employee of the month

Veronique Jadin’s Employee of the Month, which premiered at the 2022 Tribeca Festival, is a darkly comic satire that takes aim at the various prejudices that plague workplace culture—sexism, racism, ageism, to name a few.  Despite a maddeningly slow start, this is a journey that’s well worth the ride, with plenty of bite, laugh-out-loud black humor, and bold, thought-provoking questions throughout.

We open on Ines (Jasmina Douieb), a tightly wound, long-suffering employee of EcoCleanPro, a cleaning product supply company. Despite having worked there for 17 years, and being in charge of seemingly every aspect of the company except for sales—legal services, office supplies, human resources, you name it—she is consistently overlooked for promotions and has to endure sexual harassment from her male colleagues. When one of her coworkers draws a penis in her notebook, her manager Patrick (Peter Van den Begin), sees it and snickers. Added to the mix is Melody (Laetitia Mampaka), a sarcastic and very much unimpressed intern on her first day who is given the suspicious task of shredding documents. Eventually, Ines has had enough, and goes to ask Patrick for a raise.  Needless to say, the meeting goes hilariously awry, and Ines and Melody soon find themselves in a rapidly escalating (or devolving?) cycle of slapstick violence as they counter various forms of oppression.

Save for one nighttime exterior scene, the film is shot entirely in the small, cramped office, with bright lighting and garish white walls.  (Think “The Office” with more windows.) Given the claustrophobic setting, the movie at first feels small and unambitious. The first act also drags a bit and takes its time with the table-setting. The men in the office are misogynistic and dismissive, constantly asking Ines to refill their coffee.  They make leering, inappropriate comments toward her at the drop of a hat, and on and on. Even the fateful meeting with Patrick which kickstarts the second act feels uninspired.  It’s broadly funny and is likely to startle anyone who hasn’t read the synopsis already, but the characters aren’t fleshed out enough for us to truly care what happens to them, and it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. (See: any season of “Fargo,” or this horrifying, hilarious scene from “Mad Men.”)

However, as the film proceeds, Ines and Melody begin making conscious decisions to continue the cycle of violence, gaining more and more agency in the process.  I’m taking pains to avoid spoilers here, because many of the film’s pleasures are found in the surprising (and not so surprising choices) that the two characters make. Suffice it to say, the movie’s scope soon expands beyond just a one-note depiction of misogyny, and soon becomes an interrogation of the values and pitfalls of feminism. And the film becomes all the richer for it.

Ines is undoubtedly a feminist, working to shatter the glass ceiling.  As her night spirals further into madness, however, it becomes clear that it’s not just men she’s fighting against.  Other women are guilty of oppressing her, of not lifting her up.  (Ines, and the filmmakers, cleverly use the breakroom coffee as a barometer for assessing whether someone is an ally. Those who enjoy Ines’ coffee are allies; those who berate her and spit out the coffee…not so much.) As the film smartly expands the scope of her outrage, it also ingeniously acknowledges her limits.  Despite her feminist credentials, Ines has some significant blind spots.  Where in Africa are you from, she asks Melody, who is black.  “Belgium”, Melody says.  She’s also guilty of ageism, dismissing Melody because of her young age (which, to be fair, Melody dishes back as well).  And, most abhorrently, Ines has…unfortunate views on rape. One character opens up and shares their personal history of abuse, to which Ines expresses doubt and skepticism. Why didn’t you fight back, she asks. With her victim-shaming tendencies, Ines is clearly not a fan of #MeToo.

The film becomes much more thematically satisfying as it expands the scope of its targets and holds its lead character accountable.  Yes, the film initially starts as an indictment of sexism and toxic masculinity, and the men here span the gamut. There’s Patrick, who brazenly assaults Ines at one point, but there’s also Inspector Boss (Philippe Resimont), a similarly sleazy man, albeit one who enjoys Ines’ coffee and actually seems to value her input. How’s my hair, he asks her as he gets ready for an interview, all of his insecurities on display. But where the movie shines is when it holds a mirror up to Ines herself, acknowledging that her brand of feminism is not perfect.

That’s a complicated message to pull off, and much of it works solely because of Douieb’s performance.  This is the actor’s first comedic role, which is surprising, given how adroitly she meets the demands of the script. It’s a delight watching Ines slowly morph from tightly wound to gleefully unhinged by the end of the movie.  Douieb handles the physical comedy with each violent altercation beautifully, and makes the black humor sing. Throughout the movie, she draws on her extensive knowledge of cleaning supplies to clean up blood and other bodily fluids, and at one point, stops to admire the “lime and bergamot”-scented cleaning fluid.  Melody’s character is also a delight; Mampaka’s previous experience is in stand-up comedy, and it shows. The characterization on the page is thin, but Mampaka sells every eye-roll, every exasperated groan, and every sarcastic line delivery.  One of the movie’s pleasures is in watching Ines and Melody be forced into an odd-couple pairing, each accomplices to the other’s crimes. Their constant bickering keeps the movie buzzing along enjoyably.  The men in this movie are amusing enough, but not to the point of being memorable; none of their performances rises to the level of, say, Gary Cole in Office Space. Which is fine—Ines and Melody are the stars of the show.

Ultimately, this is a wickedly funny, dark satire which manages to be bubbly and light despite the heavy themes at play. Yes, the opening scenes are discouragingly pat, and the ending is a tad too tidy. All the loose ends are tied up so neatly that it brings to mind multi-camera sitcoms, in which everyone’s issues are cleanly, implausibly resolved in 30 minutes (22 minutes with commercials). But these gripes are overshadowed by a satisfying, meaty discourse on sexual politics and various prejudices, all presented in a milieu of increasingly dark, hilarious humor.  You’ll likely never look at cleaning products the same way again.