this movie doesn’t exactly do what you think it will. Joan Allen is terrific in a small but pivotal supporting role, and the final act stings with a truthful poignancy that wisely makes it clear that NOTHING is OK by the time the credits start rolling. I questioned one, maybe two small things from a plot standpoint, but they were hardly major issues. And as a new parent, I’d be lying if I said that this movie didn’t make me upset on numerous occasions, as there’s something so primal about the ideas at play during this unquestionably forceful piece of filmmaking and storytelling.
Podcasting Them Softly 