Published on March 28, 2026
In the early 1990s, films like this one were produced in abundance. The formula hardly varied; the villain, supposedly lifeless, would often rise one last time to deliver a final scare before meeting their end. In every attempt to neutralize the threat, each member of the small group of benevolent protagonists—a couple, family, friends, or neighbors—would participate, no matter how passive or imperfect their character. Even the most ineffectual of characters would find redemption through violent means, such as delivering a blow with a shovel or a stab to the neck. In this type of Hollywood film, the group that defeats the evil remains united.
Moreover, the motivations behind these villains were once more diverse than seen today. Their evil was not strictly tied to a mere sadistic male archetype. Sadism worked well on screen, but the villains could be driven , revenge, childhood trauma, complexes, or vices. In the end, however, they were often met with multiple violent defeats: gunshots, blows to the head, strangulation with hairdryer cords, pushes down staircases, impalement on broken glass, or a conveniently splintered railing. The psychopath was often harder to kill than Rasputin. In fact, while watching the movie *La asistenta*, I anticipated that the villain would soon meet a fatal fall from that particularly perilous staircase.
*La asistenta* follows this age-old formula, lazily updated with trendy details: the men on screen—excluding a glamorous Italian gardener—are dominant pigs, rapists, and torturers. I was surprised that the parole officer wasn’t also a man, who might demand sexual favors from the ex-con in exchange for not sending her back to prison. The women in the film (the significant ones, not the parodic characters from the upper class) are fighters against injustice, intelligent, bold, and resilient survivors, navigating a hostile world filled with men who should be suspect from the get-go.
The film features an extravagant house where one’s job is to clean meticulously, but that’s another old trick—much less expensive than what will inevitably break in that house.
The film does not delve deeply into its themes; instead, it seeks the complicity and enjoyment of an audience already predisposed to like it—specifically, a female audience. The surprises are predictably mundane, especially for anyone over thirty or who has seen a smattering of American films from previous decades. As for the script’s nonsensical elements, implausibilities, shortcuts, flashy effects, and loose threads pile up next to the entertaining and visually appealing spectacle. For example, the boozy mother figure could almost serve as a mere portrait; her resilient daughter, after all, contributes nothing significant after highlighting the struggles of a single working mother.
Yet, the self-satisfaction of the protagonists easily transfers to the audience. It’s perfect for the radical wing of womanhood to head out to the cinema for a viewing after an exhausting and assertive International Women’s Day. And for those who miss it, don’t worry; it will soon find its rightful home on Netflix.
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