As we are introduced to Raquel, the titular character of ""The Maid,"" she is sitting alone in the nook of a kitchen, eating in silence as the family she works for puts the finishing touches on a birthday celebration. As their stifled laughs echo over the kitchen counter, Raquel looks up and for a moment stares directly into the camera, breaking the fourth wall and momentarily sharing with the audience all of the oddly affectionate animosity she feels for her employers.
This shot encapsulates everything about ""The Maid,"" a Chilean film from director Sebastián Silva. Through his examination of Raquel, played with a pulsating passive-aggressiveness by Catalina Saavedra, Silva examines just what it means to be family—and not all of it is positive.
Through Silva's lens, Raquel is depicted as holding a spot in a sort of family purgatory. The family clearly loves Raquel, especially the mother Pilar (Claudia Celedón), but she is far from being an equal member of the household. This breeds a sizable amount of insecurity in Raquel, who is determined to hold on to whatever secure position she can, despite the fact that she seems to hold nothing but contempt for her job and the family. So naturally, Raquel becomes paranoid when the family tries to hire a new maid to ease her workload, and she starts acting like an old dog who was just introduced to the family's new, hellishly adorable puppy.
All of this is fitting, because the family generally treats Raquel like a pet, and the family dynamics are akin to those of a wolf pack—not the kind Zack Galifinakis espouses about in his soliloquy from ""The Hangover."" Raquel jockeys constantly to make sure that no one other than Pilar and her husband are ever above her on the familial totem pole. She hides snacks from the family's oldest daughter as a means of punishment for challenging (and implicitly usurping) Raquel's authority. When Pilar brings in new maids, Raquel resorts to the most childish antics possible, such as locking them out of the house any time she gets the opportunity.
This may come off as just a torturous exercise in detestable human relations if not for Saavedra's performance. Raquel could have been depicted as simply a neurotic mess of a human being, hell-bent on ruining the lives of everybody around her. But Saavedra imbues her with enough insecurity to make her relatable and even empathetic, even though it isn't entirely clear why she feels such a connection to this family. Saavedra's performance is hardly subtle, but she commits to it so much that her emotions practically vibrate off the screen. It definitely helps that her every expression absolutely drips with wrath and vitriol, and she probably has the best cinematic sneer this side of Cruella De Vil. Yet even with all of the not-so-secret contempt bubbling up under Raquel's skin, Saavedra makes it understandable why the family not only keeps her employed but actually likes her.
By the end of ""The Maid,"" there is a bit of hope that Raquel has evolved beyond her petty positioning for attention. However, it is still unclear whether she has evolved beyond her second-class status in the family. In a less nuanced film, this may be acceptable, but because of Saavedra's performance in ""The Maid"" it is devastating. Silva has created a portrait of family dynamics that is unflinching in its criticism, yet resigned to the status quo; and while at times difficult to watch, it is a considerably notable cinematic achievement.
