Though The Second Mother (2015, Anna Muylaert) is another deep and dark film, let me also emphasize that it also has some genuinely funny bits and the central character, Val, is just too precious for words.
Having said that, for me, the greatness of the film lies in its class consciousness focus, both highly palpable and organic. In terms of the latter, Anna Muylaert brilliantly weaves a story that unravels naturally, the class consciousness focus then emerging as innately REAL, not only for this story but the millions of Others’ story that this story allegorizes.
The film does this in a number of ways, most principally by just making Val, the family’s “servant,” a doormat or perhaps a “dog” isn’t too strong of a way to put it! (I’ll come back this later point.) The rich family who Val (Regina Casé) works for pretense that she is “almost” one of the family, but then they reveal their true perspective of her in some key scenes. Here are the key threads/motifs/symbolism in the film that support this reading of this film’s radical class consciousness focus:
Val is a Servant
Perhaps what is most starkly clear is the way that the family constantly use Val as a servant, even when it isn’t appropriate, and we especially see this when Jéssica (Camila Márdila), Val’s daughter, is first introduced to the household and Val should be seen as someone who is off her work time and now a guest or part of the “family,” or, if nothing else, a full human being who should be treated with respect and dignity in front of her daughter. And yet they still use her as a servant. Most glaringly, we see this when Jéssica asks for a glass of water and the father, Carlos (Lourenço Mutarelli), tells her to “Let Val do it.” In this way we can see how they can only truly see Val as a servant or a lesser being. She becomes not unlike the dog Maggie, someone they can love and cherish but still only be seen as a lower life form. Her lower class (“low”) “servant” status is stressed in another way as well, in how the wealthy elite guests of a party that Bárbara throws treat Val, not one of them looking her in the eyes or thanking her as she “serves” them.
Coffee Cup Set Symbolism
Ostensibly the coffee cup set symbolism becomes determined in terms of Bárbara (Karine Teles) seeming to at first accept Val’s birthday gift of the coffee cup set, but then later rejecting it, revealing her true feelings towards Val. That is, Bárbara pretends to like Val’s thoughtful gift and even tells Val to “save it for special occasions,” which is what she does. Val uses it during a swanky party that Bárbara throws for her birthday. But Bárbara immediately hauls Val back into the kitchen, wonders where this coffee mug set came from and tells her to use something else, essentially giving us her real view of Val, not truly seeing Val as a cherished family member whose gift is then internalized as now equally cherished or at least having enough respect and love for Val to be more tactful about her disdain for the gift. Or, in other words, the coffee cup set is seen as “low” by Bárbara and disposable, a way to see how Bárbara also sees Val.
Later, when Val takes the coffee cup set back for herself – she calls it “stealing” – we see that Val’s movement towards class consciousness is beginning to solidify. She is literally beginning to see her own dehumanized status and takes her humanity back, signified by taking the coffee cup set back. That is, Val wouldn’t have taken this coffee cup set if Bárbara really valued it, which tells us that Val did internalize Bárbara’s action of first faking her joy and love of the gift but then revealing her true feelings about it, rejecting it and Val with it. In this way, we know that by taking the coffee cup set back, Val is taking another huge step in taking her humanity back, rejecting the rejection in effect, reinforcing her own value of herself by valuing the coffee cup set.
One other interesting facet of the coffee cup set symbolism, how the black and white coloring are “mismatched,” perhaps a punctuation of how modern times are ushering in a rupture of boundaries, the past solidity of classism (the whites and blacks inexorably separate so to speak) breaking down, the past “low” poor now rejecting their unequal status.
The Pool Symbolism
The pool symbolism becomes a hugely symbolic signifier, beginning with the first shot of the film, just the empty pool, suggesting just an inviting pool that can be used by anyone, but, as we see later, the pool becomes part of a motif in the film associating lower class people with lower animals, Bárbara literally associating Jéssica with a rat. (Later, we also get an overhead shot of Jéssica in a room, substituting her with the dog, again, the associations seeming to be that the lower class are equated to animals.) Of course, as I get at above, the family treat Val like a lower life form, but late in the film we get a breakthrough for Val when she actually enters the pool, a seemingly meaningless act of rebellion but because of the pool symbolism (and Val is as much of a gatekeeper of keeping the pool “pure” – free from anything lower getting in it, including her daughter – as anyone else) it becomes hugely important. Any breakthrough for Val is important (she is the quintessential conditioned “servant” figure who not only accepts this preconditioned identity but vigorously defends her subjugation) but to penetrate the pool (elite) space is symbolic for Val finally waking up to her status as a constructed lower (dehumanized) being (see below). I also love how I believe this is the first time we get music accompanying a scene, a way to especially mark this scene’s importance. (Music is way, way overused in most Hollywood/mainstream films, so the lack of it in this film is refreshing to say the least.) Interesting to note too that the son, Fabinho (Michel Joelsas), and his friend don’t see Jéssica as lower and thus have no problem with her entering the pool.
Carlos’s Pursuit of Jéssica
One of the more disturbing threads in the film is Carlos’s pursuit of Jéssica though the film complicates this thread by making Carlos not entirely a sexual predator. Arguably, he is that (his initial come on to Jéssica is a sexually violating act), but he is also something else. My sense is that Carlos doesn’t just pursue Jéssica for sex. His pursuit of her seems to be a symptom of his alienated state of being. Early in the film, Carlos seems lifeless and we are given hints that he has no real meaning or purpose in his life and has a loveless, functional marriage. After what seems like the typical (older) man preying on a younger woman for sex movement in the film, to our surprise, Carlos actually asks Jéssica to marry him, and his proposal seems authentic. In Jéssica’s interest in architecture and art and other intellectual interests, Carlos finds in Jéssica a vibrancy and source of healthy stimulation that he lacks in his life. Clearly, his wife is only interested in monetary and status pursuits and so he doesn’t have a partner who brings purpose and meaning to both her life and his life and their life together. Here too we also get the class consciousness focus in that Carlos doesn’t care that Jéssica is lower class; rather, he sees in her a partner of equality and indeed someone who he would prefer to his upper class wife. Moreover, Muylaert makes it clear that the most unhappy people in the film are Carlos and Bárbara, who have a lot of money but live empty, utterly unsatisfying lives.
