By Noel Vera
Movie Review
Room
Directed by Lenny Abrahamson
LENNY ABRAHAMSON鈥橲 adaptation of Emma Donoghue鈥檚 novel Room, about abducted sexually abused Joy (Brie Larson) locked away in a garden shed with five-year-old son Jack (Jacob Tremblay) who was born in that shed is a harrowing experience, and not always in a good way. We are stuck in the company of two actors only one of whom is adult for almost two hours, one of those hours in extreme close quarters. We see most of the film through the child鈥檚 eyes, hear his voice on the soundtrack as he tries to describe his emotional state in naive 鈥 sometimes too naive 鈥 prose. On occasion Jack screams, a high piercing sound that Abrahamson no doubt picked for that very quality; the director should have also been more aware that a brief sampling of that sound would have been enough 鈥 anything more would constitute cruel and unusual punishment.
Abrahamson 鈥 presumably taking his cue from Donoghue鈥檚 book 鈥 focuses less on the story鈥檚 lurid aspects (it鈥檚 based on the far more horrifying Fritzl case) and more on the couple鈥檚 survival strategies, at least during the film鈥檚 first half; the second half documents a vaguer and in some ways equally horrifying struggle, as Joy tries to shrug free from the shackles her captor has imposed in her head. Abrahamson isn鈥檛 as successful at realizing this half, understandably so; how do you suggest inner captivity in the outside world? Larson does her level best, is at her best when an interviewer tactlessly suggests that she should have done better for her child: the emotions flitting over her face as she processes the idea register onscreen with piercing withering clarity.
Tremblay though does a better job of suggesting the consequences of captivity, and it鈥檚 more in the nature of his character than any lack of talent on Larson鈥檚 part (as she鈥檚 shown in Short Term 12, Larson 鈥 whose previous acting experience has mainly been in comedy 鈥 has the uncanny ability to play abuse victims with great sensitivity). In the film鈥檚 opening shot Abrahamson approximates Tremblay鈥檚 view of the world, the camera floating past this toy and that, past sink and toilet bowl (the tank鈥檚 lid conspicuously missing), past handmade decorations taped to the walls. We slowly come to realize that for Jack this room is his whole world, and Joy has carefully cultivated this fiction by explaining away every detail inside it: that the TV showed made-up images, that there is nothing outside of Room (except Old Nick 鈥 Joy鈥檚 captor and abuser 鈥 who comes in with the occasional food and supplies). The film is at its alienating best depicting details of their life in Room: the hygiene and nutrition regimens Joy imposes on Jack (regular toothbrushing; not too much sweets), the desperately sad attempts to give Jack the semblance of a normal life (at one point waging an epic battle to bake a birthday cake).
When Jack emerges from Room (at a certain point you realize 鈥 and the actors speaking Donoghue鈥檚 dialogue have helped you realize 鈥 that you鈥檙e thinking of the noun in capitals, as a specific location [or character even] with a proper name) he鈥檚 overwhelmed; he perversely wants to go back. Call it Stockholm Syndrome but for a place not person; Tremblay manages to make us understand that Jack longs for the simplicity of his mother鈥檚 fiction, for the small womb that Room represents 鈥 the reality of the outside world is too complex and bewildering for him to easily like.
That I submit is the story behind this story: that the film as Abrahamson has conceived it is not so much the story of Joy鈥檚 captivity and liberation as it is the story of Jack鈥檚 womblike gestation and eventual emergence. It鈥檚 really the story of Jack鈥檚 point of view, from secure cocoonlike shelter to sudden release (the escape 鈥 Jack鈥檚 inability to walk and talk, his confused state of mind 鈥 in many ways suggest a kind of second birth); his vague and often unsuccessful attempts to reach out and find a role in a larger less comforting space. If you like, the story is a metaphor for all of us, how we never stay in one state for as much time as we鈥檇 like, how we鈥檙e constantly forced out and forced to shuffle our own way forward, how we may on occasion win the chance to visit our womb again and discover to our dismay that there鈥檚 really no going back any time, ever.
Room as a tale of isolation and monstrous growth is perhaps not the most disturbing example of the genre (off the top of my head I鈥檇 cite Yorgos Lanthimos鈥 Dogtooth, which is funnier, more horrifying, entirely free of sentiment) but does have its moments, particularly during the first hour and arguably in its final scene (I could have done with less of Stephen Rennicks鈥 piano score, which is pretty but overused). But as the film itself puts it it鈥檚 hard to go back to where you鈥檝e already been or what you鈥檝e already seen; might as well acknowledge the fact, and move on.
MTRCB Rating: PG
