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28 Hotel Rooms: Masters the Arc with Sad Charm

By Natalia Lusinski · November 20, 2012

If Before Sunrise had less talk and more sex, you’d find 28 Hotel Rooms. Instead of walking down cobblestone streets in Vienna, the characters spend time together in a bath tub, on a hotel balcony, and, of course, in several beds. The film will also remind you of the loneliness of George Clooney’s living-out-of-suitcases character in Up in the Air.

In 28 Hotel Rooms, the main characters, “Man” (Chris Messina) and “Woman” (Marin Ireland)—which is very befitting, given the nature of the film—re-meet one another at the movie’s beginning. We learn he’s a novelist (with a girlfriend) living on the East Coast, on his book tour, and she’s a corporate accountant (with a husband) living on the West Coast and traveling for work. Next thing we know, they are in one of the twenty-eight hotel rooms and Woman insists she will not call Man when he gives her his number.

Of course, however, she calls, as we then see them in another hotel room.

Even though the film is about Man and Woman’s sexual affair, it is not about their sexual affair as much it is about their growing emotional one. They go through a range of very realistic feelings prone to relationships: passion, laughing, crying, anger, daydreaming about the future together, etc. Soon, over the course of the hotel rooms, sex turns into love, love into longing, small talk into deep conversations, and with no end in sight, despite any conversations that they should end it (despite the fact that Man ends up getting married at some point in between hotel room trysts).

What they are doing—cheating—is not a reason to root for these characters, but seeing their chemistry together (and I don’t mean physically) makes you want them to be together and also makes you assume that they each lack something(s) in their everyday romantic relationships. And that’s what makes this film so relatable—at some point in our lives, when have we not wondered if we were with the “right” person?

The structure of the film is almost like a play, scenes separated by screens of black with a Chyron giving the upcoming hotel room number. Writer/director Matt Ross gets in and out of the scenes exactly when he should—nothing is overwritten. It is a great study in how to convey a lot with few words. (As I learned in film school, one should get into a scene at the last possible moment and get out at the first possible one.) We get the arc in each one, the emotions of Man and Woman, how each scene elevates (or punctures) their relationship, how each mini-arc affects the primary arc. Sometimes, I even wanted certain scenes to go on, a testament to having fallen for the characters’ togetherness so much. The hotel rooms themselves, from expansive to quaint, from stark white to more colorful, almost become characters, too, their range as varied as Man and Woman’s emotional thru-line.

One particularly haunting, yet poignant, scene takes place when Man is banging on the hotel room windows, desperate to open them, saying he wants to be out in the world with Woman, not trapped inside. At some point in our lives, when haven’t some of us felt caged in a relationship?

In addition, when a film weighs so heavily on just two lead actors, a lot of pressure is put upon them. Messina and Ireland handle it very well, effortlessly carrying the movie, their facial expressions often conveying plenty to us, drawing us further into their complex relationship. We become invested, too, as though we’re friends of theirs, wondering if (and how) it will last.

Which brings me to my next point: Is their affair sustainable? Can they meet in hotel rooms forever? Will their spouses find out? And/or will they leave their spouses for one another?

Throughout the film, the stakes are not too high—since the spouses are hundreds and thousands of miles away at home, there is not an overt threat that they will find out. In one scene, Man reminds Woman to erase his voicemail after she listens to it. In another, Woman’s husband is in the same hotel but even then it’s not a threat, as she manages to leave him alone for five minutes to come warn Man and cancel her tryst with him that night.

In non-film life, of course, husbands and wives often find clues that their spouses are cheating (through phone bills, for instance), but I was willing to suspend my disbelief that these spouses are so emotionally detached from Man and Woman that: 1) They are oblivious; or 2) They choose to ignore their suspicions. There are also a few other logistical issues in the story: How can Man afford to keep traveling to meet Woman (especially when his second book bombed)? What does Man tell his wife each time he leaves town?   

Speaking of Man and Woman’s significant others, they are mentioned infrequently, just in passing, the only clues about them from Man and Woman’s perspectives—which helps us justify why they should continue to be together. We never physically see their spouses, which probably helps us empathize more with Man and Woman.

All in all, Matt Ross did a great job, as did his collaborators, particularly Director of Photographer Doug Emmett and Editor Joseph Krings. The music, by Fall on Your Sword, was used sparingly, which was a nice change from so many films that rely on the soundtrack to tell a story more so than the characters. By the end of this film, you won't want to check out.

28 Hotel Rooms played at Sundance in 2012. It is now showing in NYC, Houston, Seattle, and Eugene, Oregon, and is available on iTunes and VOD right now for your purchasing pleasure.