The Second Mother Thread
One of the key motifs in the film is the “second mother” thread. Here too we get the class consciousness focus emphasized. Bárbara is not really a mother to her own son (since it was Val who essentially raised Fabinho), choosing a “servant” to raise him, bond with him, invest herself in him, love him more than her, choosing her career and her status over her own son. Val, a natural loving human being embraces Fabinho as her own son, creating a bond between the two that is much more loving and connective – more authentically a parent-child bond – than Fabinho has with his own biological mother. When Fabinho needs a parent figure to nurture him, support him, comfort him, it is Val who he turns to, not his own mother. Another echo of this motif is how Val is not allowed to raise her own daughter, Jéssica. We are not given any specific details on this but it has something to do with a husband (Jéssica’s father) who would not let Val be with Jéssica and Val needing to make money so she can financially support her daughter, sacrificing a life with her daughter, which, in turn, becomes one of the deeper implications of a class (and sexist?) society where because Val doesn’t have financial security for her and her daughter she has to live apart from her. The final echo of the “second mother” motif is that Val gets a second chance at being a mother to her daughter by both living with her, re-establishing a relationship with her, unconditionally accepting her and her empowering radical ideas (after some resistance!), and offering to help raise Jéssica’s son, Val’s grandson.
Breaking Boundaries
In one of the most satisfying moments, when she is first introduced to Bárbara and Carlos, Jéssica tells the couple that her major is architecture and that she intends to attend the prominent School of Architecture and Urbanism of the University of Sao Paulo, to which we then get a very telling exchange of looks between husband and wife that suggest they don’t think this is a realistic goal for lower class (woman?) Jéssica or perhaps their shock at her boldness to pursue a goal above her station in life. There may be another reason for this exchange of looks, because their son Fabinho is pursuing the same objective, immediately creating a competition in, well, at least Bárbara’s mind. Later, we discover that Fabinho gets a low score, not enough to get him accepted into the school of architecture, while Jéssica gets a very high score and gets accepted to the prominent school. This effectually negates any possibility of seeing Jéssica as lower, Bárbara then being faced with the stark reality that her whole perception of identity – her identity – and being is false. We especially get this reflected in how after Val has told her and Fabinho how well Jéssica did, Bárbara’s whole demeanor towards her son changes. After seeming to reject Bárbara’s attempt to comfort him, he almost seems to try and comfort her after she learns of this news, but she turns cold and rejects his overtures of connection, instead seeming to almost rub it in that he failed because he didn’t study as hard as Jéssica. In this way, we can see how (self) destructive class hierarchy is, in that it can even supplant connection between loved ones, e.g., Bárbara puts her loss of identity — her false perception of her own superiority — before her own son and his well-being. Moreover, Bárbara represents many who still have this perception of upper class superiority but who must face the lie of it especially as this existential shift in being has become more and more incontrovertible.
The film stresses this breaking of boundaries in other ways as well. We really get this spelled out in one moment that reveals the REAL of the mother, Bárbara (Karine Teles): Towards the end when Bárbara has clearly had enough of Jéssica – can no longer fake being open to treating Jéssica as an equal – she tells Val not to let Jéssica on this (her) side of the kitchen door, spelling out the separation she internally has seen or believed in all along.
As I suggest above, what Bárbara understands all too well is that Jéssica’s transgressive persona and actions make her a threat to her very identity. In this context, Jéssica is not just some contaminating lower class presence but in her presumption and later evidence of equality, she forces Bárbara to confront the lie of her own belief system, which, again, is a threat to her very identity. In short, this film is very much about “class warfare,” Jéssica subversively defending herself from Bárbara’s upper class attacks and in turn attacking Bárbara’s own false consciousness.
Jéssica is a New (Modern) Face of the Lower Class
At one point, Fabinho calls Jéssica”strange” because she is “too sure of herself,” to which Val responds: “You’re right, she’s too sure of herself. You’re right, sure of herself. With those eyes of her…looking at everyone as if she were the president.” Towards the end of the film, we get this exchange between Jéssica and Val:
Jéssica to Val: “I don’t know where you learned these things. What you can and cannot do. Is there a handbook? How come? Who taught you that? They explained it to you when you got here?”
Val: “Nobody has to explain that. You’re born knowing it, what you can and cannot do. It’s like you’re from another planet.”
Jessica: “Who’s born knowing it?”
In this way, we can see how class ideological norms of hierarchy are a generational thing, older generations being born into this norm, conditioned to accept them as natural and normal and not to be questioned, a kind of invisible prison, which Muylaert stresses visually:
Jéssica, on the other hand, has been taught to question everything, to not just believe in her equality to rich elites but to believe that she can attain any height that she sets her mind to, whether that be an architect or perhaps even “president.” In this way, too, we can see how Val is gradually influenced by this new way of thinking and being, Jéssica influencing her to reject the old model and become her own master with her own choices. In other words, by ultimately choosing Jéssica, Val also chooses a new path forward, one where she isn’t a “servant” anymore.
