Good Madam (2021) is a very quiet film. There are no explosive moments; the vast majority of the story unfolds in a limited domestic space; there is a tiny cast. Opting for a restricted setting and a limited number of characters like this either speaks to a filmmaker’s make-a-film-any-film bravado, or genuine confidence that this is the right way for the story to carry across. Happily, director and co-writer Jenna Cato Bass knows exactly what she’s doing – her decisions are sound. It’s very difficult not to fall back on calling the film ‘slow burn’ here, as this is often the description of choice for something which so deliberately eschews realism, sharply-drawn and ordered plot points, and clear denouement. Good Madam is slow-burn though; perhaps to balance things out, the adjective should be taken away from another film which is less abundantly slow-burn than this one. Rich in symbolism, subtly underpinned by anxiety and careful in its use of moral messages, the story simmers away nicely – with only a handful of moments which in any way disrupt this. Overall, it’s very successful.
The film’s domestic setting – and its positioning of this as a weird, alienating thing – are flagged up very early. It happens before the titles roll, in fact, with an array of macro shots of household chores and trappings in a stiffly genteel, if dated home which show the big contrast between owner and worker. The woman cleaning this space is at first only seen from the back, or partially – hands scrubbing, but face omitted. Perhaps it’s to read too much into it – yeah, a film writer just said that – but the ways in which the camera limits what we see seems to mirror the film as a whole, where were are almost never certain, never in a position of complete understanding.
Finally, though, we see some faces: Tsidi (Chumisa Cosa) and her young daughter Winnie (Kamvalethu Jonas Raziya) are first seen as Tsidi tries to contact someone by phone: her estranged mother, Mavis – the domestic worker from the house, (partly) seen earlier. She has no luck, but decides to head to Mavis’s live-in place of work anyway, driving way out into the ‘burbs. Mavis (Nosipho Mtebe) is understandably surprised by the visit – to the point of not even recognising her daughter’s name when she announces it via the intercom – but she lets them both in, begrudgingly allowing them to stay for a while. It turns out that Tsidi, in the wake of her grandmother’s death, has ended up in a family feud, leaving her with nowhere to live. This has cut short her mourning period, so she’s already in a tense state when Mavis lays down the law. She is housekeeper for a wealthy, but largely catatonic white ‘madam’ called Diane, and Diane is not to be disturbed: the house needs to stay virtually silent, Diane’s things must not be used and certain rooms are no-go areas. It’s apartheid in microcosm, surviving long past its official timespan. But Mavis – who is quietly formidable – defends Diane, saying that her boss has done a great deal for her. It’s yet another sticking point between mother and daughter.
The house, with its insular feel, is not a welcoming place, even without the long list of house rules to abide by. Tsidi acknowledges this, saying that the place ‘weighs heavily’ on her. Now, whether this is because of her own unexplored grief and her initially frosty relationship with her mother or something else, forms the bedrock of this tale, developing in an interesting direction. Where all of this eventually goes is somewhat less successful: the journey is more compelling than the destination, if you like.
The immaculate, if faded interiors are used effectively, providing a claustrophobic and potentially frightening place out of time. Within it, jarring, unsettling phenomena begin to assail Tsidi; interestingly, lots of these relate directly to domesticity and domestic chores, which are every bit as inescapable as whatever else is going on here – make of that what you will. Key to all of this is Diane herself: she’s both an absence and a presence, but she looms over the film, even in her incapacitated state. She’s not exactly a madwoman in the attic, though some aspects of that seem to fit; she retains more agency than that, a shut-in who happens to own the property and the grounds, and seems also to own the staff. As the plot begins to move in a certain direction, it’s unclear what Tsidi does or doesn’t hear regarding Diane, too, which adds a level of additional foreboding: are we, as the audience, being privileged with extra information?
There’s always a nagging worry about how a film which clearly has a social/political ‘Message’ is going to go about it, some of which is dependent on how the film promo has already gone about it, but thankfully Good Madam trusts in its audience enough not to hit them repeatedly with something chidingly simplistic until they want to pull away. The story and the subtext here work together well, with the latter filtering through via excellent, naturalistic dialogue and good performances across the board. Chumisa Cosa really is excellent as a woman fighting against family estrangement and her own demons, and she frequently, sensitively ponders where the dividing line is. True, the film subtly explores race and apartheid, but class, language, wealth and gender are bound up in this too: there are some similarities to Get Out (2017) in there in terms of how the fantastical shines a light on uneasy topics, but Good Madam is its own beast.
Good Madam (2021) will be released on Shudder on Thursday, July 14th 2022.