Movie Reviews
'Emilia Pérez' review: An incendiary transgender cartel musical
The tale of a vicious cartel boss who undergoes gender-affirming surgery, Emilia Pérez places women front and center in a traditionally male-led gangster genre. But rather than subverting its visual and tonal hallmarks, French filmmaker Jacques Audiard compliments them with a liberating sense of expression through song and dance.
The Spanish-language Cannes title not only won Audiard the Jury Prize — the festival’s third most prestigious accolade — but it was also awarded the Best Actress trophy to not one but four of its central performances, each of which brings a unique thoughtfulness and passion to the screen. Part throwback musical and part modern cartel saga, the Dheepan director’s audacious blend is about the transgender experience in thorny ways, but it finds a deft balance between energetic filmmaking and intimate drama.
What is Emilia Pérez about?
Credit: Cannes Film Fesitval
Dreamlike landscape shots of a nebulous Mexican city — the film was largely shot in France — fade and overlap as we’re slowly lowered onto streets overrun with violent crime. Rita (Zoe Saldaña), an overworked, underappreciated corporate defense attorney, is part of the problem. She’s a cynical cog in a brutal machine, and her job is getting killers off the hook. It’s a premise she introduces to us firsthand via a snappy dance number in the tight confines of a public market, where she’s promptly joined by extras.
Soon, Rita is presented a deal with a devil: the vicious wanted criminal Juan “Manitas” Del Monte (transgender telenovela star Karla Sofía Gascón), who, midway through the movie, changes her name to Emilia Pérez and adopts a whole new identity. Emilia wants Rita to help her evade authorities by researching an expensive and secretive gender-affirming surgery, and by recruiting discreet international experts. The procedure, however, is no mere excuse or easy escape hatch from her life of crime. Rather, it’s been her deep desire for many years — Emilia has also covertly begun hormone replacement therapy — and it just so happens to align with her need to leave her life of crime in her rearview.
When she was living as Manitas, Emilia was perceived to be a tough-as-nails cartel boss who built an empire on blood. Its foundations, which she relays to the audience by singing in despondent whispers, involved leaning into society’s violent masculine expectations for the sake of survival. Now, upon undergoing a series of simultaneous surgeries — which receive their own informative musical number, courtesy of some excitable Thai surgeons — her plan also includes faking her own death in the eyes of the law. In order to fully shed her past, she wants to “kill” Manitas, and have Rita evacuate her wife, Jessi (Selena Gomez), and their two adolescent kids to Switzerland, where they’ll be safe and none the wiser about Emilia’s new life and identity.
All’s well that ends well… That is, until Emilia — having fully transitioned — resurfaces several years down the line in the hopes of reuniting with her family. For this mission to bring Jessi and her kids to Mexico, Emilia once again conscripts the resourceful Rita, though both women have since turned over new leaves, making their return to Mexico (and to the thick of cartel activity, where Manitas is still wanted) a challenging conundrum. What follows is a complicated and often amusing plot in which Emilia reintroduces herself to her kids as their long-lost aunt, while also embarking on a pilgrimage of rigorous social work alongside Rita to clean up Mexico’s top-down corruption, if only so that both women can atone for their sins.
These acts of repentance come wrapped in wildly energetic musical numbers that leap off the screen, as the camera jostles and swerves to keep pace. All the while, the film asks intriguing philosophical questions about the mind, body, and soul, as they pertain to its genre lens.
Emilia Pérez is a charged transgender tale of remorse.
Until she undergoes her affirming procedures, nearly every character in the film (including her surgeon, and even Emilia herself) refers to her with male pronouns, as though Manitas were a distinct entity whose life ends when Emilia’s begins. While trans people generally use pronouns that align with their gender regardless of their desire for (or access to) gender-affirming care, perhaps the movie’s 72-year-old cisgender director, and its numerous cis writers and producers, aren’t up to date on the terminology, though Emilia hints at having experienced dysphoria as a child. However, her being older and more isolated from trans issues and communities also means she lacks the necessary language to define her deep-seated feelings and experiences. So, this imaginary dividing line between Manitas and Emilia becomes a vital dramatic question.
