ROOM B+
Ireland Canada (118 mi)
2015) d: Lenny Abrahamson Official
site
One of the most devastating films you could possibly see,
not at all easy to endure, leaving viewers emotionally drained and exhausted
afterwards, though in the process making the appalling subject matter feel like
essential viewing. Based on a 2010 novel by the same name from
Emma Donoghue, who also provided the screenplay, ROOM is a fictionalized
recreation seemingly inspired by real life sexual imprisonment cases like Josef
Fritzl who kept his own daughter imprisoned in a hidden cellar for
24-years, sexually abusing her the entire time, or Natascha
Kampusch and Sabine Dardenne, all survivors of the worst
abduction cases imaginable. A follow up
to Abrahamson’s uniquely compelling 2014
Top Ten List #10 Frank , whose expertise appears to be examining the lives
of damaged souls, it doesn’t take long to figure out what we’re dealing with is
a trapped existence, as the world onscreen identified as “Room” is a windowless
10-by-10 foot space with a skylight above that is too high to reach. Inside are a mother and child, with Brie
Larson from Short
Term 12 (2013) as Ma trying to make life as normal as possible for her
young 4-year old son Jack (Jacob Tremblay) who has lived his entire life
here. What’s immediately distinctive is
the discovery that this world is seen through young Jack’s eyes, providing his
own voiceover narration, where this is all he knows, where he’s learned to tell
the difference between life in Room and life on television, which is an invented
reality, but he has no conception whatsoever of a world outside. With his long hair below the shoulders that
constantly gets in his face, the film immerses us in his mood shifts and daily
routines, peppering his mom with incessant questions all day while they do
morning exercises, making him run back and forth from one side to the other,
play games together, sing songs, share a bath, eat rather common meals that
Jack grows tired of from time to time, while Ma reads him bedtime stories like The Count of Monte Cristo (which deals
with a prison escape) that challenge his imagination. Initially it’s all about establishing the monotonous,
unglamorized details of their ordinary existence, where each night Jack says
goodnight to his bed, toilet, closet, sink, table, chair, all the things he’s
intimately familiar with, and in doing so, provides the extent of this claustrophobic,
closed-in world. It’s heart wrenching to
see how Ma has spent every ounce of her energy teaching, nurturing, and
entertaining this child who loves to watch Dora
the Explorer on TV, limiting the time glued in front of the screen as
otherwise they would both end up zombies, though occasionally she’s too
depressed to even get out of bed in the morning and can spend hours sometimes simply
staring out into space at nothing at all.
In the evenings, Jack sleeps in the cupboard behind wood
shutters as Ma is visited by Old Nick (Sean Bridgers), the one who kidnapped
her 7-years ago when she was only 19, who opens a steel fortified door locked by
an electronic security code, replenishing their meager food and supplies before
forcing himself on her at will while continually reminding her how grateful she
should be for what little he does bring, constantly complaining of their added
“expense,” as he’s out of work, growing violently irritable and quick-tempered
if she actually asks for anything they may need. Sometimes Jack can be seen counting numbers
until he leaves, at which point Ma moves him back to the regular double bed
where they sleep. For his 5th birthday,
they make a small cake together, but he’s disappointed there are no candles,
growing frustrated and temperamental at times, but what’s explicitly clear is
they each give one another a reason to live.
Now that he’s older, she tries to expand the world inside to include the
one outside, describing bits and pieces of her childhood for him, but he can’t
even imagine what’s on the other side of the walls, as he’s never seen it,
where the only outside images come from the television. When the electric power is turned off, she
grows more desperate, forced to eat out of cans where frost can be seen on
their breath, so she teaches him how to wiggle out of being trapped inside a
rolled-up carpet, writing him a note to hand to someone, explaining what to do
once he’s finally on the outside, using him for her planned escape. From the slowed down pace where there was all
the time in the world, like their bath when they were splashing water on each
other, this rapidly accelerating pace adds a different dimension, creating increasing
tension and dread, as Jack is obviously afraid and doesn’t really understand, where
she wraps him in the carpet for old Nick’s next visit, claiming he died during
the power outage and needs a proper burial, telling him to find someplace nice,
where there’s plenty of trees around, growing hysterical at the mere thought of
him inspecting the merchandise, screaming to get him out at once, as she can’t
stand the sight, leaving her behind in a shivering state of uncontrolled
fear.
