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The Son's Room
Directed by
Nanni Moretti
R
2001
1h 39m
Drama
7.3
85%
81%
Add to Watchlist
A psychoanalyst and his family go through profound emotional trauma when their son dies in a scuba-diving accident.
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Where to Watch The Son's Room
Amazon Video
Rent $3.99
Buy $11.99
Cast of The Son's Room
Nanni Moretti
Giovanni / Director / Writer / Producer
Laura Morante
Paola
Jasmine Trinca
Irene
Giuseppe Sanfelice
Andrea
Silvio Orlando
Oscar - a Patient
Stefano Accorsi
Tommaso - a Patient
Claudia Della Seta
Raffaella - a Patient
Eleonora Danco
a Patient
Sofia Vigliar
Arianna
Renato Scarpa
Headmaster
Roberto Nobile
Priest
Paolo De Vita
Luciano's Father
Roberto De Francesco
Record Store Clerk
Claudio Santamaria
Dive Shop Clerk
Antonio Petrocelli
Enrico
Lorenzo Alessandri
Filippo's Father
Alessandro Infusini
Matteo
Silvia Bonucci
Carla
Marcello Bernacchini
Luciano
Luisa De Santis
a Patient
Linda Ferri
Writer
Heidrun Schleef
Writer
Angelo Barbagallo
Producer
Vincenzo Galluzzo
Producer
Federico Fabrizio
Producer
Lorenzo Luccarini
Producer
The Son's Room Ratings & Reviews
CrossCutCritic
May 29, 2025
The Son’s Room To You, Who Sat in the Silence After the Unthinkable and Waited for God to Breathe Again “I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry.” — Psalm 40:1 --- I. To You, Who Did Everything Right and Still Lost What Mattered Most You listened. You showed up. You tried to be present, even when the world was messy, even when your own emotions felt like strangers in your skin. You were the kind of person people turned to. A calm voice. A center of gravity. The one who understood pain without flinching. You thought that counted for something. You didn’t expect immunity— but you believed, quietly, that grief like this was meant for people who lived differently. But it came anyway. It came without warning. A phone call. A wave. A body in water. It came with no answer. No lesson. No final word. Just the absence. Just the room. Just the slow, unbearable unmaking of everything that held you together. This is your story. The Son’s Room doesn’t begin in death. It begins in rhythm. Family. Laughter. Ordinary light. And then, without cruelty—just indifference— the light goes out. If you’ve ever lost the one thing you couldn’t imagine living without— not because you failed, but because the world broke underneath you— then you already know this silence. And you already know there are no words that make it holy. Only presence. --- II. The Questions That No One Could Answer and the Prayers That Didn’t Sound Like Prayers You kept going. Because what else could you do? You sat across from patients. Nodded at their pain. Prescribed gentle words to soothe what now felt laughably small. You kept breathing. You kept eating. You kept walking into the spaces where your son no longer was. And the questions— they didn’t shout. They just hovered. Why that day? Why him? Why not me? No one answered. Not God. Not the walls. Not even the room that still held his shoes and books and scent. And so your prayers—if they could be called that— were not words. They were aches. Pauses. Objects left untouched. Moments where the world went quiet and you hoped something was listening. This is how The Son’s Room holds its grief: Not with theology, but with stillness. Not with meaning, but with mercy. If you’ve ever woken up into a world that made no sense— and walked through it as if it still should— then you already know these prayers. They do not reach heaven with fire. They whisper from a chair that has no body in it. And somehow, God listens anyway. --- III. The Things You Couldn’t Fix and the Grace That Didn’t Ask You To You tried. You tried to stay whole. To keep the family from drifting. To hold space for your wife’s rage, your daughter’s sorrow, your own slow unraveling. You tried to find something useful in it all. A letter. A boy. An unspoken thread to pull, so you could feel the illusion of movement again. But nothing worked. And eventually, you stopped trying to fix it. Not out of wisdom—out of exhaustion. You stopped pretending your tools could reach this kind of wound. And that—somehow—was the beginning of grace. Because when you finally let go of being the one who holds it together, something else held you. Not solution. Not insight. But presence. Your wife, beside you. Your daughter, near. A road stretching out. A stranger’s story. A final act of kindness no one would ever see. The Son’s Room never gives answers. But it gives us a quiet, cruciform grace: A father who couldn’t save his son, but who, in the end, chose to love someone else’s. If you’ve ever run out of reasons to keep going— and found yourself doing it anyway, not out of hope, but out of love— then you already know this grace. It does not fix the past. But it refuses to let