Failed by the healthcare system, transgender people find help elsewhere
Conversations between Rita and the doctors she interviews are rife with differing perspectives about physical transformation representing metaphysical good, and about the ways in which gender dysphoria can be relieved through physical means. If the film, as a political entity, ought to be judged on its approach to trans people irrespective of its language, then it’s ostensibly in the right, and only introduces these dueling questions as a means to channel Emilia’s spiritual dilemma.
Mashable Top Stories
While gender-affirming surgery is something she wants, in order to escape, and needs, in order to survive as her true self, it’s also something she hopes will relieve her of her ethical burdens as a ruthless killer — as though Manitas were some uncomfortable temporary skin she could simply shed. Gascón even embodies this idea when she first appears as the gruff and grizzled Manitas onscreen. The actress’s prosthetic nose (i.e. the character’s “real” nose, pre-rhinoplasty) sits uncomfortably on her face, while the contours of her beard and unkempt, mane-like wig are visible to the naked eye. It’s as though we were seeing Emilia the way she sees herself: performing maleness, and being forced to pretend in order to survive.
If anything, the outdated idea that she “was a man” and “is now a woman” (according to some characters) is something she wishes were true, if only to rationalize her life as having a distinct “before” and “after” point — for her spirit, as represented by her body — between Manitas and Emilia. The more modern way we understand gender and identity, wherein Emilia has been the same person all along, is not something she herself can sit with, even though she claims to have recognized this about herself from an early age. Her transformation may be life-affirming, and even life-saving, but it cannot possibly provide her with the absolution she desires. This, in turn, portends the aforementioned tale of Emilia and Rita trying to confront their sins by exposing the metaphorical and literal skeletons they once helped bury.
Transgender opinions on the film are unlikely to be monolithic, but emphasis on the surgical aspect of the trans experience tends to be a reductive, retrograde cisgender fixation more often than not. However, in Emilia Pérez, these anxieties around the nitty-gritties of physical transformation become a key emotional focal point, over which Gascón pores in every scene and every quiet musical number. Her novel sense of gender euphoria remains shackled by a kind of moral dysphoria, having committed atrocities under a façade to which she can no longer relate, if she was ever able to in the first place. And yet, Manitas’ actions are a part of her too, even if they belong to a false version of herself.
While Emilia may be guilty from a legal standpoint, the ethics of her guilt, as imagined by Audiard’s drama, become infinitely more complicated. It’s as though her corrective physical metamorphosis had fallen tragically short of helping her purge herself of her misdeeds. However, on the other side of her social transition, she also finds renewed romance with a headstrong local woman on the run from her husband, Epifania (Adriana Paz) — a committed, loving performance that rounds out the quartet of Cannes winners — but the very idea of happiness becomes corrupted too, so long as Emilia’s past remains unconfronted. For instance, Jessi, who believes herself to be a widow, moves on romantically as well, leading to sparks of envy that anchor Emilia to her ugliest emotional tendencies.
But while all these ideas are all somewhat interesting, it’s the way in which Audiard assembles them — in the vein of a mid-2000s Hollywood thriller, imbued with raucous musical energy — that truly makes them sing.
Emilia Pérez is a stylistic triumph.
Credit: Cannes Film Festival
To liken crime movies and musicals to strictly “masculine” and “feminine” forms of cinema might sound reductive, but this traditional genre binary is key to Audiard’s artistic approach. These respective modes, each repressive and expressive in their own right, inform the ways his actors move through space, and the way he captures them doing so.
For one thing, Emilia Pérez resembles the highly saturated war-on-drugs/war-on-terror studio films produced in America at the turn of the century. Its intimate, shaky camerawork and high-contrast shadows create a sickly feel akin to Steven Soderbergh’s Traffic or Tony Scott’s Déjà Vu, hi-octane thrillers in which you can practically smell the gasoline radiating off people’s skin, thanks to their overblown visual highlights (including on Black skin; something Déjà Vu and Emilia Pérez have in common). These are the kinds of films where it feels like the light source is everywhere, all at once, reflecting off people’s bodies at all times — if not emanating from them in the first place.
