THE MAID

THE MAID

Seeking to find meaning where there was only darkness, warmth where there was only cold, ghost stories may be safely considered not only the oldest form of storytelling but also the most pertinent, attempting to fathom the dangers and mysteries of both the natural world around and our ambiguous place within it. Possessing the symbolic language, archetypal resonance, and intellectual willingness to explore the terrifying elements of our in-human condition -- aspects that other aesthetic forms lack either the tools or desire to handle -- the supernatural story, from its origins as cross-cultural mythology and wandering folklore to modern cinematic nightmare, waves its ghastly spells for both our amusement and catharsis.

The ghost story is ageless, applicable to the interests and evolving tastes of any generation or culture precisely because its major goal -- fathoming the unknown -- is a theme that easily rises above such mundane questions of race, creed, or politics. Finding forms for the essentially formless, the ghost story whispers in the cosmic language of dreams and nightmares, evoking the mythic demons of entire generations as well as the minutest discomforts of the individual . . . and makes us enjoy precisely what we fear. This is precisely what The Maid accomplishes, evoking terrors of cultural folklore while exposing the self-doubt and emotional estrangement of a lonely, emotionally frail woman thrust into a new environment without friends or faith.

A morbid yet poetic merging of supernatural belief and everyday anxieties, the complex and emotionally satisfying screenplay revitalizes ancient beliefs concerning the dead and Otherworld -- and the relationship between the living and Shades -- by treating old staples and traditional conventions of the genre in refreshingly honest ways. The Maid recycles traditional occult themes, lending them fresh perspective as they apply to a woman struggling with a new culture, strange religious traditions, and the supernatural. In this tale characters are not only haunted by the dead but by themselves. Spirits of mind easily as dangerous as visitants from the darkness, and more difficult to ignore. Occurring during the 'Seventh month' of the Chinese calendar, a time significant to their culture as the time when the barriers are down between the worlds and the dead and the living may inhabit the same space, this film is most eerie when exploring the "Hungry Ghost Month" with makes the occult world so very believable. In many ways paralleling certain ancient beliefs of the Celtic Samhain, this festival and its suggestion that we're already inhabiting a land and time where everything isn't necessarily what it seems, lends immediate friction to our young heroine's struggle to discover the deadly tragedy that occurred in her new employer's home.

When we meet Rosa (Alessandra de Rossi), a young woman from the Philippines who identifies herself primarily by her worth to those around her, we already feel the splendidly 'spooky' effect of the films. Arriving in Singapore to work for a middle-aged couple -- Mr. and Mrs. Teo (Shucheng Chen and Huifang Hong) -- who have a mentally ill son, her innocence and dedication inspire compassion. This is a carefully created character with an authentic past, gripping turmoil, and actions that spill outside of the movie's central plot, making her surprisingly believable. Continuing with the Asian spectral trend that revitalized the banal US horror genre -- a form increasingly more interested in crass profiteering than quality -- this addition to the subversive spirits sweepstakes is enticingly original in its approach to traditional horror themes, lending intelligence and atmospheric wonder to a genre sadly becoming a parody of its one time unique story patterns and symbols. Arriving on the dread night of the Chinese year when, on the first day of the seventh month, "the gates of hell shall open" and spirits shall walk with the living, director Tong wisely takes the time to focus on Rosa's home sickness before focusing on her battle with the angry dead who she seems to have offended. When she does begin to experience the "hungry ghosts" of Singapore, the very fabric of reality initially established in the film quickly becomes a living nightmare.

Writer/director Kelvin Tong's first horror film, The Maid may not break new ground in terms of its basic premise, but its introspective fusion of emotional isolation and supernatural folklore, and the very way both elements fed off on another in the story arc, is undeniably effective. Merging Asian folklore and spiritual beliefs with a tale of domestic tragedy, this mature nightmare of missteps and mortality is as much a vivisection of one woman's emotional stability as it is a wonderfully executed ghost story of shock, wonder, and a lasting sense of unease -- the later of which is very difficult to achieve. A constant sense of friction lurks beneath this surface story of malevolence and culpability precisely because the occult elements are firmly rooted in surroundings possessing as much character as its players, and characters whose histories, eternal geographies, and reactions are captured with empathy.

As much a scathing vivisection of modern loneliness and the Outsider motif so prevalent in modern philosophy as it is a satisfying, unique spin on a traditional supernatural theme of spectral wraiths, The Maid frightens and challenges with equal rigor. An atmospheric marriage of content and form, the film's shadowy lit interiors and morose emotional environment are perfect cinematic soil for its horrors to grow in. Questioning the dependability of such terms as good and evil, reality and fantasy, the subversive tone and genuinely disturbing spectral imagery of the movie also challenges the faith which we place on our own senses. Carefully constructing a believable (if achingly beautiful) portrait of everyday existence before allowing the supernatural to menacingly, creepily appear, the director establishes within his viewers a sense of faith in the logic and inherent 'rightness' of things. When he subverts this sense of everyday realism by introducing supernatural elements, he does so with such subtlety and gentleness that the viewer has neither the time or desire to question his dark miracles.

Understanding that more terror may be achieved through whispers than with screams, the filmmakers combine evocative atmosphere and a carefully written, emotionally scathing story to create emotional border-lands between the banal and the spectral -- moments when our world and the realm of shadows merge in such a deceitfully organic way that its increasingly difficult to distinguish which is which. This very sense of ambiguity, and the presence of an intruding spiritual world upon our own (not to mention the threatening premise that at any time we may trespass amidst the dead) adds to the already immediate terror of interaction with the dead the even more disturbing possibility that such concepts as space, time, and logic are without any true substance. Stylish, intense, and as based in the reality of the mind as it in the deceptively dark depths of the mind as it is the cultural echo of the supernatural, The Maid is nothing less than a little dark miracle of achievement.

Presented in anamorphic widescreen, Tartan's Asia Extreme treats this modern variation of the campfire ghost story with respect and care, lacking any significant grain, speckling, or softness of image. Colors are bright and clean, highlighting the emotion-setting moodiness of the stealthy camerawork and lush, exotic environments so crucial for the effect of this story. Audio is clear and free from distortion, featured in Dolby Digital 5.1 Surround Sound and DTS Surround Sound 5.1 (with additional subs).

Review by William P. Simmons


 
Released by Tartan Asia Extreme
Region 1 - NTSC
Not Rated
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