Credits
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Summary
In the late 1930s, a young woman, Célestine, leaves Paris to take up the post of
a chambermaid with the Monteils, a bourgeois family living in rural France. Célestine’s
initial observation that life in the country is trite is soon disproved when she discovers
that the Monteuils are barely on speaking terms, their father, Monsieur Rabour, has an
obsessive shoe fetish, and their servant Joseph is an extreme right-ring activist.
After the death of Monsieur Rabour, Célestine decides to give up her job, but changes
her mind after a little girl is raped and murdered. Suspecting Joseph of the crime,
she offers him sexual favours, whilst secretly looking for the evidence that will incriminate
him...
Review
Le Journal d’une femme de chambre is arguably Luis Buñuel’s most caustic
and unfettered assault on those institutions he rallied against throughout his life.
The bourgeoisie, the clergy, the military – the self-proclaimed standard bearers of respectability
- are beautifully represented with the director’s characteristic wit and venom.
The film also makes an unusual and perceptive study of human morality – the situations
depicted in the film may be exaggerated and set in another era, but they manage to strike
an easy resonance with the spectator.
Although Buñuel spends a lot of time caricaturing the bourgeoise and their entourage, the film is mainly concerned with the morally ambiguous chambermaid, Célestine (played beautifully by Jeanne Moreau) and the vicious fascist servant Joseph. The shifting relationship between Célestine and Joseph is constantly surprising and we never really know what either of the characters is playing at. Neither character can claim moral superiority – Célestine is ultimately shown to be a spineless opportunist and Joseph is clearly a nasty piece of work. However, both have a vestige of humanity which provides enough ambiguity to give their relationship an edge of dangerous unpredictability. Although it has some splendid comic moments, Le Journal d’une femme de chambre is much darker than most of Buñuel’s other films. The rape of the young girl is not filmed directed but alluded to rather subtlely, and is perhaps the most shocking thing in any of Buñuel’s films. The ending of the film, a sober moment which presages the inevitable rise of fascism in Europe, also sends a shiver down the spine, even if it feels frustratingly disconnected from the rest of the film. © James Travers 2002
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