Pedro Almodóvar’s films have always explored the very essence of humanity, filtered through his specific, melodramatic lens. His latest film, The Room Next Door, offers more of his sensibilities, and his ruminations on death and companionship, but something gets lost in translation. Throughout his career, Almodóvar has worked almost exclusively in his native Spanish – with the exception of his two most recent short films – but The Room Next Door is his first feature film in English. While it’s borderline reductive to attribute the film’s flaws to the change in language, it’s undoubtedly a lingering question that hangs over the final product.

It could be that Almodóvar simply wanted to work with actresses Julianne Moore and Tilda Swinton, rather than his usual mainstays of Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas, and who could blame him? It could be that the film’s subject matter, based on Sigrid Nunez’s novel “What Are You Going Through”, is attuned to American sensibilities better than European’s. The Room Next Door is primarily concerned with death, and who and what we face when that death is imminent.

Swinton plays Martha, a former war journalist who’s dying from stage 3 cervical cancer. Moore plays her longtime friend and author Ingrid, who learns of Martha’s sickness, and the two spend the first portion of the film playing catch-up and learning of Martha’s complicated relationship with her daughter. It’s here where the issues with the film present themselves, in the screenplay’s awkward dialogue and exposition, played out through similarly awkward flashback sequences.

Regardless of the film’s occasionally stilted conversations, Almodóvar still has not lost his touch for stunning production design, cinematography, and costuming. The Room Next Door is a vibrant experience, teeming with color – mostly greens and reds – in every frame, in sharp contrast to the dour subject matter. And though its execution isn’t perfect, the film raises a number of complex questions.

This comes as the film truly presents itself, when Martha obtains an illegal euthanasia drug and asks Ingrid to be present in the room next door when she takes it and ends her life on her own terms. A number of films have wrestled with the idea of living when we know our days are numbered, but The Room Next Door does so without simplistic platitudes, stripping away easy sentimentality to get at the truth of the matter. Who do you turn to for comfort in your final days? How do we find enjoyment in anything when death is imminent? How do we not find enjoyment in things when death is imminent?

These questions may contradict themselves, but they’re valid nonetheless. I suppose which one you identify more closely with will depend on your outlook on life in general. Of course, this also includes the ethical questions around euthanasia and our responsibility to ending a loved one’s suffering. So much of The Room Next Door similarly deals with memory, namely Martha’s fading memory as a result of her chemotherapy. At the end of the day, Martha’s ultimate goal is to be remembered, which perhaps helps explain the number of flashbacks and tangential anecdotes from her past.

The Room Next Door won’t be remembered as Pedro Almodóvar’s best film, nor will it be remembered as the best performance from Swinton or Moore. In a year of filmmakers taking big swings with creative decisions, Almodóvar continues to swing for the fences, staying true to himself while exploring new territories that feel universal and relatable.

The Room Next Door is now playing in select theaters will play in theaters nationwide on January 17.

OSCAR POTENTIAL:

• After missing out in key precursors, the Oscar hopes for The Room Next Door are essentially on life support. Its best hope is for Alberto Iglesias’s score, who received a nomination for Almodóvar’s most recent film Parallel Mothers, but has received a number of nominations and wins for other Almodóvar films from other awards bodies.