Maid review: Margaret Qualley's Netflix series steers clear of American domestic help stereotypes

Language: English

Popular cultural depiction of destitution in the contemporary world is rare, especially when the demands of representational realism must be balanced with the needs of globalised digital entertainment. The new web series Maid, narrating the story of a single mother working as a domestic worker in “middle America,” breaks the trend of a series of extremely mediocre Originals released by Netflix in recent months, and presents a nuanced picture of what it means to be desperately poor in a developed Western country.

Domestic workers have been part of American popular culture since the 1940s melodramas of Douglas Sirk, Michael Curtiz, and Max Ophuls. The themes of the suffering woman, generational divides, and the issues of class and colour have provided Hollywood writers with the necessary ingredients for socially rooted narrative cinema. This has also led to racial stereotyping of domestic work as Black, Hispanic or Asian women, most often new migrants. The dusky Latina maid has emerged as a trope in North American film and television, especially since Jennifer Lopez’s portrayal of the emotionally vulnerable single mother from the Bronx in Maid in Manhattan (2002).

Maid, created by Molly Smith Metzler from a bestselling literary memoir by Stephanie Land titled Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother’s Will to Survive, steers clear of the established stereotypes of the American maid.

The 10-part limited miniseries presents a surprisingly convincing depiction of poverty and destitution in post-industrial America – a region known for its staggering income disparities.

Alex (Margaret Qualley), the 25-year-old protagonist is white, a child of single parents and a single mother herself. Alex’s tryst with homelessness and uncertainty begins after she walks out of an abusive relationship with her boyfriend Sean (Nick Robinson) with her two-year-old daughter Maddy and $10 in her wallet. There is a system put in place by the American state for abused, single mothers, but there is humungous paperwork and red tape to contend with. From negotiating the labyrinths of governmental bureaucracy to enrolling for a highly exploitative job as a home cleaner, the narrative takes us through a journey of what a life could be for a young mother sans skills or a university degree.

The lady at the jobcentre cryptically sums up Alex’s condition “So you’re looking for a big fat government handout because you are a jobless, white trash piece of shit. Am I right?”  It is not surprising that Alex’s first client is an affluent and educated black woman as if to signpost that poverty in America is not limited to the racial minorities, and that lack of education and opportunities of the white underclass in the American heartland has created a new kind of destitution and reverse racial prejudice.

It is a relief that the writers of Maid adopt linear storytelling, sparing us from the continuous and mostly needless non-linearity popular among web-drama writers. The narrative of Maid, like life, is linear, and at times, predictable. The characters, especially the central ones, are mutual binaries. Paula, Alex’s artist mother, is self-absorbed and neurotic. Her need for love and attention traps her in a cycle of exploitative relations with younger men. As a mother to Alex, Paula is far from reliable, except for occasional moments of mental clarity. In contrast to Paula’s fickle motherhood, Alex is solid and unwavering in her single-minded dedication to her daughter Maddy. Nick, Alex’s abusive partner, strives to be a good father, but a damaged childhood and alcoholism traps him in a cyclical pattern of uncontrollable rage and violence. Nathaniel, Alex’s male friend and suitor, unlike Sean, is reliable and stable, and even helpful, although the help eventually becomes conditional to Alex’s sexual submission to him.

The story of the young woman’s struggle in the heartland of America is hinged on valuable performances by the lead actors – Sarah Margaret Qualley as Alex, Andie Macdowell as Alex’s mother Paula (Macdowell is also Qualley’s real-life mother), and that of Nick Robinson as Sean. But the bedrock is Qualley’s nuanced portrayal of vulnerability and strength, and the character’s working-class doggedness. She excels in not only the dialogue-heavy scenes, but also scenes where dialogues are minimal, especially in the scenes of quiet emotional breakdown and depression. Macdowell, known for her multiple award-winning performance in Stephen Soderberg’s S_ex, Lies and Videotape_ (1989), portrays Paula’s neuroses and hippie abandon with the method acting skills honed while training in the famous Actor’s Studio in New York. Robinson’s role is perhaps the most complex. He portrays a character who is both abusive and kind, traumatized and street-smart at the same time.

Maid reminds us of some of the more contemporary classics of European cinema which grapple with poverty, social isolation, and state apathy. These include the Belgian film Rossetta (Dardenne Brothers, 1999), about the eponymous teenager who lives in a Caravan with her alcoholic mother, and I, Daniel Blake (Ken Loach,2017) which shows the bureaucratic apathy of the British social aid system. But apart from thematic affinities, Maid is far from these dark and sombre European films. Despite the realistic and mature representation of destitution, Maid is essentially a television drama, and fluctuates between naturalism and dramatic exaggeration. While it does question the myth of the American Dream, it still suggests that it is worth living for.

Maid is streaming on Netflix.

Watch the trailer here

Dr Indranil Bhattacharya is an academic and a trained filmmaker. He teaches cinema in film schools and universities, and writes occasional articles and reviews for web portals and magazines. He holds a PhD from the University of Westminster, London, United Kingdom.