Movie Review: Room

One and done. That's the total view count for a movie like Room. Playing it over would be akin to waking up, once more, in a prison, after falling asleep to freedom.

Director Lenny Abrahamson's latest film shares little in common with his past two features: the melancholy music comedy Frank (which, contrary to Room, is endlessly watchable) and What Richard Did, a devastating, sparse drama about an accidental murder.

He's a talented director who, so far in his short career, has proven impossible to pin down. I would have liked to see something else in the mould of his wonderful Frank. But, as Brie Larson's captive protagonist yells at her son early in Room, "This is the story you get."

Based on Emma Donoghue's book of the same name (Donoghue also adapted the script), Room begins with Larson's 24-year-old Joy making a birthday cake with her 5-year-old son Jack (Jacob Tremblay). The kid is chipper, though there's little cause for celebration. How should he know any different? He's spent his whole life in the same claustrophobic space where his Ma has been held prisoner by her kidnapper and rapist since she was 17.

Narrated from Jack's point of view - complete with a kind-of homeschooled, cloistered vernacular - he remarks about the extent of his world, which comprises exclusively of the four walls that surround him, his mother, the man they call Old Nick who makes his way into their room each night, and a skylight that hints at space above, and nothing else.

After years of saying otherwise, Ma eventually tells Jack that there's a world beyond room - one in which her own mum and dad (Joan Allen, William H. Macy) are waiting for them. There are dogs and turtles and trees and... well, explaining anything else to Jack would be pointless, given he has no context to accompany them. Still, she reckons he's old enough to know the truth. And old enough to help her break them free.

If the first, suffocating hour isn't enough to tighten your chest, the heart-tearing escape sequence should do the trick; an expertly executed set piece that somehow finds beauty in an otherwise horrifying sequence of events.

Tremblay's narration - and performance - may be a challenging obstacle for viewers. (Same goes for the cloying score.) His naïve, shrill, precocious voice-over seems tailored for a fairytale, despite his real-life Grimm circumstances. An intentional direction or otherwise, it can grate. Thankfully, Larson is almost always on-screen alongside him, haunted, unyielding and properly, honestly brilliant.

Room is undeniably unique and made with skill (that certainly elevates it above its ‘Lifetime movie’ potential). However, what makes it special - and worth that maybe only viewing - is Larson's performance as a funny, brave woman with an endless reservoir of love for her son, the product of the worst circumstances imaginable. She carries the weight of guilt and responsibility for the both of them. Room, as a depiction, generally, of a mother’s sacrifice, and, specifically, of PTSD, can’t be missed.

Correction: it's Brie who cannot be missed. Introduced to some in United States of Tara and mostly missed in Short Term 12, she won't go forgotten or under-seen any longer.

Following in the footsteps of, yes, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, both inspired by real life cases from very recent American and Austrian history, Room is a ferocious reminder of human resilience; particularly that of women (from childbirth to, in this instance, the unthinkable).

It's a resilience that stretches far beyond the constraints of one tiny room and given life by its star. The feature as a whole may not match Larson's performance, but as a Brie Larson-delivery device, Room is second to none.

3.5/5

In cinemas January 28. Rated M for mature themes and coarse language.