Death is a subject that has been explored from every conceivable angle, but yet we are no closer to understanding its nuances or nature than we were at the dawn of humanity. This has only added to the complexity of dealing with the topic since death is perhaps the only universal inevitability, yet no one quite knows the right way to process it, with everyone having a different interpretation and relationship with the concept of their eventual demise. Art itself has been at the forefront of exploring death, using it as a theme for countless works, which present very different views on how we each handle the reality that we are all bound to meet our fate at some point. One of the great recent works based around this specific subject is The Room Next Door, in which Pedro Almodóvar makes his feature-length English-language debut, adapting the novel What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez, which examines the relationship between two lifelong friends, which takes an unexpected turn when one of them finds out that she is terminally ill, and in an effort to not suffer in the coming months, she decides to end her life before succumbing to her disease, but which she can only complete while accompanied by her close friend since she refuses to die in complete isolation. What follows is a captivating, engrossing examination of the ambigious space between life and death, as filtered through the story of two friends who find comfort in one another to proceed with this challenging endeavour, which initially causes some friction between them but ultimately turns out to be a revelatory experience for them both as they navigate the strong emotions that accompany such a situation. Almodóvar chooses this text as his first fully-fledged foray into English-language filmmaking, something he has been attempting to accomplish for years, and he proves that his ingenuity and ferocious understanding of the human condition is not limited by language, since The Room Next Door is an extraordinary achievement and a powerful work of socially-charged commentary that is as heartfelt as it is provocative, which is exactly what we have come to expect from arguably one of the greatest living filmmakers.

Almodóvar is certainly not a stranger when it comes to exploring difficult themes in his work, with much of his later career being comprised of these challenging, almost haunting examinations of the human condition and its various obstacles. Death is also not a rare theme in his films, with several of his projects exploring the experiences surrounding something that many of us fear or at least feel a genuine sense of dread when considering, especially in our younger years. Almodóvar is not as young as he was when he rose to prominence, so it’s not difficult to imagine he was attracted to Nunez’s exceptional novel as a way of not only revisiting themes that have populated a lot of his previous work but also as a way of working through his existential quandaries, something that has been an ongoing endeavour in a lot of his films for the better part of the last two decades. Death is not something that is ever easy to talk about, but it’s essential and we all experience loss in some way or another, which is a vital lesson and an indicator of our strength in very difficult periods. The focus of The Room Next Door are two women of the same age and generation, but who are at very different stages of their lives – one is thriving and is seemingly at the peak of her professional career and personal life, whereas the other has come to realize she has only months left in hers, which impels her to reach out to someone whose vivacity and joie de vivre contrasts with her impending demise, especially one she intends to reach on her terms. In choosing to focus on two dual perspectives, Almodóvar can create a film that doesn’t limit itself to only one viewpoint, but rather interrogates these themes through two radically different approaches, creating a more balanced and nuanced depiction of the experiences we all encounter when it comes to death, whether we are losing someone we love or are in the final stages of our own lives. The Room Next Door doesn’t claim to have the answers, and it doesn’t aim to imply that it is authoritative in any way. Instead, it’s a film that centres around the process of coming to terms with an enormous inevitability and finding the comfort and solace in that period, which may be difficult but can ultimately make the transition somewhat easier for all involved.

However, we can’t limit a film like The Room Next Door to one specific theme, and any attempts to view it solely as some dour exploration of the final stages of one’s life are looking at it from a very limited perspective. Almodóvar has a tendency to choose a couple of foundational themes that drive his work but weaves them through a number of different topics that make his films layered, compelling mosaics of the human condition. The significance of this film is not how it approaches death directly and in the most frank terms imaginable, but in how he offers commentary on many themes that are not directly related to the central subject, but still aid in making it richer and more evocative. Despite its downbeat subject matter, The Room Next Door is surprisingly effervescent, since not only does it treat death as a fact of life and not something that one should expend too much energy on in terms of dwelling on their eventual demise, but it foregrounds certain other ideas that make the film as much a celebration of life as it is an examination of death, the two working in tandem to create something far more compelling than a simple one-dimensional depiction of terminal illness. At its core, the narrative is based around friendship and human connection – the two protagonists were close friends in their younger years but drifted apart as a result of nothing other than following their unique paths. There weren’t any notable fallouts or arguments, they simply pursued different lives, and through fate came together again when they both needed it the most. Quite a bit of the film is spent focusing on the relationship between Ingrid and Martha, two radically different women who share a special bond, and one that is made even richer through the time they spend together, even if the spectre of death lingers heavily on every activity and conversation. This is where we see a perfect collision of Almodóvar’s later style with the remnants of his earlier work, with the film being about a very sombre subject, filtered through a heartfelt exploration of female friendship, which has always been a theme that he has actively explored throughout his career, and which manifests here with such incredible nuance. The director has always been attracted to stories of unexpected connections, whether newly-minted relationships or those that have existed for a long time and undergone changes over the years, and The Room Next Door actively embraces these ideas from the stunning first moments to the haunting conclusion.

