WARNING: There will be light spoilers sprinkled throughout the beginning of this review as well as possible heavy spoilers towards the end. If you do not care, then read on. However, if you’re jonesing for some pure, unspoiled, cinematic magic, I highly suggest watching the movie first.
“Happily ever after …” Probably the most common phrase ever put to paper, one that rounds out nearly every grand tale worth telling. It’s what you say after the noble prince slays the dragon and saves the princess, when the underdog heroes finally best the Big Bad and return home, or when a dedicated parent risks it all, moving heaven and earth, to finally reunite with their long lost child. But as nice a bow as “happily ever after” is atop any story, very rarely does this actually signify the true end, nor does it acknowledge the messiness that comes in the aftermath of surviving such stressful ordeals. But what if a story did? What if within its very narrative, it put on in full display the struggle, the triumph, and the inevitable emotional fall that comes swiftly thereafter? What a tale it might be. Let’s get into it.
After a young woman (Ma) and her son (Jack) are held captive for years in an enclosed space, they finally escape, allowing the boy to experience the world for the first time. This is Room, an absolutely riveting, thoughtful, and gut punching experience, perhaps in some of the most endearing and tragic ways ever put to film. And why is that? Because among the litany of gems that make this film the embarrassment of cinematic riches that it is, there lies one choice that stands out among the all, the P.O.V.
Every movie ever made has had an endless ocean of possibility as to how to tell their particular story. And Room makes the wise decision to tell its story nearly entirely from the 5 yr old Jack’s perspective. In doing so, it gives all events, objects, and people a far more wondrous and threatening scope. Because not only is the world being filtered through the eyes of a child, but a child that grew up entirely in a tiny shed. Jack’s entire world for five years is inside four walls of limited space with bare bones essentials for food, his mom for social interaction, and mostly crude objects and imagination for entertainment. So when he eventually comes into contact with the outside world, his simple, happy world suddenly expands infinity-fold with potentially detrimental ramifications for him and likewise his mother. It’s an equally frightening and fascinating journey to watch. But what gives the film its extra kick beyond watching Jack struggle, observe, and evolve, is watching him watch his mother go through her transition from captivity to freedom and her family's reaction to it.
Watching Jack observe his mother’s post-captivity struggle feels unbearably dreadful. It’s almost like watching a child stare into the black void of an open closet in the dead of night, fully fearing what may be hiding just beyond the veil of shadow. But this is exactly what gives the film its bite; that and the constant inference Jack has to make regarding tension, squabbles, and problems of the adults around him. It’s all far beyond his scope of experience, but catching hints from the tone of covert speech and body language, Jack ponders through the messiness of the adult world as it collides into his simplistic one. Now this may make the movie sound like a beautiful bummer of an experience, but it’s not all doom-’n-gloom. In fact, there are many moments where Jack’s simplicity allows the film to evoke a sense of endearing play, beauty, and hope that I fear is sadly lost on most adults in real life.
All in all, start to finish, Room speaks volumes and captivates with an enthralling tale by saying very little; at least very little directly. It’s a true masterclass in show-don’t-tell with the power to punch you in the gut as easily as it can flutter the most dormant parts of your spirit. I can’t recommend it enough and hope that any and all can experience the beautiful pain and wonder this film has to offer.
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