"Emilia Pérez"

  ☆☆☆☆☆ 

The best way to see the Spanish-language, French-produced rock-opera crime thriller Emilia Pérez is on the big screen, but it is a depressing fact that we live in a largely post-cinema world, when streaming services have replaced the communal act of moviegoing.

What will people watching this genre-defying, hyperactive, unpredictable musical at home make of it? Judging by some of the viewer comments I've seen, Emilia Pérez loses something on the small(er) screen—and movie lovers lost something when deep-pocketed Netflix bought the film after its rapturous response at the Cannes Film Festival. Though it got released on a handful of movie screens (I was fortunate to see it one of the few cinemas screening it a month after it opened), this movie, which took no fewer than 15 funding sources to bring it to life, is going to be seen at home.

Emilia Pérez isn't easy enough for today's watch-while-doing-a-dozen-other-things audiences, but in the cinema, it is a wonder to behold, a movie that casts a spell and never lets it be broken, even if it loses some of its musical razzle-dazzle in its second half, when it veers more toward pure, adrenaline-fueled over-the-top melodrama.

The less you know about Emilia Pérez going into it, the better. The general outline of the story follows Rita Mora, an overworked, under-appreciated attorney in Mexico City, who finds herself recruited by the leader of a powerful cartel and its biggest, baddest boss, Manitas del Monte. Manitas has a secret: He wants to become a woman, and hires Rita to take care of all of the details — not just arranging his surgery, but ensuring the world, including his family, knows of his death.

Manitas becomes Emilia Pérez, who sets about changing everything in her life. As Emilia discovers who she is, she develops an astonishing sense of destiny, though the movie, which is based on an unproduced opera libretto that, in turn, was inspired by a novel, has a lot of ideas about fate and destiny and the ways the past gets invited to intrude on the present.

As Emilia Pérez races toward a climax entirely in keeping with its operatic sensibilities, it's anchored by two excellent performances—Zoe Saldaña as Rita and Selena Gomez as Manitas' wife, Jessi. But the film belongs to Karla Sofía Gascón, an actress who brings Emilia to life in a way that thrills and delights. She commands the screen with no effort at all, finding a bold and unexpected heart at the core of a woman who thinks she knows enough to outwit her past.

Every moment of Emilia Pérez worked for me, even the most outrageous ones, though after seeing it I read some downright scathing criticism of the film from trans writers who believe the film is an inaccurate representation of the trans experience. I imagine they might have a point if the film were seeking—like, say, Hedwig and the Angry Inch—to portray some sense of realism about its subject.

But Emilia Pérez has no interest in depicting a real world; its vision is one of stylization, of embracing the sensibilities of a Mexican telenovéla, albeit one very much made for the big screen. What a shame, then, that this mesmerizing film will almost entirely be experienced on the small screen, watched by audiences primed to press the "back" button when they are less than entranced. Emilia Pérez is a big, glorious movie, unashamed to revel in its drama, aware that sometimes life is filled with feelings so overwhelming, so complicated, so robust that the only way to express them is by singing, dancing, and just letting it all wash over you.

Viewed December 21, 2024 — Landmark Sunset

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