One of the reasons Almodóvar seems to have been drawn to this material comes from his fascination with two actors that he has stated he has admired for years, and with whom he was desperate to work – and based on their remarks, it seems that the feeling was entirely mutual. He had previously worked with Tilda Swinton in his adaptation of Jean Genet’s The Human Voice, which came about as a result of their long-standing friendship and was the director’s very first foray into English-language filmmaking, and it seemed inevitable that they would reunite again at some point. Julianne Moore had not worked with him previously, but she’s expressed her love for his films, so it’s clear very little effort needed to be put into recruiting either actor for this film. Moore and Swinton are both incredible performers in their own right and logical fits for Almodóvar’s universe since they possess a very particular skill, which is the ability to immerse themselves fully into these characters, even when they are profoundly complex and handling subjects that would be daunting for even the most seasoned of veterans. They also have the ability to oscillate between being subtle and grandiose when the circumstances require it, shifting between the two with very little difficulty. More than anything else, the impetus for the central performances in The Room Next Door was not only the extent to which the two leads could adapt to Almodóvar’s style but also their ability to play across from one another, which is the foundation of the entire film and the factor that ultimately decides how effective the story will be when placed into their hands. As expected, both are remarkable – they capture every nuance of these women with precision and delicacy, finding a very sensitive approach to exploring these themes that feels authentic but not too subtle that we lose the essence of what is being conveyed. Despite never having previously collaborated, Moore and Swinton have exceptional chemistry, convincing us wholeheartedly that these characters are longtime friends who have spent years apart but have now been forced into each other’s lives as one of them undertakes her final voyage to the great unknown. It’s beautiful work from both actors, who work closely with Almodóvar to create these characters and infuse them with so much life and soul, contributing to the poignancy embedded in this powerful story.

Almodóvar is a master storyteller for several reasons, and beyond being an impeccable writer, he has shown significant prowess when it comes to the methods of telling these stories. Whether his more outrageously comedic works earlier in his career or the more sombre, reflective dramas that he found meant more to him as he got older, there is a gravity to his work that represents the perfect collision between style and substance, which he marries perfectly in every one of his films, even those that aren’t as effective as others. The Room Next Door can be viewed as something of an experiment since it is his first full-length film in English (and there wasn’t anything particularly distinct about the narrative that it could not be set in his native Spain like his other films), but yet in stepping out of his comfort zone and doing something quite different, the director is making an effort to transpose his style to a different milieux, and manages to reap the benefits of such an endeavour, since his style remains consistent, only slightly changing in terms of how it is brought to life on screen. Tonally, everything we would expect from a late-career Almodóvar is present – the sombre meditations on existence punctuated by a few well-placed moments of humour that break the monotony of sadness and create a more multifaceted depiction of the lives of these women (Almodóvar finds a kindred spirit in Nunez, who has stated that her works always have some degree of comedy since she does not believe any work of realism can be effective without acknowledging the inherent joys and moments of humour that are embedded within even the most distressing of circumstances) and how they navigate these newfound challenges. Visually, The Room Next Door is as striking as we’d expect – it’s bursting with colour, both in terms of the production design and the costumes, which are impeccably crafted and add so much nuance to these already fascinating characters. This film is masterfully constructed, right down to the smallest and most seemingly inconsequential details, with Almodóvar putting in an abundance of effort that yields incredible results.

The Room Next Door is arguably a film that will veer towards being somewhat divisive, which is not unheard of when it comes to an Almodóvar film since his work tends to be exuberant, saturated in colours and emotions and driven by a density that is sometimes polarizing when the viewer isn’t able to leap onto the same wavelength as the director, and this is even more notable considering he is writing in a different language to every one of his other films, which can lead to some scepticism from certain viewers. Yet, his refusal to conform and insistence on doing something quite radical when dealing with even the most common of subjects is why he is such a celebrated filmmaker, and this film only further continues his efforts to create something meaningful from a common set of concepts, handling the theme of death with such incredible sensitivity, while never shying away from the more complex aspects of the conversation. As with every one of his films, it comes down to finding the right balance and achieving something that speaks to every viewer, even those who exist outside the confines of the milieux that governs this film and gives it some context. There is a genuine beauty lingering beneath the surface, and the willingness to have the difficult conversations in a manner that is direct and lacking in too much sentimentality is a sign of the incredible heart and soul that drives this film, and its ability to comment on life without needing to veer towards the overwrought, which has never been part of the director’s artistic vernacular. Simple in subject and stunning in execution, The Room Next Door is an immense achievement that is as honest as it is profound, toggling between hauntingly beautiful accounts of the nature of death, and celebrating the smallest but most important aspects of everyday life. It is still too early to tell exactly where the film will fall in terms of Almodóvar’s oeuvre, but his extraordinary command of the themes, coupled with his striking visual approach, as well as the magnificent central performances, will nonetheless make it yet another beloved work in the career of a true cinematic master.