Audiard and cinematographer Paul Guilhaume take full advantage of these familiar textures and conventions as soon as they begin blending the aforementioned approach — an ostensibly more “realistic” one — with the theatrical expressionism of dance. The harsh highlights become spotlights, as the film’s luminous characters begin to control the fabric of the frame. Their movements determine whether people around them are still or in motion. Routine activities take on musical rhythms. Personal confrontations in public settings determine whether or not other characters are lit at all. These are women fighting for agency in harsh environments, and their aesthetic control over the space around them ends up a particularly fitting depiction of this idea.
While the film has lengthy stretches without musical numbers, and features a few laments with rusty delivery that it could’ve probably done without, there are just as many songs that are exciting and emotionally rousing. (Some tracks are mercifully rapped, rather than sung, by actors with less vocal training.) One in particular, a rock opera ballad which unfolds just as Rita begins turning over a new leaf, sees Saldaña dancing across a series of expensive banquet tables. While she’s invisible to its lavish guests — corrupt politicians and police personnel she now hopes to take down — her pulsating movements practically force them to move and convulse to the beat as well. Others finally have no choice but to dance to her tune. It’s one of the most fist-pumping cinematic moments this year.
However, no matter who’s on screen, Emilia remains the focal point around whom everyone’s story pivots — whether it heads toward catharsis, tragedy, or both. She represents, in microcosm, the transformative nature of fictional characters at large, and ends up embodying a novel narrative tension through her transgender experience: between physical and emotional metamorphosis, a dramatic disconnect that becomes the catalyst for nearly every scene and song.
Above all else, the film’s four leading ladies are perfectly attuned to Audiard’s volatile mixture of operatic emotion and naturalistic cinematic influence. The result is a dazzling, dramatic high-wire act that’s always fun to watch, and is frequently invigorating, too. While its combination of styles and subject matter could’ve been picked out of a hat, Emilia Pérez sees Audiard sorting through a fog of risky, seemingly immiscible ideas to deliver a queer Molotov cocktail.
Emilia Pérez was reviewed out of the Cannes Film Festival.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: A real-life ’70s hostage drama crackles in Gus Van Sant’s ‘Dead Man’s Wire’
It plays a little loose with facts but the righteous rage of “Dog Day Afternoon” is present enough in Gus Van Sant’s “Dead Man’s Wire,” a based-on-a-true-tale hostage thriller that’s as deeply 1970s as it is contemporary.
In February 1977, Tony Kiritsis walked into the Meridian Mortgage Company in downtown Indianapolis and took one of its executives, Dick Hall, hostage. Kiritsis held a sawed-off shotgun to the back of Hall’s head and draped a wire around his neck that connected to the gun. If he moved too much, he would die.
The subsequent standoff moved to Kiritsis’ apartment and eventually concluded in a live televised news conference. The whole ordeal received some renewed attention in a 2022 podcast dramatization starring Jon Hamm.
But in “Dead Man’s Wire,” starring Bill Skarsgård as Kiritsis, these events are vividly brought to life by Van Sant. It’s been seven years since Van Sant directed, following 2018’s “Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot,” and one of the prevailing takeaways of his new film is that that’s too long of a break for a filmmaker of Van Sant’s caliber.
Working from a script by Austin Kolodney, the filmmaker of “My Own Private Idaho” and “Good Will Hunting” turns “Dead Man’s Wire” into not a period-piece time capsule but a bracingly relevant drama of outrage and inequality. Tony feels aggrieved by his mortgage company over a land deal the bank, he claims, blocked. We’re never given many specifics, but at the same time, there’s little doubt in “Dead Man’s Wire” that Tony’s cause is just. His means might be desperate and abhorrent, but the movie is very definitely on his side.
