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 (012916)
Emma Donoghue's best-selling 2010 novel "Room" was told entirely from the
perspective of a five-year-old boy—the offspring of a young mother and her
longtime abductor—and this unique point-of-view has been admirably retained for
director Lenny Abrahamson's tough, compassionate feature adaptation. The film,
also written by Donoghue, focuses on the two central characters in its story
rather than the crime they have been victims of, placing the power back in their
hands after it has been stripped from them for so long. Finding a way out of
their unthinkable situation, however, will not be a quick-fix solution to their
problems. This, above all, is where the sublimely acted "Room" deepens and
provokes most considerably.
When Joy Newsome (Brie Larson) was 17, she was snatched off her neighborhood
street while
trying to help a man look for his supposedly lost dog. Seven years later, her
life—and that of her son, Jack (Jacob Tremblay)—is confined to the garden shed
in Old Nick's (Sean Bridgers) backyard, their only glimpse of the outside world
coming from a small skylight. Jack has known nothing other than the four walls
surrounding him, a place he simply calls "room"—it is where he eats, watches
television, and sleeps in the closet on nights when Old Nick drops by to visit
his mom. Because Jack was so young, Joy chose to raise him to believe everything
in room was real, while everything beyond it, including what was on the TV, was
fantasy. Now that he has just turned five, she decides it is not only time for
him to know the truth, but also to have a chance at a normal childhood before it
is too late. What she doesn't expect is how difficult it will be for her to
acclimate to a life that has kept on moving in the formative adult years she has
been held in captivity.
"Room" disperses little by little the details of its premise and the
circumstances which have led to Joy and Jack's cruel confinement. In nestling
inside little Jack's frame of mind, the film approaches its subject matter from
a place of childlike wonder, the harsh truths of their reality threatening to
invade his consciousness at every turn. Screenwriter Emma Donoghue, her work
under the graceful, contemplative care of director Lenny Abrahamson, is finely
attuned to the unmatured thought processes of her preadolescent protagonist.
And, even if he is too young and too close to notice, through his eyes the
viewer comes to understand the fiercely
protective nature of his mom, kidnapped when she was still in high school and
made a parent when she wasn't yet 20. Joy has struggled to make their everyday
existences as normal as possible—their shed has a stove, a bed, and, until the
unemployed Old Nick fails to pay his bills, heat—because what other choice does
she have? The plan she begins to formulate in her mind could be their only
chance for escape, but it hinges on Jack's courageousness in doing exactly what
she tells him. The portrayal of this make-or-break scheme is deliberately slow
yet unspeakably intense, the equivalent of having a nightmare where one tries to
run but seems to be stuck in molasses.
Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay give their roles an aching, fallible humanity,
their mother-child bond so very powerful it stings all the more when Jack is
helpless to watch as Joy, for the first time in his life, isn't there to shelter
and comfort him. Tremblay, as Jack, does astonishingly natural work placing the
viewer steadfastly beside him as he gets his first peek outside room and isn't
so sure he likes what he sees. As Joy, Larson is wholly believable as someone
who has had to grow up quickly with no one to turn to, the responsibility of
caring for a child both a savior for her and a distraction to the losses she
herself has faced. Larson is the
amazing young actress that you no doubt saw in such hits as "21 Jump Street" and
"Trainwreck" and which you should have seen in the indie drama "Short Term 12,"
where her turn as a dedicated case worker in a residential facility for troubled
teens was one of the best performances of 2013. Ma is an incredibly challenging
role that requires an actress to pretty much run the emotional gamut in order to
convincingly portray someone who will do anything to protect her child, even
after the obvious danger is over and done with, and she hits every note with
such grace and precision that she does the same thing for the audience that she
does for Jack by making sure that things never bog down into total despair. As
her son, newcomer Tremblay is a natural performer who more than holds his own
with his more experienced co-stars and who creates with Larson one of the more
unforgettable mother-child bonds in recent screen memory. In supporting turns,
Joan Allen brings an initial hesitancy and ultimate warmth to Nancy, Joy's mom,
shocked yet thankful her daughter has been found alive, and Tom McCamus is a
trustworthy beacon of support as Nancy's new beau, family friend Leo. Of the
cast, William H. Macy receives short shrift as Joy's dad, Robert, now divorced
and unwilling to confront what happened to his daughter and the grandson she has
brought home with her. Macy is in and out quickly, never to be seen or mentioned
again; it is the one subplot that feels unfinished.
When "Room" reaches its untidy, mostly satisfying conclusion, there is the sense
this narrative could have gone further, delving into the healing process and the
challenges destined to lie ahead as Joy takes the first steps toward her own
independence. What happens to these characters has grown to truly mean something
by the end—a testament to the sensitivity of the script and the strength of the
superlative actors bringing this story to life. Wisely not about what has
happened to Jack and Joy, but about the psychological ramifications of their
traumatic experience, "Room" is an affecting drama approached from an uncommonly
perceptive angle.
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