This is an abominable film whose premise is a vile attempt to link the inhumanity of the holocaust with the inhumanity of corporate business.
Only a pretentious left wing French pseudo-intellectual neo-feminist could conflate the behaviour of men in suits with that of men in Nazi uniforms. Elisabeth Perceval (whoever she is) has come up with a richesse d'embarras which has to be suffered to be believed.
What is ironically amusing is that the film is set in France, where the power of the unions has cosseted the workforce to levels undreamed of in the rest of the Western World. With their protected 35 hour maximum working week, job security, pension and health-care privileges, impromptu blockades and strikes, the French worker can feel himself perhaps a little more empowered than the average internee in Nazi Germany.
Finally as to the semiotic rubbish which reaches its portentous climax at the closing blank screen voice-over, I would point out that we live in an age where we agonise endlessly to find appropriate signifiers which will not offend or dehumanise the hoi polloi. You won't find "janitors" any more, they are "site managers". There are hospital wards for "older people" (not "Geriatric" or "old") and the oppressive servitude implied by "personnel manager" has been replaced with the touchy feely "human resources executive". Personally, I think it would be quite fun to be called a "Unit".
Having said all that though, a French film totally devoid of any wit or humour whatsoever for its entire 140 minute duration deserves some kind of recognition.
Only a pretentious left wing French pseudo-intellectual neo-feminist could conflate the behaviour of men in suits with that of men in Nazi uniforms. Elisabeth Perceval (whoever she is) has come up with a richesse d'embarras which has to be suffered to be believed.
What is ironically amusing is that the film is set in France, where the power of the unions has cosseted the workforce to levels undreamed of in the rest of the Western World. With their protected 35 hour maximum working week, job security, pension and health-care privileges, impromptu blockades and strikes, the French worker can feel himself perhaps a little more empowered than the average internee in Nazi Germany.
Finally as to the semiotic rubbish which reaches its portentous climax at the closing blank screen voice-over, I would point out that we live in an age where we agonise endlessly to find appropriate signifiers which will not offend or dehumanise the hoi polloi. You won't find "janitors" any more, they are "site managers". There are hospital wards for "older people" (not "Geriatric" or "old") and the oppressive servitude implied by "personnel manager" has been replaced with the touchy feely "human resources executive". Personally, I think it would be quite fun to be called a "Unit".
Having said all that though, a French film totally devoid of any wit or humour whatsoever for its entire 140 minute duration deserves some kind of recognition.