I’m here to champion a work of art that centers a transgender woman in the lead role, to make the case for thought-provoking cinema that subverts tropes by radically embracing them.
I could only be speaking, of course, of “Johanne Sacreblu,” the “Emilia Pérez” homage and the directorial debut of Mexican filmmaker Camila Aurora. In addition to being the most compelling conflict between France and Mexico since the Battle of Puebla, it’s the critique of shallow Hollywood representation I’ve been waiting for.
To access “Johanne Sacreblu” as a text, you need both a working knowledge of Spanish (there are, as of the time I’m writing this, no English subtitles) and of “Emilia Pérez,” the polarizing musical directed by French filmmaker Jacques Audiard that recently snatched up a mind-blowing 13 Oscar nominations. In order to get to France, we have to cruise through Mexico, which, in “Emilia Pérez,” is just France with a sepia filter. Regardless, allons-y.
A plot synopsis does vanishingly little to capture the “Emilia Pérez “ viewing experience, but it’s the logical jump-off: Rita Mora Castro, played by Zoe Saldaña, is an underappreciated lawyer who, fed up with defending murderous criminals, takes up an offer to work with a Mexican cartel boss, Manitas del Monte, played by Karla Sofía Gascón, who hires Castro to facilitate her transition. Following this, and with the assistance of Castro, she fakes her own death, leaving her mourning wife, Jessi, played by Selena Gomez, and her two children in the dark to move forward as the titular Emilia. She then launches an NGO with Castro at her side called La Lucecita that searches for victims of the cartel-related violence that Pérez herself inflicted a great deal of. Don’t worry, this never becomes a real conflict.
Personally, I’ll never understand how someone could make such a reckless lifestyle change (going into grueling nonprofit work), but I tried to keep an open mind before pressing play and to ignore the feverish criticism surrounding the film, which has ramped up significantly in the wake of its Oscar noms. LGBTQ+ media watchdog GLAAD recently decried its representation of trans people, calling it “a step backwards.” It’s also been lambasted by Mexicans, many of whom say that the film’s handling of the very real issue of cartel violence is clumsy and insensitive, and who have noted that it has zero Mexican actors in its principal roles.
They have a point. Looking at it that way, “Emilia Pérez” is a bit like if a Chilean director made a musical about the Jan. 6 insurrection and cast mostly Thai people. That is a film I would absolutely watch, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there. The thing is, “Emilia Pérez” is not terribly concerned with a nuanced or accurate depiction of cartel violence in Mexico. The director has all but stated as such, saying that he “didn’t study much” on the subject.
Sure, but whatever one feels about the ethics of “Emilia Pérez,” the bigger problem, for me, is that it quickly begins to take itself deathly seriously. It uses cartel violence in Mexico as its engine to launch itself into the realm of Very Important Art (and Oscar territory), and I find that to be a rather bizarre choice for this film, which features a musical number set in a Bangkok surgery clinic containing the lyrics “penis to vagina.” I do think it should have chosen between that sort of campiness and “isn’t it a tragedy, how those brown folks down there are living?” “Emilia Pérez’s” lack of homework wasn’t a problem until it started applying to Ivy Leagues and getting in on a full ride. The film crumbles under the weight that it demanded we give it.
In this sense, “Emilia Pérez” feels a bit like “American Dirt: The Musical.” The latter is a novel that should have been marketed as a cut-and-dried narco thriller but was instead positioned as an overdue humanization of the undocumented experience at the Mexican border. It received a backlash so vociferous that Oprah, who previously made it a book club pick, sat down with the author, Jeanine Cummins, to talk about it. Indeed, the parallels between the public response to “Emilia Pérez” and “American Dirt” are striking. The best response to “Emilia Pérez” so far, though, is “Johanne Sacreblu.”
“A group of Mexicans responded to Emilia Perez by creating a short film titled Johanne Sacrebleu–a French-inspired film made entirely without a French cast or crew,” reads a popular post of a screenshot on X, accompanied by the caption, “Gotta love spite.” The short film tells the story of Johanne Sacreblu, a trans baguette heiress, who falls for Agtugo Ratatouille, a trans croissant heir, in a comedic riff on Romeo and Juliet. It’s delightfully lacking in nuance, portraying every last French person as a mime or a beret-wearing wino speaking broken, heavily accented French. They are also nearly universally being piloted by rats, as in Pixar’s “Ratatouille.” It’s a complete mess, which is the point.
While “Johanne Sacreblu” is undeniably a targeted rebuttal against “Emilia Pérez,” I also see it as a layered criticism of Hollywood’s exoticization of Latin America, and the vapidity of its representation of Latinos. The poorly drawn mustaches, mimes and baguettes in “Johanne Sacreblu” assert that “representation” is most often entirely cosmetic and reliant on almost offensively obvious signifiers meant not for the community being depicted, but for people who want to feel good for seeing that community being depicted at all, people who need their diversity in all caps and a ridiculously large font for it to be legible.
I see in it a salient point about the cluelessness of our cultural institutions — institutions that, following the recent presidential election and amid the rollback of diversity initiatives, are all but declaring, “we tried the diversity thing, and it didn’t work!” But, did they? Or did they just pump out a few products meant primarily to assuage their own guilt, products that screamed “progress” at a ridiculous decibel but, ultimately, had little by way of substance?
“Johanne Sacreblu” also models what media criticism can look like in an era in which there’s general fatigue with, let’s call it “call-out culture.” More effective than a hectoring thread on social media is making something new, something funny. Aurora embraced humor to make her point, and it’s been hilarious watching viewers get in on the joke, leaving comments about how refreshing it is to see such an authentic representation of French culture. It’s even on social film platform Letterboxd, where it currently has a rating of 4.6. The audience, too, becomes part of the satire, a mocking representation of Hollywood representation itself. It’s exciting. It’s fun.
Still, it’s worth recognizing that “Emilia Pérez” is situated in a precarious spot in our present cultural landscape. From a U.S. perspective, I welcome trans actors being recognized for their work, and I wish Sofía Gascón success in her career. She’s very talented, and with trans people being targeted, seeing a trans woman nominated for best actress is heartening. I also have a knee-jerk reaction to defend difficult films, and I think that, especially around Oscars season, one film tends to find itself in a villain role, and its flaws become magnified to the point of absurdity.
But, ultimately, “Emilia Pérez” invited such scrutiny. If it had been a comedy that touched on themes of redemption, then maybe its shallow deployment of cartel violence would be forgivable. But the film wants to be something heavier than that. As a musical, the songs are mostly forgettable. As a drama, it struggles to maintain tension. What we’re left to focus on is its message about murders and disappearances in Mexico, and on its representation, on it prominently featuring a trans actress and Latino characters. I can only speculate, but I wager that this representation of two often ignored demographics featured in its Oscars campaign.
Representation alone, though, simply isn’t enough. I don’t think “Emilia Pérez” is as evil as some people are making it out to be, but I find it far too confused and unwieldy to have warranted the awards recognition it’s received so far. Between the two, its parody has the stronger message.
Sacrebleu!
JP Brammer is a columnist, author, illustrator and content creator based in Brooklyn, N.Y. He is the author of ”Hola Papi: How to Come Out in a Walmart Parking Lot and Other Life Lessons,” based on his advice column. He has written for outlets including the Guardian, NBC News and the Washington Post. He writes regularly for De Los.
