Some little films come along that challenge the status quo of current cinema menus. Such is the case with this little film that dares go places others fear – and it is to the credit of Film Movement to keep these before our eyes. Without the use of apocalyptic subject matter or robots or building explosions or cars crashes or potty mouth dialogue or the repetitious Marvel Comics backlog of reruns, THE CHAMBERMAID is simply a study of one young girls mind – the past effects of abuse and mental illness, and the need to be loved or at least truly desired.
The unlikely pairing of an obsessive-compulsive chambermaid and an androgynous dominatrix proves oddly liberating for the eponymous heroine of this film. 'The beauty of cleaning is that everything gets dirty again' is the motto of Lynn (Vicky Krieps), someone who needs to cling to what she knows in order to at least feel safe, though routines, places and objects initially seem preferable to people. In time Lynn is seen handling guests' objects and then secretly begins to spy on them in their rooms, it slowly becomes clear that she's starting to find other people fascinating, if perhaps a bit startling. In her obsessive-compulsive role as a chambermaid she crawls under a bed to vacuum the bottom of a mattress, or uses a dentist's angled mirror to check that she's scrubbed all the dirt from the underside of a toilet rim. She rarely interacts with others, yet is endlessly curious about how others live, inspecting their habits with the kind of baffled interest generally reserved for other species. She tries on their clothes (men's as well as women's), examines the pictures in their wallets and reads the inscriptions on their rings. She even hides beneath their beds to observe them unseen. Along comes a guest (Christian Aumer) with a bottle-blond dominatrix, Chiara (Lena Lauzemis), experienced almost entirely through the use of sound and the brilliant face of Lynn, who's hiding under the bed and can only image what must be going on. Through Chiara, it dawns on Lynn that pain doesn't necessarily need to be negative and that intimacy can happen in a context that's a lot more controlled than in real life (read: paid for). This sets into motion the film's last act, which may be predictable emotionally: the encounter has less to do with S&M than with a slow, careful initiation into intimacy, Chiara seeming to know just how to gently nudge her client into accepting, then welcoming, her touch; their sex-for-hire transactions morph into something deeper, their lovemaking achieving a unique blend of force and tenderness. Lynn learns to interact directly with another human being while Chiara discovers a genuine liking for her pupil. Chiara is amused by Lynn's strictly regimented routine, just as Lynn is bemused by the lack of structure in Chiara's freelance lifestyle.
New subject matter realized in a very sensitive way, this film will fascinate those fatigued by movies that rely solely on special effects as opposed to human stories. Masterfully directed by Ingo Haeb.
