Our review of The Room Next Door, by Pedro Almodovar: a filmmaker under bromide

Death wears Prada. Unless it’s Gucci or Saint Laurent. We get lost there. At Almodovar, we agonize over getting dressed to the nines. It’s so chic. Martha (Tilda Swinton) and Ingrid (Julianne Moore) haven’t seen each other for a long time. They worked in the same magazine. One was a war correspondent; the other became a fashionable writer, a sort of Susan Sontag without a white streak.

Suffering from cancer (the various protocols have yielded nothing), Martha asks Ingrid to be by her side when she decides to take the fatal pill she bought on the dark web. She rented a house in the countryside. When the door to her room is closed, it will mean that she has accomplished the ultimate gesture. Top there.

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Cinema: director Pedro Almodovar speaks with Madrid

The two intellectuals go to the area around Woodstock. The villa is modern, sanitized. Has anyone ever lived in it? Damn, the sufferer forgot the famous pill in her Manhattan apartment. Ah, that…