Beautiful, moving, transcendent, wondrous.

Rating: 10/10 (26 February 2016)

Giving meaning to tragedy and trauma is dangerous ground. Whether you're a preacher, a writer, a journalist, a film-maker or just somebody trying to walk alongside someone experiencing trauma, the traps are the same. Say too much and you risk the trite, the trivial, the weightless; say too little and you risk a silence which is filled by worst imaginings. Try to find meaning and you flirt with missing the point, not doing justice to the pain; try to let events speak for themselves and you come close to nihilism. There's so much that can go wrong it's best to do nothing if you don't have to, if events don't force themselves on you. Trauma is distant to most of us But as I found out when my when friend was murdered by terrorists, that approach is ultimately of no use; sometimes the worst case happens, the unthinkable becomes your daily concern, the unimaginable your lived experience.
This is the territory we are in with Room, the film adaptation of Emma Donoghue's massively successful novel (an adaption written by the novelist). I had little knowledge of the book personally, but the film-makers want us to be in no doubt as to where this film goes - the bare facts make this a hard sell. It's the story of a young woman (faultlessly played by Brie Larson) confined in one room for seven years where she's repeatedly raped by her captor; she inhabits the room with her five-year old son to whom she gave birth in the room as a result of the rapes. Jack's world is the world in four walls; it's all he's ever known, all he's ever seen save for what he sees through the single window in the form of a skylight and the television. This is a child's eye view film; it is through him we perceive the abuse which we never see; it's through him we learn of his mother past life on the outside; it's with him that we eventually journey to the outside world in the film's final third.
Jack's mum has helped him create a fantastical world within the four walls of his existence; around his fifth birthday she tries to explain the outside world to him. He's disbelieving, but gradually grasps towards something resembling truth. When he attempts to affect their escape he's just about aware enough to cope with the revelation that there are other people and animals and places.
We know there are real-world equivalents to this fictional story, but still this film is trying to imagine the unimaginable. By all rights it should be inadequate or trite or tasteless or just plain unbelievable. In trying to make a film that isn't a thriller or a drama or comedy but instead a hymn to love and relationships, the film-makers should be falling flat on their faces. Instead they've given us a genuinely unforgettable, overwhelming and transcendent film that helps us rediscover ourselves, our loved ones and the world around us. It finds beauty in the desperately ordinary thanks to some remarkable cinematography that makes the small room both a place of captivity and a universe to discover; the relationships are perfectly drawn and life-affirming thanks to Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay's (the son, Jack) achingly beautiful performances. The depths of their relationship are unfathomable yet also utterly recognisable to anyone who has ever loved. The startlingly brilliant music haunts, prods, pushes and finally engulfs. We never see the rape or abuse take place, but we're left in no doubt as to its reality, its inescapability. Yet we're never without hope or beauty, and ultimately the film lets us and the characters find life in new, beautiful and subtle ways.
There's much to say about Room, but at the end of the day there's little I can properly articulate. I can think of maybe one other film (Pan's Labyrinth - in many ways very different, in others very similar) that has come close to making me feel as moved, alive, tearful and full of wonder as this one. It's a rare work of art that leaves you speechless yet desperate to talk, but Room is one of them.