That’s owed significantly to Skarsgård, who gives one of his finest and least adorned performances. While best known for films like “It,” “The Crow” and “Nosferatu,” here Skarsgård has little more than some green polyester and a very ’70s mustache to alter his looks. The straightforward, jittery intensity of his performance propels “Dead Man’s Wire.”
Yet Van Sant’s film aspires to be a larger ensemble drama, which it only partially succeeds at. Tony’s plight is far from a solitary one, as numerous threads suggest in Kolodney’s fast-paced script. First and foremost is Colman Domingo as a local DJ named Fred Temple. (If ever there were an actor suited, with a smooth baritone, to play a ’70s radio DJ, it’s Domingo.) Tony, a fan, calls Fred to air his demands. But it’s not just a media outlet for him. Fred touts himself as “the voice of the people.”
Something similar could be said of Tony, who rapidly emerges as a kind of folk hero. As much as he tortures his hostage (a very good Dacre Montgomery), he’s kind to the police officers surrounding him. And as he and Dick spend more time together, Dick emerges as a kind of victim, himself. It’s his father’s bank, and when Tony gets M.L. Hall (Al Pacino) on the phone, he sounds painfully insensitive, sooner ready to sacrifice his son than acknowledge any wrongdoing.
Pacino’s presence in “Dead Man’s Wire” is a nod to “Dog Day Afternoon,” a movie that may be far better — but, then again, that’s true of most films in comparison to Sidney Lumet’s unsurpassed 1975 classic. Still, Van Sant’s film bears some of the same rage and disillusionment with the meatgrinder of capitalism as “Dog Day.”
There’s also a telling, if not entirely successful subplot of a local TV news reporter (Myha’la) struggling against stereotypes. Even when she gets the goods on the unspooling news story, the way her producer says to “chop it up” and put it on air makes it clear: Whatever Tony is rebelling against, it’s him, not his plight, that will be served up on a prime-time plate.
It doesn’t take recent similar cases of national fascination, such as Luigi Mangione, charged with killing a healthcare executive, to see contemporary echoes of Kiritsis’ tale. The real story is more complicated and less metaphor-ready, of course, than the movie, which detracts some from the film’s gritty sense of verisimilitude. Staying closer to the truth might have produced a more dynamic movie.
But “Dead Man’s Wire” still works. In the film, Tony’s demands are $5 million and an apology. It’s clear the latter means more to him than the money. The tragedy in “Dead Man’s Wire” is just how elusive “I’m sorry” can be.
“Dead Man’s Wire,” a Row K Entertainment release, is rated R for language throughout. Running time: 105 minutes. Three stars out of four.
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Is This Thing On?
Cinematic stories of disintegrating marriages are fairly commonplace—and often depressing emotional endurance tests, besides—so it’s interesting to see co-writer/director Bradley Cooper take this variation on the theme in a fresher direction. The unhappy couple in this place is Alex and Tess Novak (Will Arnett and Laura Dern), who decide matter-of-factly to separate. Then Alex impulsively decides to get up on stage at an open-mic comedy night, and starts turning their relationship issues into material. The premise would seem to suggest an uneven balance towards Alex’s perspective, but the script is just as interested in Tess—a former Olympic-level volleyball player who retired to focus on motherhood—searching for her own purpose. And the narrative takes a provocative twist when their individual sparks of renewed happiness lead them towards something resembling an affair with their own spouse. The screenplay faces a challenge common to movies about comedians in that Alex’s material, even once he’s supposed to be actively working on it, isn’t particularly good, and Cooper isn’t particularly restrained in his own supporting performance as the comic-relief buddy character (who is called “Balls,” if that provides any hints). Yet the two lead performances are terrific—particularly Dern, who nails complex facial expressions upon her first encounter with Alex’s act—as Cooper and company turn this narrative into an exploration of how it can seem that you’ve fallen out of love with your partner, when what you’ve really fallen out of love with is the rest of your life. Available Jan. 9 in theaters. (R)
JANUARY SPECIAL SCREENINGS
