The good thing about French artists across all mediums is that they attack projects with an intellectual rigor that instills in them a confidence that they can tackle any subject matter. This is also one of the worst things about French artists. This is how we end up with Emilia Pérez, a film directed by the French Jacques Audiard but about the Mexican cartel scene. The film is based on an un-produced opera libretto that Audiard wrote, which is itself loosely based on a novel by Boriz Razon. In many ways this feels like an inverted Dear Evan Hansen, bypassing the triumphant stage run and cutting straight into the embarrassing film adaptation. Did I mention this film is a musical? And that our eponymous protagonist is a murderous drug kingpin who wishes to transition into becoming a woman?

The movie’s logline is enough of a provocative, eyebrow-raising premise that it makes sense that this film caught a wave at this year’s Cannes. It won the Best Actress award, but it was split among four of its performers, including well-known Hollywood names like Zoe Saldaña and Selena Gomez, as well as less-known Mexican performers Karla Sofía Gascón and Adriana Paz. Gascón plays Emilia, both before and after her transition. It would be no small thing if Gascón, who is trans, gets a Best Actress nomination for this role – it would be undeniable history, in fact. But the performance (which is good) aside, Emilia Pérez is a film that puts all its actors in terribly compromising positions. A nomination would be similar to Ana De Armas’s for Blonde, she’s mostly getting it for surviving the whole ordeal with her dignity still intact.

Zoe Saldaña plays a lawyer in Mexico City named Rita Mora Castro. She works tirelessly as an assistant for a criminal defender who helps crime bosses get away with murder. The job is soul-crushing and pays little, but she’s good at it. This catches the attention of Manitas Del Monte, a powerful and deadly drug dealer who wants a meeting with Rita. At a professional and personal crossroads, Rita agrees to meet him, which requires a drive through the desert with a felt bag over her head. When she finally meets Manitas, they explain what they wants: gender reassignment surgery. They’ve already been taking hormone treatments for two years, and wants to finally accomplish their dream of living their authentic self. This must be done in secret, of course, and it requires someone with skill to arrange, thus Rita. Manitas offers lots and lots of money, but Rita is also won offer by their plight. How much of their inauthentic life has played a hand in his life of careless violence?

This movie’s first forty-five minutes are the toughest sit. We’re introduced to the songs (written by the French recording artist Camille), which involve a lot of talk singing and close-to-no visceral energy. When they’re supported by fully choreographed dance numbers, the contrast is only more visible. The songs are an awkward fit to begin with, but feel even more so layered atop this high-concept melodrama. It reminded me a lot of the first act of Moulin Rouge (another movie with a grating first act), but in trying to borrow a Baz Luhrman aesthetic, Emilia Pérez makes Luhrman look like Powell & Pressburger. The entirety of Pérez is ill-conceived, but no part more so than it’s opening act. Its performative streak is messy and uncouth, taking very intense subject matter (gangland Mexico, trans identity), and displaying it in such a glib way. I can understand if those watching on Netflix struggle to make it past the first thirty minutes.

Once Rita pulls off the plan, and Manitas becomes Emilia, the film settles down and becomes merely a mess instead of an outright disaster. Part of the deal is that Manitas’s “remains” are found and he is declared dead, a convenient side effect which allows him to unburden himself of his life of crime. Less simple is what to do with their wife, Jessi (Selena Gomez), and their two sons. They’re stored in a safe house in Switzerland, protected from those who wish them harm. All parties are given obscene amounts of money and sent on their way. Rita’s life improves immensely, and she finds a life of prosperity in London. When she meets Emilia four years later, she doesn’t recognize her former client. When Rita finally does, she fears for her life, the last witness left to kill. But Emilia is no longer a violent person, she only wants one thing: her children back.

Jessi and the kids are flown back to Mexico, and Emilia presents herself as an unknown cousin looking to help Jessi raise the children. If a comparison to Mrs. Doubtfire seems in bad taste, then I’ll say the film itself does little to fight against it. Bereaved and embittered, Jessi keeps Emilia at arm’s length, and feels particularly unsettled that Rita is back in the picture, a reminder of her original life uprooted. Rita challenges Emilia on her new life: how can you live happily ever after when you’ve caused so much pain? This inspires Emilia to use her money to start a non-profit which attempts to find the remains of people disappeared by the Mexican cartels. It’s a nice gesture that actually gains traction as many devastated families finally get closure on their deceased loved ones, but when Rita discovers that the endeavor is bankrolled by the very people who perpetrated these atrocities, she can’t ignore the conflict of interest.

Emilia eventually learns that she can’t undo the pain she’s caused for so many in her previous, inauthentic life, and there are no excuses of misshapen identity that can undo her guilt. The beats are predictable even if the film as a whole is anything but. Saldaña probably has the most screen time of any actor in the movie, but her character is the most superfluous. Rita spends a good chunk of the movie bemoaning the absence of any romantic life in a way that suggests her storyline will pay off with just that – don’t hold your breath. As Emilia, Gascón has moments of real effect, but Audiard never really balances the scales on her moral gray areas. It’s never really addressed that Emilia’s gender reassignment surgery is an effective form of witness protection, and that’s not the only way in which Emilia’s character is never fully reconciled.

I’m not an expert on what is or is not a genuine representation of a trans experience, but there isn’t anything in Emilia Pérez that does feel genuine. If one’s being generous, you can give Audiard and the film credit for audacity, but nearly every aspect feels underbaked in a way that feels inappropriate, considering the sensitive themes. In a small role, Paz plays a widow who’s surprisingly happy to find her abusive husband will not return after going missing. She begins an affair with Emilia, having both come out the other end of the cartels and lived to tell the tale. It’s perhaps the one relationship of the film that doesn’t feel forced. As Jessi, Selena Gomez has moments of real spark, and her songs are the closest thing to memorable. The rest of Emilia Pérez feels like a horribly bobbled exercise. A comedy that’s not funny, a melodrama that’s not compelling, a musical that’s not engaging. In the biggest irony, the film itself feels inauthentic, and the effect reverberates through every aspect of the story.

 

Directed by Jacques Audiard