[yasr_overall_rating]
When the estranged daughter of a hard-working live-in housekeeper suddenly appears, the unspoken class barriers that exist within the home are thrown into disarray.
In a summer swarmed with silver-screen dinosaurs, hot pursuits and earthquakes, director Anna Muylaert’s “The Second Mother” is a pleasant reminder that films don’t need huge budgets to be huge crowd-pleasers. One could even argue that the film’s inflated production costs may serve as detriments to their overall entertainment factor: characters get overwhelmed by special effects, a coherent plot takes second place to a constant assault on the senses, and dumbed-down dialogue seems pasted-in to transition one vapid sequence to the next. The majority of it set within the confines of a privileged São Paulo family household, “The Second Mother” mesmerizes with piercing gestures, simmering resentments and astute characterizations, and does so much more powerfully – and with a longer-lasting effect – than any given chase from, say, “The Transporter Refueled.”
The film introduces us to Val (Brazilian soap opera and film star Regina Casé), a hardened maid, going about her chores. Her ambiguous role is established within minutes: she is a laborer, ready to serve at the matriarch’s, Bárbara’s (Karine Teles), every whim, a “second mother” to her privileged son Fabinho (Michel Joelsas), and a nurse to Bárbara’s ailing – or perhaps just severely depressed – husband Carlos (Lourenço Mutarelli)…On top of that, Val has a daughter of her own, Jéssica (Camila Márdila), whom she hasn’t seen for over ten years.
Bárbara, an imperious fashion mogul, is too busy to pay proper attention to her family, which has led to her husband’s dreary isolation. Carlos is a sad, broken man, whose inheritance is – somewhat-surreptitiously – the reason behind the family’s wealth (“Everybody dances, but I’m the DJ,” he proclaims sadly at one point), and who, long ago, had dreams of being an artist. His paintings are now confined to the garage; some hang on the walls, as lifeless and forgotten as the man who once painted them. Fabinho, the son, is equally lost, his alienation bringing him almost disturbingly close to Val, who cuddles him to sleep, stroking his hair while singing sweet lullabies.
Val is a slave on one hand, but an essential part of the family on the other. Life in this film unfolds from her perspective, represented by a reoccurring shot from inside the kitchen, with only a fraction of the living room visible. The family eats their dinners in silence, each immersed in his or her cellphone (ah, upper-class bliss!).
One evening, Jéssica calls and asks Val if she can come stay with her, while she studies to apply to a university. Val is utterly delighted; upon asking Bárbara, Val’s excitement is met with a tight-lipped “of course!”, and even an oh-so-gracious offer to pay for a mattress, to stuff inside Val’s five-foot closet of a room, already dwarfed by the enormity of the house.
When she finds out she has to stay at her mom’s “boss”’s abode, Jéssica is appalled, “You’re taking me to someone else’s home.” But the family is impressed by how much of an erudite Jéssica is, and by her ambitions as an architect. They show her around the house, Val trailing behind, turning on the pool lights. Jéssica discovers the beautiful guest room and brashly invites herself to stay there. In a perfectly-pitched sequence, the creepily enamored Carlos quickly caves in, leaving Bárbara no choice but to reluctantly oblige.
Jéssica’s arrival leads to a rapid succession of unraveling developments: Val is torn between being a good mother to her daughter and the loyalty to her second family; Carlos temporarily rediscovers his former self, albeit in an awkward, humiliating manner; Bárbara resents Jéssica and has to eventually reevaluate her life; and Fabinho has to grow up and overcome his Oedipal tendencies. As for Jéssica…Jéssica is a symbol of hope, of an eager, educated generation that just may eventually bring an end to those societal discrepancies and injustices, still so prevalent today.
If all the intrigue sounds scandalous and soap-opera-ish, it sometimes verges dangerously to being so, but Muylaert’s assertive, deft directorial touch ensures the film largely stays within the realms of sincerity. The dramatic, at times lightly-comedic, tone, is well-sustained in keenly observed scenes, such as Val’s thoughtful birthday gift to Bárbara, promptly dismissed, but touchingly, though predictably (at least in my “desensitized-by-films” mind) reappearing later.
Another standout scene shows Val accidentally oversleeping, and Jéssica taking it into her own hands to make breakfast and sit at the “master”’s table. When Val dashes out, apologetic and panicking, Bárbara harshly scolds her and storms off. Val yells at her daughter for overstepping boundaries; Jéssica nonchalantly finishes her breakfast. Soon after, Fabinho comes in, and sits at the table, and Val kisses him, and strokes his hair lovingly, and makes him breakfast.
Muylaert chose a naturalistic approach, letting the camera linger to catch the little nuances in the performances. There are images that stick: Carlos, left alone in the shadows, in front of his unwanted painting; Val, and then Bárbara – the two mothers – comforting Fabinho, one by one in the bedroom; drenched Val, running after her fed-up daughter in the rain…
With traces of Sebastián Silva’s “The Maid,” “The Second Mother” does flirt with excessive sentimentality at points (especially towards the end), and remains a bit too slight to be labeled a masterpiece, but it’s an acute study of class and family bonds, with a marvelous central performance. While it’s a pleasure that films like that are still produced, distributed internationally and recognized at festivals, it’s a pity that contemporary audiences will surely be turned off by “The Second Mother”’s modest scale and subtitles, for they’ll be missing a true little gem. Make time for “The Second Mother”. It’s not an impossible mission, after all.
In select theaters and at the Angelika Film Center in Dallas September 11th
