Jul. 14, 2010 - Issue #769: Musician’s Survival Guide

DVD Detective

Of housework and rocket belts

Judging by the dedication at the end of The Maid (La nana), writer/director Sebastián Silva does actually have a lot of love and respect for the women who devote their lives to taking care of households that aren't their own. Which isn't to suggest that The Maid is somehow a looking-down-the-nose portrait of some kind of underclass—if anything, it is sympathetic with the struggles of its main character to the point of making you wonder why anyone would be willing to undertake such a career. I hope for their sake as much as his that they never had to deal with the existential crisis faced by Raquel (Catalina Saavedra), the maid referred to in the title.

Coming up on her 20th year working for the same family, as well as her 41st birthday when Raquel is introduced, it seems like her biggest problem might just be the same old dread of another year that gets all of us: she is embarrassed by the family's rather modest birthday celebration—a cake, some presents and dishes Raquel will have to wash herself—but we also see that they have a genuine affection for her, save maybe the eldest daughter, who is convinced Raquel doesn't like her. Still, outside of one very sharp reminder that Raquel is not "one of the family," and some early morning vacuuming for revenge, everything seems more or less normal for an upper-class family and their servant.

Things quickly start to unravel, though. Dizzy spells and the occasional bout of fainting, which at first don't have an obvious source, lead the family to think it may finally be time to get their maid some help. While Raquel is laid up, another girl is brought in, and it's not long before things really go off the rails. Raquel doesn't take kindly to the assistance: though at first she limits herself to just hectoring and dismissing her co-worker, eventually things get outright hostile, with Raquel locking the new maid out of the house and dumping her beloved cat over the garden walls.

This behaviour continues with that maid's replacement, a shrill old crone who seems at first like she might bully Raquel into submission but who's quickly getting the same passive aggressive treatment, including excessive scrubbing of virtually any surface she touches. Raquel is just fundamentally incapable of letting anyone close to her family, and is equally put off by the former's ingratiating qualities as the latter's gruff ones, though there's the distinct feeling that she'd be fighting with anyone brought in to wear a uniform and do the dishes. That's put to the test with the arrival of Sonia (Anita Reeves), a relentlessly compassionate, happy-go-lucky sort who wears down Raquel simply by rolling with her little jabs: when it's Sonia's turn to get locked out the house, she just sunbathes nude, which has Raquel nearly doubled over in laughter.

It's through this relationship that we really start to understand Raquel. Up until now the balance has been mostly on comedy, albeit with sharp moments of pathos, but seeing Raquel interact with someone who's more or less an equal pushes this sharply towards something a bit deeper. There's the distinct sense that Raquel is the way she is because she's never had any kind of life of her own: she was only 20 years old when she started with the family, after all, and as much as they say she's a part of the family, the reminders that she's not actually, are continuous, whether spoken or not. Her lack of personality is driven home by her tendency to repeat what other people say as her own: Raquel really doesn't seem to know what drives people to anything, so she just parrots what they have to say when she's in a similar situation. Sonia's prodding finally sees her start to define herself beyond her employer's walls, and The Maid ends hopeful that Raquel seems to be getting on her feet.

Paul Schneider's Pretty Bird, on the other hand, is a pretty bleak world. Fictionalizing a true story about three unlikely partners who got together to build a rocket belt—a jet-pack like device that could mean personal flight—its moments of triumph fleeting, weighed down by the overbearing flaws of its heroes. Curtis Prentiss (Billy Crudup) is one of those relentless dreamer types who seems to think all problems can be solved by thinking more positively; Rick Honeycutt (Paul Giamatti) is a rocket scientist whose misguided ego and years of other people taking credit for his work have left him with a massive chip on his shoulder; Kenny (David Hornsby) is a pushover who believes too much in Curtis's sloganeering.

Pretty Bird is essentially a story about how human frailty is the biggest obstacle towards any progress, but it suffers a bit from characterizations that are a bit too broad. The fact that it's universal makes me think that Schneider might be the one to blame: he has Crudup giggle like a schoolboy almost incessantly, and Giamatti is never really allowed to be anything other than apoplectic. The lack of subtlety makes it hard to care about the characters, and without that, Pretty Bird doesn't have enough else going on to get off the ground. V vueweekly.com comments: powered by Disqus