Loath as one is to make even a glancing comparison, it’s hard not to think of Alfonso Cuarón’s “Roma” for at least one short scene in “”: The camera observes calmly as a tiled floor is mopped by a pair of caretakers, sudsy water splashing across the surface in scalloped waves, only to be pulled back with grimy residue. The mop-wielders this time are male, unseen but for their shoes.
One woman, at least, doesn’t dance. Grey-haired, pouchily cardigan-clad and almost perennially stead, Doña Olga is the “Mami” of the title: the custodian of the ladies’ dressing room, but rather more crucially, the guardian of the ladies themselves. A jaded but quietly sympathetic confidante, as quick with brisk maternal advice as she is with a fresh roll of toilet paper, she’s been through everything they have and more.
Herrero’s entirely invisible approach — there is no narration, nor any acknowledgement of the camera at any point from the subjects — maintains a tactfully respectful distance from women who hardly want for the scrutiny of others.
That’s not to say it’s a simple matter of empowerment. Amid its textured, occasionally conflict-scarred portrait of female community, “La Mami” is rife with sharp, tacit socioeconomic criticism of an unequal, patriarchal society in which making joyless business out of pleasure is the best hope many women have.
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