A coming-of-age family drama. A psychological thriller. A black comedy or romance. I don't really know how to describe Room other than to say it's less of a film and more of an experience. In many ways, it's not dissimilar to last summer's Boyhood, in that you follow a child coming into his own, and through the troubles of his life he finds growth, love, and hope. Monsters lurk outside, shit happens, and our heroes overcome through wit, grit, and guts.
Nothing about this film is simple, though a brief plot summary might suggest otherwise. Joy and Jack (played with impossible nuance and love by Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay) are held by their abductor in a small, dank shed they call "Room", having been there seven years (and Jack is only five). Joy has put up a good fight, attempting to remain optimistic and supportive of Jack even as the two suffer from malnutrition and their captor rapes her by night. No doubt due to their monstrous situation, Joy has taught Jack that Room is the only reality, and that their television shows only falsehoods and entertainment. The opening scenes set this up brilliantly, and it's hard to fight back the tears as we see the two enact their routine lives in the cramped quarters. At the same time, the film succeeds in fashioning a more complex emotional structure out of the comedy that inevitably arises from the same conditions. And it's hard to not feel inspired by the creativity and resourcefulness these two people exhibit on a daily basis, to help pass the time.
It doesn't take long for Joy to hatch an impressive, daring plan for escape. Heating up her son with hot water as he cries for reprieve, she manages to convince their captor that Jack needs to be taken to a hospital. When that fails, she convinces Jack to play dead, wraps him in a rug, and demands that her captor take him away to be buried. In one of the most thrilling scenes I've ever seen on screen, Jack rolls his way out of the rug in the back of the villain's truck and jumps off. Of course, the poor boy has no idea where he is, or how any of the things he sees can be real. His fear alerts passerby that something is amiss, and soon the police gather enough information to rescue Joy as well. Eventually, the two are returned to Joy's family and learn how to navigate the real world once again.
Not a particularly messy plot, especially considering that that climax scene comes only halfway through the picture. But the point of this movie isn't the escape. The point of this movie is how we all build our own little prisons around our consciousnesses and pretend that those boundaries make up the universe. When we break through, as in Plato's Allegory of the Cave, we must re-learn the reality of things that, before, we only understood as shadows. I'm not just talking about Jack here, who has never experienced even sunlight or grass, let alone hospital beds or human interaction. I'm talking about Joy, who has trouble reconnecting with her family. And Joy's father (William H. Macy), who can't even look at Jack, as he was fathered by the monster who took Joy from him.
Actually, this film is pretty much an extended version of Plato's Cave, now that I think on it. Jack has some initial trouble in understanding that the world is far more vast and wondrous than he could even imagine, but eventually he opens up and connects with family and new friends. Joy, on the other hand, suffers in seeing how the world has continued without her, and attempts to kill herself. Jack helps her through her recovery. In the end, Jack wants to return to Room, presumably as a form of closure. They visit it, escorted by police, and Jack comments on how small it is, saying that it isn't really Room with the door open. But rather than closing the door again, the two say their goodbyes to Room and leave.
I could go on about the brilliant script, the perfect acting, the amazing score, or the impeccable production design. I think the film's ultimate success, though, is like Linklater's in Boyhood, in that as time passes in the film, director Lenny Abrahamson allows his style to change, encompassing the various ways in which the characters view the world around them. At first, everything is presented straightforward, dimly lit, and with a tense energy that belies fear and claustrophobia. But in the moments when Jack first sees direct sunlight, during that climactic truck ride while the music swells, the screen pulses with colors and contrast. The camera becomes more fluid and unfocused, adjusting to the world like Jack's own eyes might.
I'd be lying if I said I cried through the whole damn thing. I did cry (rather more than usual, for those of you who know my tendencies), but I also laughed a lot. It's funny, sad, troubling, haunting, and ultimately uplifting. I had no idea that this movie would do all that and more, but it does. Do yourself a favor and visit Room. It will change your life.
IMDb: Room
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