That milestone aside, it quickly becomes clear that this day is much like every other that Jack has ever experienced - right down to the unhappy ritual of locking himself away in the wardrobe at night, when a barely glimpsed man known only as Old Nick (Sean Bridgers) opens the security-code-enabled door (or Door, rather), has an inexplicable yet noisy interaction with Ma, replenishes their food and supplies, and then leaves. But no one is a better friend to him, of course, than Ma, and we watch with growing tenderness and trepidation as she attends to Jack’s every need: running him through a morning exercise routine, playing games with him, reading books to him, giving him a bath, fixing him a simple meal, and even baking him a cake to celebrate his fifth birthday. In these spare, grubby environs (expertly arranged by production designer Ethan Tobman), every object, like Table and Toilet and Sink, is not just a functional item but a friend. They spend every waking minute together in the room - or Room, as they call it, Jack having no awareness that there might be others like it. Lensed in dingy, muted colors and tight, widescreen closeups that deliberately frustrate our sense of space, the film places us in extremely close quarters with Jack (Jacob Tremblay) and Ma (Larson), the only other person he’s ever seen or spoken to. The film, by contrast, has no recourse but to give us an immediate view of this enclosed space, though Abrahamson and his gifted cinematographer Danny Cohen do a fine job of keeping as much concealed as possible.
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