The Virginia Film Festival closed its 37th year with two films featuring Tilda Swinton: The End and The Room Next Door. Long, one of our finest and most fascinating actors, Swinton, does nothing to hurt her reputation in either film. While Swinton has won an Oscar (in 2008 for supporting actress in Michael Clayton), the fact that her win is also her only nomination strains the threads of credulity. Then again, Swinton’s choices are so unique and diverse that her films are often lightly attended despite critical hosannas.
I’m sorry to say that that trend seems likely to continue. The End and The Room Next Door are very different films, but neither is commercial enough to allow Swinton to rise above the actresses already awash with Oscar buzz in the leading category. That being said, both films enrich Swinton’s uncompromised and excellent resume.
The End:
Award-winning documentarian (The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence were both Oscar-nominated) Joshua Oppenheimer makes his first leap into narrative film and does so head first. One would expect a filmmaker known for covering genocide in a stringently realistic (although undoubtedly cinematic) fashion to make a more straightforward work of fiction than The End. One would be wrong.
The End is about nothing less than the last family on earth living in a salt mine bunker after a climate change disaster. Their haven is not rugged and sparse; it’s actually quite opulent. Extraordinary works of art line the walls. Their library is full of books, the indoor swimming pool is of five-star hotel quality, and they have what appears to be an endless supply of food and energy.
There are six people in the bunker: a father (Michael Shannon), a mother (Swinton), an adult but child-like son (Adam McKay), the mother’s best friend (Bronagh Gallagher), a doctor (Lennie James), and a servant (Tim McInnerny). None of the characters have names, which clearly reflects Oppenheimer’s intent to make this group of people represent the whole of humanity.
They are the last people on earth, and their flaws represent why all other humanity has been extinguished. I should say that they believe they are the last people on earth until one day, a young woman (Moses Ingram) is found unconscious inside the mine. Her entrance into their lives will upset their frail, repetitive tranquility and expose the fractures of what’s left of their lives.
Oh, and did I mention it’s a musical? And I mean a full-on musical with 40’s style compositions (created by composers Marius De Vries and Josh Schmidt) sung live by all the actors. At first, the choice to make such a dark film full of swooning sounds and less than Broadway-ready voices (all of the actors can sing well enough, but I doubt any of them will win a Tony for a musical anytime soon) feels like folly. The raw voices against the lush orchestration will be difficult for many to accept. What Oppenheimer is doing with the several break-into-song moments is deeply subversive. It’s not just that the voices are not as full as the music; it’s also that the lyrics (written by Oppenheimer) turn as dark and disturbing as the context would warrant. If viewers ignore the words the actors are singing, they might not love the voice, but they could easily get swept away by the traditional sound of the golden age of the musical. By having the actors sing live, Oppenheimer cuts against what might give the viewer a sense of comfort.
While I was trying to think of a comparable film and coming up empty, I thought of the Police’s classic pop hit, “Every Breath You Take. ” The song was so well composed and sung that it was deemed romantic enough in the ‘80s to be chosen by many prom organizers as their theme for that year’s high school rite of passage. One thing was wrong with that selection: the song is about a stalker.
Oppenheimer also forces you to pay attention to the words by having the actors sing live and in character. The End will be a take-it-or-leave proposition for most viewers. As festival organizer Ilya Tovbis said, “I think it’s brilliant, but it’s not for everyone.”
The harsh truth of the film is it is a musical about denial. Before long, we learn that Shannon’s father is a former fossil-fuel titan who, in his most honest moments, wonders if he contributed to the state of the remaining world. Swinton’s mother constantly looks for distractions and makes up stories about her life so that she won’t have to deal with her complicity and the fallout. McKay’s son is constantly working on projects, like a diorama of how the world used to be (complete with a Hollywood sign) or an essay on how oil and gas can’t be all bad because they created jobs. McKay and Swinton deliver the most uncomfortable performances in the film, which is saying something when you have a movie with Michael Shannon playing a leading role.
McKay’s son is a portrait of stunted growth due to a lack of socialization (we are given the sense that he was young when the cataclysmic event occurred) and because his parents lie to him by omission and commission. Swinton’s brittle mother is trying so hard to believe the lies she’s telling herself that she’s positively frightening.
The end of The End, in a different context, might be seen as hopeful. I wouldn’t even be surprised if some viewers find a nugget of optimism in the film’s final moments. It’s only when you realize that no matter what they do, they have nowhere to go and no way to start over and that the “blessing” of a new creation is a curse.
Oppenheimer spoke from Japan through Zoom in the post-film discussion with an excellent festival moderator. After delivering a number of borderline nihilistic answers to the state of our planet and how the movie relates to the abyss that the family is living in, Oppenheimer concluded by saying that his film is a “cautionary tale” and, as such, should be seen as an optimistic film because until we go over the edge, “there’s still time.”
After seeing his film and hearing all his words before Oppenheimer shared that note of optimism, I found it hard to believe that Oppenheimer believes there is real hope for the future. That would be an ironic turn of events for a film about denial.
The Room Next Door:
The festival’s final offering of the week, the Golden Lion-winning The Room Next Door, featured Swinton and Julianne Moore in a film by the great Pedro Almodovar (or, as the opening credits listed, “A Film By Almodovar—hey, he’s earned the single name distinction). Almodovar has been so exceptional for so long that it’s striking that this is the Spaniard’s first foray into the English language.
Unlike The End, The Room Next Door is about acceptance. Moores Ingrid is an established author terrified of death, and Swinton’s Martha is a former war correspondent who practically invites death to come for her. So much that she’s willing to give it a push if it’s not on her time. She just needs a partner to be near so she will feel less alone.
Most filmmakers would have made these two women lifelong friends. Almodovar turns that notion on its head by making the women former co-workers at a magazine who were close but haven’t seen each other for years. When Ingrid learns that Martha has stage 3 cancer, she visits her for the first time in decades, and the two women find that their bond is still strong and apparent. It’s a testament to the strength and skill of Swinton and Moore that they make this reconnection so convincing and with an ease that should feel like haste, especially when Martha asks Ingrid for a nearly impossible favor.
Almodovar has always had a melodramatic lean, and The Room Next Door’s noirish score initially feels affected. I would argue that the film’s composer, Alberto Iglesias, would have been a favorite of Brian DePalma’s during his ‘70s near-operatic thriller era. As the film moves forward, my mind began to change. There is something of a thriller element in play, however unconventional. The two friends hatch a plot, and to carry it out, there must be a death, and with that death, there must be some way for the survivor not to be implicated.
If The Room Next Door sounds overly grim, I can understand. But Almodovar sprinkles an almost twinkling sense of humor throughout the film. If any actor was born to deliver funny lines straight from the gallows, it’s Tilda Swinton. As the other side of the coin, Moore’s natural empathy softens the dark sarcasm that often springs from Swinton’s lips.
If anything, the most disturbing character in the film is Damian (played by John Turturro), a man who was once a lover to both women (although not at the same time), whose assistance Ingrid needs, but whose perspective on the future would not be out of place with Jonathan Oppenheimer’s.
Martha herself makes an off-hand comment about the pinkish-hued New York snow being one of the few benefits of climate change. That’s not to say that The End and The Room Next Door are tonally comparable in the slightest, but there are some glancing parallels.
The most significant of which is Swinton herself. She once again proves through this unusual double bill that she’s one of the most gifted actors on the planet and will likely remain so for as long as she’s on it and for as long as we have one that can sustain life.
