Lenny Abrahamson
Room

If it's not your genre, there will be no way to convince you that Room is a good movie. Move on to something else. But if you're in the mood to spend two hours in melancholy and delicacy, then you might discover the qualities of the latest work by Abrahamson, the director of Frank. Although stylistically not yet fully mature, the Irish director delivers a well-crafted piece from many points of view. With a subject like this, the risk of sinking into tearfulness for its own sake was extremely high. Fortunately, it is avoided, thanks to a melancholic tone that does not deny tears and catharsis, but also knows how to quickly detach from them, without turning the dramas of mother and son into a merchandise of emotions. Abrahamson's is a modest eye that observes with discretion and then skips on, looking for new insights.

The screenplay helps greatly, written by Emma Donoghue, the author of the novel from which the film's subject is adapted. Such a choice has many positive implications: Room indeed presents a commendable pacing of topics, arranged in order, but never made too obvious in the dialogues. Donoghue's graceful writing allows the subjects to unfold without taking anything away from the realism of the script. And so, while we witness the stories of Jack and his mother Joy, we also reflect on the concept of cognitive limits, on the fact that our minds are shaped when we are young based on what we see and what our parents tell us. Very beautiful and delicate is the way the microcosm of the Room in which Jack was born and grew for five years is presented: every little detail, even the most insignificant, is an important slice of the world for the child.

The goodness of the writing and the measured choice of tone have as their seal the construction of complex, multifaceted characters: the mother is obviously the great point of reference for Jack, but she knows how to be strict when needed. Old Nick is not portrayed, as would have been easy, as a simple tormentor. He certainly is, but the director and screenwriter do not presume to judge: it is a beautiful way of making cinema. It's not so much a matter between good and evil; it's a matter of facts and consequences, of choices and regrets. It would have been really easy yet useless to make a film of this kind about good and evil.

The actors then play a decisive role: besides the talented Brie Larson, I adored the young protagonist Jacob Tremblay. He is the one who makes the film emotionally engaging. Narrative concepts lose their value if there is no emotion. And little Jack along with his mother provides many and not obvious emotions. A small preview, as an example: when the two escape from the Room, Jack is found fearful and reluctant in front of people in the world. Well, after many moments of fear and disorientation, the little one turns to his grandmother, saying, "Ti voglio bene." In a movie built in a trivial way, the phrase would have been pointless: not in Room, because the viewer has followed all the small changes in the protagonist's heart and thus assigns that simple phrase a much greater value, both conceptual and emotional. This is what making good cinema means.