Les Chambres Rouges

This isn’t a review as such — although I have read through a few

reviews, and so far none of them seemed to reflect the experience

I had. I don’t have an obsession with true crime or gambling, yet I

found myself relating to this film far more than any other I’ve seen

recently. I thought the film looked beautiful — Vincent Biron did an

amazing job with the cinematography, and the aspect ratio fit the

film perfectly, really helping focus in on Juliette Gariépy’s

incredible performance.

The thing that really struck me about the film was just how absurd

the characters seemed. Both Kelly-Anne and Clémentine, who at

first appear very similar, gradually reveal themselves to be almost

polar opposites.

Clémentine is loud, emotional, and driven by belief. She throws

herself into the idea that the accused is innocent, almost

romantically attached to him, and craves validation for her

devotion. Her obsession is chaotic, impulsive, and deeply personal.

Kelly-Anne, on the other hand, is quiet and composed — but her

obsession runs just as deep. Where Clémentine clings to hope and

fantasy, Kelly-Anne clings to control and facts. She doesn’t believe

in the accused — she studies him, stalks the details, and ultimately

helps bring him down. One is fuelled by emotion; the other by cold

compulsion.

But despite their differences, they are both addicts — just addicted

to different things. That’s what made their absurdity start to make

sense to me. Addiction often is absurd. It doesn’t follow logic. It

warps reality, isolates people, and creates rituals and behaviours

that seem unhinged from the outside. The film portrays this

beautifully, not by moralising, but by letting us sit with the

discomfort. What looks like obsession, delusion, or madness at first

slowly becomes a mirror for real, familiar struggles — the way

people lose themselves in something because it makes them feel

something when nothing else does.

The film doesn't moralise. That is where its strength really lies, in its

nuance. Kelly-Anne's addiction also leads to something good: her

obsessive attention to detail helps the trial. In a strange way, the

film suggests that addiction isn't black and white — it can destroy,

but it can also sharpen focus, reveal truths, or offer strange forms

of connection, like the one she has with Clémentine. That duality

resonates with me — the idea that addiction is both dangerous

and illuminating.

That’s what made Red Rooms so brilliant to me. It’s not just about

true crime, or dark web horror — it’s about the absurdity of need.

The need to know, to feel, to believe, to matter. And whether that

need is expressed through collecting hard drives or defending a

killer, it comes from the same place. I can’t remember a better film

that depicts addiction more effectively. One of the most haunting,

human films, and one of my favourites so far this decade.

Theo Anoyrkatis 27/07/2025