We Are the Room
Paste talks to author Emma Donoghue about adapting her novel Room for the big screen.
Photos by Mike Windle/GettyIt’s only October and Room, the latest film from Irish director Lenny Abrahamson, is already the subject of much Oscar buzzing and hyping. If the chatter feels premature, it’s only because of the film’s recent win at the Toronto International Film Festival, where TIFF-goers bestowed it with the coveted People’s Choice Award; six out of the last seven pictures that have won that accolade have enjoyed subsequent Best Picture nominations by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (though among those, only half actually went on to that top prize). So, in short, it’s a good time to be Emma Donoghue, author of Room’s screenplay as well as the 2010 Man Booker Prize nominated book on which it’s based.
In Room, Joy (Brie Larson) and her son Jack (Jacob Tremblay) live life confined within a nondescript garden shed situated in the backyard of a nondescript home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Every day is more or less the same to them, though Joy bides her time and looks for ways to free them both from their captivity—until they’re freed, which is when the film completely changes.
So what moves a writer to return to one of their past works, particularly a work with a basic conceit as somber as Room’s? The book, after all, finds its roots in the real-life case of Elisabeth Fritzl, whose father held her in captivity in a hidden corridor in his basement for 24 years until a series of unexpected circumstances led to her discovery in April of 2008. Can a writer find new inspiration in material they’ve already felt their way through once before?
When Donoghue made a stop in Boston on her press tour for the film, Paste had the chance to talk about why Room was worth revisiting, as well as her new experiences in the movie industry, and the importance of the parent-child bond.
(Warning: Some spoilers ahead.)
Paste: At what point did you become involved with writing the screenplay for the film?
Emma Donoghue: Right after I sold the novel.
Paste: Really?
Donoghue: It was to be about a year before it was published, and I got [the] instinct that it would make a good film despite its peculiarities. And so I thought, “I’ll just write the script! Without consulting anyone, without asking anyone, without waiting for anyone to give me permission, without waiting for anyone to hire me!” It’s not that I was going to insist on being the writer, it’s just that I wanted to be able to say to, you know, the director of my dreams, “Here we go, here’s my first draft, can we work together?” Because, you know, I didn’t want to try and force them to hire me just because I’m the novelist, and I had heard that sometimes studios hire the novelist for the first draft just to sort of fob them off, you know? I wasn’t looking for that. I wanted to be truly involved. So yeah, I went ahead and drafted it, and then when I finally started working with Lenny [Abrahamson], we started with my script and then improved it, basically, with his help. I learned so much from him over an extended period.
Paste: Was he the director of your dreams?
Donoghue: He was! And the funny thing was, I had assumed that the director of my dreams would need to have a bigger name, not out of snobbery, but just in order to get the funding we needed, you know?
Paste: Sure, yeah.
Donoghue: And really it turned out we didn’t. And of course, Lenny was getting better known all over the period we were working together, as well. But he absolutely is the director of my dreams, because he’s very literary. He had a huge appreciation of the book, and at many points when I would make some change, he’d say, “You know what? Let’s go back to the book.” He was unafraid of things like the child having long hair, and the two-part structure, and he worked very kindly and gently with me, I would say. He never blinded me with film jargon, you know? He didn’t emphasize my ignorance at all. He talked a lot about the rhythm of sequences and so on, and we sort of felt our way through the material rather than him saying, “Where’s the climax?” (Laughs.)
And he was enormously direct and generous to work with. I didn’t have to go through any intermediaries, you know. [A24] really allowed me a very one-to-one working relationship with him, and we sort of kept the circle small. There weren’t lots and lots of people giving notes on the script at every point. It was very much that I was writing this for Lenny. So I found that a wonderful way to work, especially since I’m so new to the business.
Paste: Was that a great concern of yours, that there would be a lot of outside influence? That it wouldn’t just be you and Lenny?
Donoghue: Oh yeah, yeah. I’d heard a lot of bad stories about studios who completely changed the storyline, or say they’ll cast one kind of director and then…
Paste: …they cast another.
Donoghue: Yeah, or, you know, test screenings where they completely change the ending.
Paste: (Laughs.) Yeah, I know all about those. I’m glad you were able to avoid that, and I’m happy you had a good experience with it.
Donoghue: A great experience! I keep saying to myself, “This cannot be representative of writers’ experiences in the film business!”
Paste: I think you’re probably in like, the top 11% of lucky people…
Donoghue: I’ve used up all my luck! (Laughs.)
Paste: So what about Room specifically—because it sounds like you knew right away that you wanted to turn this into a movie—what specifically called out to you and said, “Adapt me, I could be a film”?
Donoghue: The child’s perspective, I think, because, you know, in a way, the actual events described in Room, they come up a lot in crime stories. So it’s not the events that are special or even the, you know, the portrait of a family recovering from a trauma. We’ve all seen those elements before. I think anchoring it in the point of view of a five-year-old does give it an original spin. But also, in terms of my work, in several of my previous novels, people have made attempts to film them, and they never got very far. I think Room has a stronger story than any of them. It’s got a lot of narrative drive. It might be sort of at the micro level—you know, small boy finding out what’s real and what’s not in his tiny world—but still, it moves forward. It has momentum.
Paste: Did you find it a challenge to write a screenplay that’s largely rooted in the child’s perspective? We really see the whole novel, everything that happens, through his point of view.
Donoghue: It’s true. I think turning any novel into a screenplay would be a challenge. It didn’t feel particularly hard. I sort of trusted that the camera would work in an equivalent way to the grammar of the novel, you know? And of course it’s always a little bit broader, because you see Jack, and then you see what Jack sees, so the camera always gives you that slightly double perspective, and we didn’t want to use any gimmicks like attaching the camera to his head or anything. And also, I welcomed that the perspective would broaden out a bit, because I knew Jack would be in every scene, but the camera would show us Ma just as directly as it would show us Jack. I wouldn’t say it’s a flaw in the novel, but it’s a fact about the novel that, because we’re absolutely inside Jack’s head, we can’t show Ma except through how he sees her, and of course he sees her in a very biased way because she’s gone out of her way to make sure he doesn’t notice her pain very much. So in the book, some readers miss some of those hints, and then they’re outraged when she falls apart in the second half, because they didn’t see it coming. So in the film, I thought, “We have to show her more directly from the start so she’ll be a more understandable character.”