The Chambermaid Review: Upstairs, Downstairs, and a World of Secrets

There are films that feel like stepping into a photograph from a forgotten time, and Mariana Cengel-Solcanská’s The Chambermaid is one of them. It opens in the last days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a world of fading opulence holding its breath before the coming storm of World War I. The air in Prague is thick with unspoken anxieties and the multilingual hum of an empire about to fracture.

Into this environment comes Anka, a young, impoverished Slovakian girl from the country, effectively exiled by her new stepfather to serve in the grand home of a wealthy German-speaking family. Her arrival is not just a change of scenery; it is a descent into a labyrinth of rigid social codes, stone corridors, and simmering resentments that feel a world away from the open fields she knew.

Her journey establishes a palpable sense of dislocation. The film immediately establishes a mood of intense observation, inviting us to see this precarious world through Anka’s fresh, uncertain eyes. The atmosphere is heavy with a beautiful, deep-seated sadness, the feeling of watching a magnificent structure just before it collapses. The empire itself is a character here, a fragile giant whose impending demise sets the stage for the deeply personal story about to unfold within the manor’s walls.

Upstairs, Downstairs, and In-Between

The manor where Anka works is a world unto itself, a perfectly preserved ecosystem of power and servitude. The film excels at showing the mechanics of this life, contrasting the masters’ performative elegance with the servants’ raw, physical labor.

We see the routine in unflinching detail: the pre-dawn task of emptying chamber pots into the city sewer, the endless polishing of silver that will be used for one meal, the scrubbing of bloody sheets with a quiet resignation. The film communicates the complex relationships among the staff, like the seasoned maids Líza and Kristina who guide Anka.

Líza is a dreamer, clinging to the hope of escaping her station, while Kristina is a pragmatist, hardened by experience. Their differing philosophies show Anka the limited paths available to women like her.

This world is contrasted with the oppressive formality of the masters’ lives—a world of opulent dinners where etiquette is a weapon and silence hangs heavy in the air. This dynamic is crystallized in Anka’s first significant interaction with the family’s daughter, Resi.

In a chilling display of power, Resi accuses Anka of theft and forces her to strip. The camera holds on Anka’s vulnerability, making her humiliation feel immediate. Yet this scene also reveals something about Resi. Her cruelty is a defense mechanism, the lashing out of a young woman who is just as much a prisoner of this house as Anka, destined to be married off like property.

A Forbidden Love in a Time of Collapse

The hostile relationship between Anka and Resi slowly transforms into something else entirely. The film traces this evolution with careful, deliberate patience, moving from a foundation of abuse to one of reluctant trust, and finally, to a deep and forbidden passion.

It is built not on grand declarations but on quiet, shared moments: a lingering glance, a small act of kindness, the gradual sharing of secrets in hushed tones after the masters are asleep. Their bond solidifies through a shared mission. When Resi faces her arranged marriage to the brutish Gustav, she tasks Anka with discovering the nature of the marital act. Anka’s clinical report on her own forced encounter creates a strange and powerful intimacy between them.

Their love becomes a quiet insurrection against the patriarchal world determined to control them. This intimate rebellion plays out against the backdrop of a global conflict. As World War I begins and Gustav leaves for the front, the manor becomes a space of newfound freedom for the two women, filled with the guilty hope that he might not return.

The film intelligently explores how Resi is hobbled by her high station, while Anka’s lower status gives her a degree of invisibility and agency. This is deepened when Resi bears a daughter she cannot love, a child who is a disappointment for being female. Anka steps in to become the infant’s true mother, her gentle care a stark contrast to Resi’s cold detachment, further weaving their lives together.

Performances, Production, and a Melancholy Beauty

The film rests on the shoulders of its two leads, whose performances are studies in subtlety. Dana Droppová gives Anka a profound inner strength; she is watchful and resilient, conveying a rich interior life through quiet expressions and small gestures, absorbing the world around her without being broken by it.

As Resi, Radka Caldová navigates a difficult arc, believably shifting from a petty tyrant to a vulnerable lover. She allows flickers of humanity to show even in Resi’s cruelest moments, making her character’s transformation feel earned.

The film’s aesthetic is a key part of its storytelling. Ladislav Janošták’s cinematography captures both the sun-drenched beauty of the Slovakian countryside and the suffocating, gas-lit opulence of the Prague manor. The use of light and shadow visually reinforces the film’s central tensions.

Every frame is meticulously composed, with period-perfect costumes and sets that make the era feel tangible. The narrative unfolds at a deliberate, languid speed, allowing the viewer to sink into its world and the characters’ emotional states.

This pacing creates a powerful sense of poignancy. The experience is one of watching two people build something beautiful and true, even as the world around them is destined to tear it, and them, apart. It is a quiet story about finding one’s self against all odds.

The Chambermaid premiered in Czech cinemas in late 2022 and has since been featured at international genre festivals. While there’s no current streaming or theatrical release outside Central Europe, it’s expected to enter VOD platforms soon through boutique distributors.

Full Credits

Director: Mariana Cengel‑Solcanská

Writers: Mariana Cengel‑Solcanská, Hana Lasicová

Cast: Dana Droppová, Radka Caldová, Vica Kerekes