KRCL’s Music Meets Movies: Dig! XX @ Brewvies: As part of a farewell to Sundance, Brewvies/KRCL’s regular Music Meets Movies series presents the extended 20th anniversary edition of the 2004 Sundance documentary about the rivalry between the Dandy Warhols and Brian Jonestown Massacre as they chart different music-biz paths. The screening takes place at Brewvies (677 S. 200 West) on Jan. 8 @ 7:30 p.m., $10 at the door or 2-for-1 with KRCL shirt. brewvies.com
Trent Harris weekend @ SLFS: Utah’s own Trent Harris has charted a singular course as an independent filmmaker, and you can catch two of his most (in)famous works at Salt Lake Film Society. In 1991’s Rubin & Ed, two mismatched souls—one an eccentric, isolated young man (Crispin Glover), the other a middle-aged financial scammer—wind up on a comedic road trip through the Utah desert; 1995’s Plan 10 from Outer Space turns Mormon theology into a crazy science-fiction parody. Get a double dose of uncut Trent Harris weirdness on Friday, Jan. 9, with Rubin & Ed at 7 p.m. and Plan 10 from Outer Space at 9 p.m. Tickets are $13.75 for each screening. slfs.org
Rob Reiner retrospective @ Brewvies Sunday Brunch: Last month’s tragic passing of actor/director Rob Reiner reminded people of his extraordinary work, particularly his first handful of features. Brewvies’ regular “Sunday Brunch” series showcases three of these films this month with This Is Spinal Tap (Jan. 11), The Princess Bride (Jan. 18) and Stand By Me (Jan. 25). All screenings are free with no reservations, on a first-come first-served basis, at noon each day. brewvies.com
David Lynch retrospective @ SLFS: It’s been a year since the passing of groundbreaking artist David Lynch, and Salt Lake Film Society’s Broadway Centre Cinemas marks the occasion with some of his greatest filmed work. In addition to theatrical features Eraserhead (Jan. 11), Inland Empire (Jan. 11), Mulholland Dr. (Jan. 12), Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (Jan. 14), Blue Velvet (Jan. 19) and Lost Highway (Jan. 19), you can experience the entirety of 2017’s Twin Peaks: The Return on the big screen in two-episode blocs Jan. 16 – 18. The programming also includes the 2016 documentary David Lynch: The Art Life. slfs.org
Death by Numbers @ Utah Film Center: Directed by Kim A. Snyder (the 2025 Sundance feature documentary The Librarians), this 2024 Oscar-nominated documentary short focuses on Sam Fuentes, survivor of a school shooting who attempts to process her experience through poetry. This special screening features a live Q&A with Terri Gilfillan and Nancy Farrar-Halden of Gun Violence Prevention Center of Utah, with Zoom participation by Sam Fuentes. The screening on Wednesday, Jan. 14 at 7 p.m. at Utah Film Center (375 W. 400 North) is free with registration at the website.
Movie Reviews
Stream It Or Skip It: ‘The Home’ on Starz, a paranoid thriller where Pete Davidson gets trapped in a creepy retirement home
The Home (now streaming on Starz) pits Pete Davidson against the residents of a creepy retirement community, and it isn’t exactly a Millennials-vs.-Boomers clash for the ages. “Best generation, my f—in’ dick,” our headliner mutters under his breath at one point, and that’s an accurate representation of this quasi-horror movie’s level of articulation. Filmmaker James DeMonaco (director of the first three The Purge movies, writer of all of them) takes a halfway decent idea and turns it into an uninspired, vaguely brownish-colored movie version of the stew you make out of all the leftovers in the fridge, and that you can’t revive with just a little more salt.
THE HOME: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?
The Gist: Hurricane Greta is about to slam into this community, and this movie would love you to come to the conclusion that it’s the result of the collective might of boomers’ farts after they ate too many Wagyu tenderloins basted in the metaphorical gravies wrung from the pores of younger generations. Maybe that’s why Max (Davidson) is so skinny, but it’s definitely why he’s so P.O.’d. He breaks into a building and expresses his angst via some elaborate graffiti art that gets him arrested – again. His foster father finagles a deal for him to avoid jail time by performing community service at the Green Meadows Retirement Home and that doesn’t seem too bad since he’ll be a janitor and not a nurse on diaper duty. And at this point it’s established that Max has some trauma stemming from his foster brother’s suicide, the type of trauma that’s requisite to pile atop any and all protagonists of crappo horror movies at this point in the 21st century.