Once outside, Jack’s perspective is shown through oblique
and distorted angles, becoming an expression of confusion as he’s thrown into
the back of a pickup truck, shown from an aerial view as he tries to wiggle
out, replaying his mother’s instructions in his head, told not to jump until
the truck comes to a stop and then run towards the first person he can
find. But when he’s finally outside,
seeing the expanse of the blue sky above, it’s a spectacular moment of complete
and utter incomprehension, impossible to even imagine, like waking up on
another planet. It’s a rare cinematic
moment, as it should be filled with wonder and rapturous joy, but he’s driven
instead by an insane fear that is crippling and paralyzing, as he can’t control
where he is and what he’s doing, as every time he tries to run, he stumbles and
falls, allowing an angrily pissed off Old Nick to grab him and snatch the note
out of his hand, trying to drag him back to the truck, where Jack’s voice fails
him as well, as he can’t cry out, but a guy walking his dog just happens to be
there witnessing this odd spectacle, where the barking dog appears to spook
Nick, who also runs away in fear, leaving a befuddled kid behind who can’t
explain where he lives. It was a risky
plan that surprisingly worked, where a kindly female police officer is called
onto the scene to try to sort things out, where Jack remains a ball of
confusion in exasperated turmoil, unable to comprehend what he sees, where
nothing makes sense to him. Somehow,
Officer Parker (Amanda Brugel) is able to decode Jack’s nearly indecipherable comments,
turning into a more recognizable rescue scene, where Jack and his panicked mother
remain in a state of shock, transported to a hospital room that may as well be a
completely made up world. The rest is
harder to convey, where Ma’s name ironically is Joy, as she just wants to be
reunited with her family, though the medical staff recommends a transitionary
period of adjustment, but they are whisked off instead to a new house somewhere
in front of a throng of well-wishers and television cameras swarming out front,
creating an utter spectacle that they’re not ready for just yet. While Joy guts it out, trying to remain a
strong presence, she discovers her own parents are divorced, Joan Allen and
William H. Macy, that they don’t live together anymore, instead Grandma is
living with a new friend Leo (Tom McCamus), all of which scares the living
bejesus out of Jack.
In something of a surprise, the narrative is extended beyond
the rescue, where there is obviously more “behind” the story that the public
rarely sees, where there are no easy roads to travel, as instead it’s a mish
mosh of guilt, blame, wrong turns and recriminations, not to mention constantly
adjusted expectations, where the extraordinary patience displayed by the
calmness of the grandparents is in stark contrast to the tumultuous mood swings
of Joy and Jack, whose behavior couldn’t be more inconsistent, both likely even
more seriously traumatized than the film suggests, which may be the only
serious flaw in making this material accessible to the public. Overly timid and uncommunicative, where men
in particular are an intimidating threat, Jack adapts quicker than his mother,
where he learns to appreciate the kindness and helpful nature of his
grandparents, who offer some of the more tender moments in the film. Joy, on the other hand, is goaded into doing
a misguided television interview for a big wad of badly needed cash, feeling
the need for financial independence and not be so dependent on others, but
she’s ill-equipped for the consequences, where she’s more in denial than ever
about her own emotional fragility, unable to make sense of her parent’s split
and the emotional distance that has come between them, wrongly blaming herself,
feeling worthless and overly guilty for allowing what happened in the first
place, as if it’s her fault, seeing herself more as an abject failure, where
now that Jack’s found the helping hand of others, she’s not really needed
anymore, going on a downward spiral where at some point she simply collapses,
requiring extensive hospitalization, where Jack for the first time in his life must
fend for himself without her. It’s a
portrait of unbearable sadness, where outside the Room there is so much space
to fill, where both are overcome by the vastness of it all that literally
overwhelms them with a crushing force they can’t hold off, where it seems there
are too few therapists present, as this should be a standard part of the
recovery process, but they’re expected to carry the weight of the world on
their own. While we are witness to
really standout performances throughout, there’s a beautifully poignant
reunification scene between the mother and son when Jack expresses an interest
in returning to the Room, where he misses it.
Under police presence, surrounded by evidence tape, it’s hard for Jack
to believe that this cramped, miniscule box was his entire universe for the
first years of his life, where he remembers it as being so much more, but gone
are all the drawings and personal attachments that made it feel like home,
where all that’s left is a starkly barren storage shed that has been emptied of
all its contents, where silently, under cover of a softly falling snow, they
hold hands and walk into the uncertain future together.
