Content warning: This article contains mentions of suicide.

“The Room Next Door” paints a sensitive portrait of two women with differing existential outlooks that are otherwise alike: Martha Hunt (Tilda Swinton) and Ingrid Parker (Julianne Moore) share a love of writing, penchants for travel and even a past flame. After working together at Paper Magazine for several years, the two lost contact –– Martha worked as a wartime journalist and Ingrid moved abroad, and became a novelist. They rekindle their friendship in New York City after Ingrid hears of Martha’s cancer diagnosis, and Ingrid supports her old friend through treatment. 

When Martha’s prognosis takes a fatal turn, she approaches Ingrid with a daunting request — Martha has procured a cyanide pill from the dark web and scoped out a rental home in upstate New York, where she hopes to live out a final few weeks before ending her life on her own terms. Martha wants Ingrid to accompany her, and when she decides it’s time to take the pill, she asks if Ingrid can be in the room next door.

Martha has lived an impressive life, her work in journalism shuttling her between continents to document international conflict. She justifies her request with the fact that while she has looked death in the face in instances past, she has never done so alone. To her, cancer is “another war.” Ingrid, who is uncomfortable with the notions of death and illness — despite publishing novels reflecting on the topics — is hesitant to accompany Martha but ultimately honors her request. As the two characters reconnect and reflect on their shared and individual histories, the story defines itself as an introspective, small-scale drama that explores female friendship while debating themes of mortality and control.

Despite being adapted from Sigrid Nunez’s novel, “What Are You Going Through,” the most decadent parts of “The Room Next Door” are its picturesque visuals. Director Pedro Almodovár’s world is painted in jewel tones, from the lush greenery outside of the women’s Airbnb to Martha’s hospital room. 

The film values art, both in an aesthetic and literal sense — its setting and cinematography take inspiration from the work of realist artist Edward Hopper. Beyond the more obvious allusion to Hopper’s work with a replica mounted within the rental house, his influence is evident from the outside-looking-in camera angles that are reminiscent of his painting “Nighthawks” to the configuration of several lawn chairs outside, which reference his painting, “People in the Sun.” The style of realism influences the contents of the film itself, as the women seek authentic answers to their existential questions. 

In keeping realism at the film’s forefront, Almodovár compels viewers to apply the principles behind the style to the film itself, seeking their own authentic answers to the women’s existential questions.

The film’s most effective characterization comes from its camera work and scene design. When Martha misplaces her euthanasia pill mid-film and returns to her apartment with Ingrid in search of it, vivid close-up shots of their hands rifling through cabinets and drawers stocked full of notebooks, matchbooks and trinkets highlight her history and evidence of a life well-lived.

Swinton is exceptional in her depiction of Martha. After the initial shock of her prognosis, she speaks of it with good humor and an unflinching sense of rationality. Her decision is a matter of agency and control, and her frank and sometimes uncomfortable musings on impending death initially terrify Ingrid. Moore first plays Ingrid as a warm and nervous figure, unsure of her own convictions. Her character grows more committed in her beliefs as the film progresses, and her strengthening relationship with Martha allows her to become more comfortable with the idea of mortality.

Martha and Ingrid’s relationship is depicted on a close scale, but a later, memorable monologue by their shared ex-lover, Damian Cunningham (John Turturro) puts their ruminations on life into perspective. His tirade about climate change and political polarization is a reminder that in the most cynical sense, we’re all on a similar, conclusive trajectory where death is perhaps the least consequential ending. 

Damian’s perspective is negative, but in Almodovár’s story of friendship and control, it makes the personal realizations unfolding between Ingrid and Martha more meaningful: The two women’s musings may be minute in the grand scheme of a quickly devolving world, but that’s what makes their conversations matter. Through “The Room Next Door,” Almodovár spins a tale that is overwhelmingly warm and earnest in spite of its somber premise.

Contact Eleanor Jacobs at [email protected].