the past be the end. --- IV. The Journey That Didn’t Heal You But Kept You From Breaking You didn’t leave to escape. You left because something inside you said: move. Not to outrun the grief. But to carry it somewhere it hadn’t been before. There were no speeches. No cinematic closure. Just a car. A road. A boy in the backseat who reminded you, not of what you lost, but of what was still here. He didn’t know your story. He didn’t ask. He just needed a ride. And you gave it. And maybe that was enough. Because grief doesn’t end. But it shifts— not like a miracle, but like breath returning after a long time underwater. The sun came up. The road kept stretching. And you— you didn’t shatter. That was grace. Not the kind that cures. The kind that carries. If you’ve ever driven forward without knowing what you were driving toward— if you’ve offered kindness not because it made sense, but because it was the next right thing— then you already know this journey. It does not take you back. It does not take you far. But it keeps you human. --- V. The Room You Can’t Enter and the Love That Won’t Leave It’s still there. The room. The bed. The shelves that remember what your hands once held. You may never open that door again. Not because you’ve forgotten— but because you haven’t. It’s not sacred. It’s not haunted. It just… is. And still, the love remains. Not in the relics. Not even in the memories. But in how you listen now. In how you reach across the silence to hold the ones still living. You’re not healed. You never will be. But you are with them. Present. Unimpressive. Still here. And that, somehow, is enough. If you’ve ever carried love into a place where it had no outlet— and found yourself loving anyway— then you already know this room. It is not where grief ends. It is where love keeps breathing. --- Postscript The Son’s Room is not about recovery. It’s about remaining. About the father who couldn’t save his son— and chose not to save himself, but to sit in the silence until love rose quietly beside him. There is no message here. No gospel sermon. Only a window. A breath. A road. The son is gone. The room stays closed. But the hands that once healed strangers now hold what is near. This is grace—not as light, but as warmth that returns after the longest winter. And when it comes, you don’t shout. You don’t weep. You just lift your eyes and know: “I am not alone. And I am still moving.” ---
Chicago Reader
Meredith Brody
With tender skill, Moretti illuminates Samuel Beckett's familiar summation "I can't go on-I'll go on."
Newsweek
David Ansen
Like a good shrink, Moretti watches with an unflinching but compassionate eye.
Chicago Reader
With tender skill, [director] Moretti illuminates Samuel Beckett's familiar summation 'I can't go on--I'll go on.'
Chicago Tribune
Michael Wilmington
Nothing in The Son's Room is conventionally sentimental or reassuring.
Austin Chronicle
Marjorie Baumgarten
Ranks with such films as In the Bedroom, Ordinary People, and Terms of Endearment in the sensitivity with which it observes the effect a child's death on the remaining members of the family.
Detroit Free Press
Terry Lawson
The Son's Room addresses both death and life with honesty and respect.
Detroit News
Susan Stark
Often called Italy's answer to Woody Allen, Nanni Moretti takes a turn for the serious in The Son's Room and acquits himself in first-rate fashion.
Seattle Times
Eli Sanders
We are given characters so gentle and so human that we become instantly fond of them.
Observer
Andrew Sarris
The Son's Room is ... not an interruption in [Moretti's] career, but a leap upward to a spiritual epiphany graced with visual elegance and energy.
USA Today
Claudia Puig
Stands apart for its raw, quiet emotion and its shattering sense of truth.
Washington Post
Desson Thomson
Surprisingly powerful and universal.
Washington Post
Ann Hornaday
A deceivingly simple film, one that grows in power in retrospect.
San Francisco Chronicle
Mick LaSalle
The best way to see The Son's Room is to know the title and the location of the theater, and that's all.
Chicago Sun-Times
Roger Ebert
Sometimes in a quite ordinary way a director can reach out and touch us.
Boston Globe
Chris Fujiwara
The Son's Room is a triumph of gentility that earns its moments of pathos.
Dallas Morning News
Charles Ealy
It's rare for any movie to be as subtle and touching as The Son's Room.
Philadelphia Inquirer
Steven Rea
Moretti doesn't wrap the grieving, the angst, in melodrama. The facts are given. And the suffering is palpable.
Ebert & Roeper
Richard Roeper
The Son's Room, possesses a quiet, haunting realism, fueled by an excellent script and assured performances all around.
Salon.com
Stephanie Zacharek
Delicately distinctive; it's the kind of picture that stirs subterranean rumbles of empathy in us rather than flashy, gushing waves.
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