Hired as a nanny in a chic Parisian district to try to repay creditors who do not hear laughing, a young Ivorian undertakes to improve the working conditions of her colleagues, with the help of a lawyer sensitive to her charms.
It begins with the shot of a beautiful blue sky overhanging Paris and the camera then descends quietly under the viaduct of the ring road, where Angèle has settled down with her junk. A great specialist in spiel, this sharp-tongued Ivorian immediately stands out as a friendly scammer who can trick anyone into her trap.
Julien Rambaldi (The best friends in the world, That’s life) first uses the tone of comedy to tell the story of this extraordinary woman. The latter is forced to accept a job as a nanny with a bourgeois family in order to fade away a little from those to whom she owes money. In the same breath, this fiery-tempered Amazon discovers a world she knew little about. She also finds herself in an environment where the babysitters, often from elsewhere and without papers, are shamelessly exploited by people who, sometimes, are not even aware of the abusive power they wield.
Interweaving elements of romantic comedy into his story, the filmmaker has the ambition here to deal with social themes – linked in particular to immigration – by taking a lighter form. As such, his feature film is successful, insofar as it entertains and moves us by highlighting the essential role of these usually invisible women. Its approach does not always avoid clichés and the story has its share of more Manichean elements, but The women of the square does not steal its status as a “comfort film”.
It should also be said to what extent this success is due to the presence of Eye Haïdara in the skin of Angèle. View especially in The meaning of the party (Éric Toledano and Olivier Nakache), the actress holds her first big role in the cinema here and delivers a performance that is as much a tornado as a fireworks display. She is wonderful there.
Indoors
Drama
The women of the square
Julian Rambaldi
With Eye Haïdara, Ahmed Sylla, Léa Drucker
1:45