Emilia Perez.
Directed and written by Jacques Audiard.
On general release and Netflix.
A story about violence and corruption rendered as a musical? That shouldn’t work. A vicious Mexican drug lord wanting to transition to a woman and become a philanthropist? That shouldn’t work. A cheesy song sung by a Thai sex-change surgeon extolling vaginoplasty and penoplasty? That shouldn’t work. A singer who clearly cannot sing? That shouldn’t work. A French director working in a language he doesn’t know, and recreating Mexico in Paris studios? That shouldn’t work either. None of it should work. But it does, brilliantly. Jacques Audiard follows his convictions and goes for broke and the result is a film so refreshing, so gripping and so entertaining that it is one of the most distinctive movies of the year. I hope, and partly expect, that it will clean up in the forthcoming awards season.
Emilia Perez is a morality tale which takes on the many contradictions of contemporary Mexico: everything from its traditional macho agenda versus women’s rights to its preference for explicit tabloid culture over proper judicial process. During the opening credits we see three traditional Mariachi singers slowly cross fade to modern Mexico City at night, and we hear a children’s choir singing that they will buy up any unwanted consumer goods. And then we are in the company of Rita Castro, a young, female, underpaid defence lawyer preparing her closing arguments to the jury in a murder trial.
Rita takes her musings into the crowded Mexico City streets and suddenly gives voice to them in song. It is the first of sixteen riveting musical numbers which reinforce the film’s narrative arc, all mounted with the kind of energy and imagination that Spielberg, for example, brought to his version of West Side Story a couple of years ago. Rita is joined by the street crowd – they share her concerns: “It’s a case about violence. About love, death. About a suffering country.”
The suffering country makes itself known very quickly. Rita is kidnapped by Manitas del Monte, the murderous head of a narcotics cartel. She can gain the status and wealth her talent deserves, he offers, if she assists him on his quest to become a woman. And so the story unfolds. Manitas fakes his own death and comes back as Emilia; his estranged wife Jessi reappears with the kids; Emilia establishes an NGO to assist bereaved families find the tens of thousands of their loved ones who have disappeared. The grizzly undercurrent of Mexican violence is never far away.
Audiard takes us on this journey with great panache. One musical number conjures up Busby Berkeley; another, at a well-heeled benefit gala, has Rita launch into a sensational song and dance highlighting the guests’ corruption and hypocrisy.
Of the cast, Karla Sofía Gascón traces Emilia’s transition and moral struggles with nuance and sensitivity. Salena Gomez brings her lovely singing pipes to the role of Jessi, the ex-wife. Also to be commended is Adriana Paz as Emilia’s late love interest, Epifania. Most brilliant of all though, and she completely carries the film, is Zoe Saldaña as Rita.
At one point in the project’s development Audiard toyed with the idea of making it a staged opera. We must be glad he didn’t. In that form it could have easily fallen flat on its face and have had a tiny audience. Instead we have a riveting example of how innovative, daring and persuasive cinema can be. Oscars please.
© Graham Buchan, 2024.
Emilia Perez.
Directed and written by Jacques Audiard.
On general release and Netflix.
A story about violence and corruption rendered as a musical? That shouldn’t work. A vicious Mexican drug lord wanting to transition to a woman and become a philanthropist? That shouldn’t work. A cheesy song sung by a Thai sex-change surgeon extolling vaginoplasty and penoplasty? That shouldn’t work. A singer who clearly cannot sing? That shouldn’t work. A French director working in a language he doesn’t know, and recreating Mexico in Paris studios? That shouldn’t work either. None of it should work. But it does, brilliantly. Jacques Audiard follows his convictions and goes for broke and the result is a film so refreshing, so gripping and so entertaining that it is one of the most distinctive movies of the year. I hope, and partly expect, that it will clean up in the forthcoming awards season.
Emilia Perez is a morality tale which takes on the many contradictions of contemporary Mexico: everything from its traditional macho agenda versus women’s rights to its preference for explicit tabloid culture over proper judicial process. During the opening credits we see three traditional Mariachi singers slowly cross fade to modern Mexico City at night, and we hear a children’s choir singing that they will buy up any unwanted consumer goods. And then we are in the company of Rita Castro, a young, female, underpaid defence lawyer preparing her closing arguments to the jury in a murder trial.
Rita takes her musings into the crowded Mexico City streets and suddenly gives voice to them in song. It is the first of sixteen riveting musical numbers which reinforce the film’s narrative arc, all mounted with the kind of energy and imagination that Spielberg, for example, brought to his version of West Side Story a couple of years ago. Rita is joined by the street crowd – they share her concerns: “It’s a case about violence. About love, death. About a suffering country.”
The suffering country makes itself known very quickly. Rita is kidnapped by Manitas del Monte, the murderous head of a narcotics cartel. She can gain the status and wealth her talent deserves, he offers, if she assists him on his quest to become a woman. And so the story unfolds. Manitas fakes his own death and comes back as Emilia; his estranged wife Jessi reappears with the kids; Emilia establishes an NGO to assist bereaved families find the tens of thousands of their loved ones who have disappeared. The grizzly undercurrent of Mexican violence is never far away.
Audiard takes us on this journey with great panache. One musical number conjures up Busby Berkeley; another, at a well-heeled benefit gala, has Rita launch into a sensational song and dance highlighting the guests’ corruption and hypocrisy.
Of the cast, Karla Sofía Gascón traces Emilia’s transition and moral struggles with nuance and sensitivity. Salena Gomez brings her lovely singing pipes to the role of Jessi, the ex-wife. Also to be commended is Adriana Paz as Emilia’s late love interest, Epifania. Most brilliant of all though, and she completely carries the film, is Zoe Saldaña as Rita.
At one point in the project’s development Audiard toyed with the idea of making it a staged opera. We must be glad he didn’t. In that form it could have easily fallen flat on its face and have had a tiny audience. Instead we have a riveting example of how innovative, daring and persuasive cinema can be. Oscars please.
© Graham Buchan, 2024.
By Graham Buchan • film, year 2024 • Tags: film, Graham Buchan