The film is unconcisingly telling the experience of an unemployed travesty journalist to better denounce the working conditions of household women.
by
In 2010, Florence Aubenas, a journalist in the world since 2012, published the wharf of Ouistreham (the Olivier), fruit of a survey conducted under another identity in Caen, where she had registered unemployed for Put on the ranks of the precarious workers of the city. We remember the experience of the German journalist Günter Wallraff, who had passed for a Turkish worker in the 1980s’ Germany. The book of the journalist is a success, adapted on the waves of France Culture, put On the stage at the theater and, today, the object of free adaptation to the cinema by the writer and director Emmanuel Carrère, of which we know how much the work likes to probe the identity disorder.
Everything starts at Pôle emploi, in the midst of a crisis of an unemployed woman who can no longer formalities inept. Not far away, Marianne (Juliette Binoche), a fifty-speaking auditor who is passed for unemployed without qualification – the story will divulge this secret later – is offered a maintenance agent position. It accepts and begins to work in bungalows, where a steady rhythm is hard, is humbled by dirty good women, shrink as dry by his boss, while getting closer to some of his colleagues, under solidarity. which unites more willingly left them-affects that the nantis.
High color portraits
The Grail comes soon, in its infernal form. Join Ouistreham Ferry Cleaning Teams (Calvados) for England. Fixed salary, stable employment, but organization of commando, work from Potron-twink to the stopwatch, Forsçat rates, reference to the first incident. She clings. The filmmaker takes the opportunity to collect the colorful and humanity portraits of the real workers who surround it, as many figures, which, in the hope of a guarantee of authenticity for the film, come to grow the catalog of social naturalism of the cinema French. The device is coherent, ingenious even in that it superimposes on the screen the actress / non-professional duality to that of the characters they embody (the hidden writer versus the proletarians as in themselves).
And yet, oddly, the sauce does not take. No doubt because, next to the actress, the non-professionals, suddenly delivered on the plateau of their social subjugation, begin to play in turn, even their own role. And inevitably less well than the one whose job is.
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