“Everything has two sides.” “Not an octagon.”
Room is savage. Flickering between the unrelenting innocence of youth to the depths of human depravity and desperation, Lenny Abrahamson’s latest feature ensnares you in a cage of emotional fragility.
Keeping you constantly on the edge of your seat and the edge of tears, Room is a human tragedy thriller, depicting the confined life of a young mother and her son. As Brie Larson’s Ma battles to keep hope and sanity, Jacob Tremblay shines as the gleefully blinkered Jack, who embraces his enclosure. Room
acts as a sickening depiction of Plato’s Cave, as Jack struggles to rationalise the fact that there may be more world than Room, without ever being able to experience it.
The film sickens with its haunting parallels of inside and outside Room and its onslaught of silence in the face of unimaginable cruelty. Hope, joy and laughter is brought through Jack’s glinting eyes which see all as inspiring. His child-like removal of the definite article threads through the picture, infiltrating the syntax of his surrounding cast.
Room is exhaustingly painful but wholly rewarding. Though frustratingly subverted in the final scenes, Room‘s undramaised approach is a refreshing take on a most severe situation. Room has a haunting ability to prevent you from the cathartic release of full-blown tears or complete revulsion, keeping answers swept under the rug and situations despicably unresolved. It is overwhelming moving to an extent seldom experienced before. Surely the gold of award’s season beckons.
Header courtesy of youtube and image courtesy of film autonomy respectively.