Roma (2018) is a quiet, technically perfect film that should have been directed by a woman
A floor covered in tiles, over it the credits roll. As the water spreads by the floor, it reflects the sky, and we see an airplane crossing the skies. Soon the lather appears. The one washing the floor is a woman with long dark hair and indigenous features. She is Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) and, just like the children in that house, we’re going to learn how to love her.
Cleo is the maid of a house that belongs to the couple Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) and Sofía (Marina de Tavira). Living with them we have the grandmother Teresa (Verónica García) and four children, three boys and a girl: Antonio, Paco, Pepe and Sofía. Among her many tasks, Cleo has to cook the meals, wake up the children, clean the house and hold the dog Borras whenever the gate is open so the dog doesn’t run to the streets. Cleo is helped by another maid, Adela (Nancy García García).
One day, Antonio, the father, goes away to a trip to Quebec, and his wife is left desperate. At about the same time, Cleo finds out she is pregnant. She tells about her suspicion to the man she has been dating, Fermín (Jorge Antonio Guerrero), while they are watching a comedy at a movie theater. Fermín says he’s happy, but he also says he’ll go to the bathroom in the middle of the movie and he never comes back. Antonio, the patriarch, also doesn’t want to come back.
Alfonso Cuarón is both the director, screenwriter, editor, cinematographer and producer. As both the director and screenwriter, he used his memories about his maid Libo, whom the film is dedicated to, to create Roma. As cinematographer, he chooses daring, excellent and precise camera movements to show the house as Cleo turns off the lights, in a 360º take. Technically, the film is perfect, with the sound being outstanding — notions of perspective, near and far are perfectly shown by the sound — and the black and white photography is the best thing in the film — black and white are also the colors memories are made of.
There are many moments that symbolize turmoil: the parade that comes down the street as Antonio, the father, comes up the street to never come back. The earthquake that happens when Cleo is looking at the babies in the maternity ward. The farm where the family spends the New Year is decorated with stuffed animals. The mug broken by Cleo during the New Year toast. The political manifestation happening while Cleo buys the crib — with a big twist: when a desperate student enters the store because he is being persecuted, soon his hunters enter after him, pointing guns to the clients. The one who points a gun to Cleo is no other than Fermín.
And, amidst all this turmoil, Cleo remains calm. As any simpleton from the countryside, she is visibly uncomfortable with the common questions a doctor asks about her sex life. The biggest emotion shown in Yalitza Aparicio’s acting is actually in the film’s climax, when her character gives birth. Other than that, “calm” and “quiet” are good adjectives for Roma.
However, it’s not always good to be “calm” and “quiet” in life. Cleo does not seem to have control over her own life — she only goes own, without fighting against adversities, without saying what she really wants, accepting the little things she is given. And, almost always, the love the family gives her is too little. She may raise the children as if they were her own, but they aren’t. Dona Sofía may show solidarity to her, but there is no love or sorority between them. It’s a romanticized vision of the maid-boss relationship, a relationship based on power and that is, by nature, a problematic one. Cuarón romanticizes abuse too often, and everything would be different if Roma was directed by a woman with the proper class consciousness that Cuarón lacks.
The plane in the opening sequence appears again when Cleo looks for Fermín in his martial arts training session, and also in the final frame. Cuarón said that, because he shot many scenes on location, it was inevitable to include some of the planes always flying by Roma, the neighborhood in Ciudad de México where the story develops. I prefer to believe that the planes are more than accidental supporting players: they symbolize journeys — and Cleo had her journey, even though she was almost standing still in space, but not in time. And we lived this journey with her — and finished the film as more intimate friends with Alfonso Cuarón.
P.S.: If you want to see a film about a maid who actually controls her own existence, try “The Second Mother”, by Brazilian director Anna Muylaert.