It’s worth noting that Green Meadows is a halfway-decent retirement community – not as posh as the one in The Thursday Murder Club, and not as repugnant as you might expect for a low-rung horror flick. BUT. There’s always a BUT. He arrives at the home and looks up and sees peering out a window the face of a gaunt old man with eyes that ain’t quite right. I’m sure it’s nothing! Management gives him the nickel tour, and gives him the first rule of The Friday the 13th Murder Club: DON’T GO ON THE FOURTH FLOOR. And yes, that’s also the second rule of The Friday the 13th Murder Club. Max will stay in a room at the home so he can be available 24/7 in case the job requires a 2 a.m. mop-up, and also so he can have lucid dreams that may or may not actually be dreams about weird shit happening around these here parts.
But everything goes fine and Max quietly manages his trauma and nothing incredibly gross and/or violent happens and he lives happily ever after the end. No! Actually, he catches a glimpse of old people in bizarre masks having miserable sex, and hears horrible screams of agony coming from, yes, the fourth floor. Max seems to be getting along OK, and even makes a couple of friends, like Lou (John Glover), who summons Max to clean up a big mess of feces when it’s actually a little welcome party for the new super. Ha! Max also has conversations about Real Stuff with Norma (Mary Beth Peil), both sharing the pain of the people they’ve lost. Eventually the fourth floor misery noises get to be too much and Max picks the lock and investigates, and it’s full of wheelchair-bound elderlies in states of drooling, semi-comatose madness. After Max gets his hand slapped for violating the first/second rule, that’s when the bullshit ramps up. Let’s just say this bullshit has some Satanic vibes, and poor Norma doesn’t deserve what happens to her, although Max seems ready to do something about all this.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of? The Home is sub-Blumhouse drivel nominally referencing things like Rosemary’s Baby, Eyes Wide Shut, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in order to make it seem smarter than it is. Other recent scary movies set in nursing homes: The Manor, The Rule of Jenny Pen.
Performance Worth Watching: A moment of praise for the makeup and practical effects people, who provide The Home with more memorable elements than any of the cast performances.
Sex And Skin: A bit. Nothing extensive. But definitely unpleasant.
Our Take: In The Home, DeMarco tries a little bit of everything: flashbacks, dream-sequence fakeouts, jump scares, body horror, surveillance-tech POVs, occult gobbledygook, creepy sex, conspiracies, climate change dread, generational divide, paranoia, deepfake-ish dark-web weirdness… it goes on, and none of it is particularly compelling or original. It’s most effective in its grisly imagery, with a couple of memorable deaths that might tickle the cockles of horror connoisseurs, and DeMarco’s generous deployment of pus and eyeball gloop shows a variation on the usual bodily fluids that’s, well, I don’t know if “satisfying” is the right word, but at least we’re not drenched in the same ol’ blood and barf. Small victories, I guess.
Most will take issue with the casting of Davidson, who in the majority of his roles to date has yet to show the intensity that anchoring a thriller like The Home demands. He puts in some diligent effort in the role of the guy who routinely goes what the eff is going on around here?, and his work is a cut above merely cashing a paycheck, which isn’t to say he’s necessarily good. Miscast, maybe. The victim of half-assed writing, more likely, this being a paranoid creepout that never gets under our skin, with attempts at cheeky comedy that fizzle out and social commentary that dead-ends into obviousness. Having Davidson piss and moan about “F—ing boomers” ain’t enough.
The plot works its way through its hodgepodge of this ‘n’ that plot mechanisms to get to a conclusion that’ underwhelming and over the top at the same time; the initial bit of exhilaration quickly dissipates and we’re left with the sense that the movie just hasn’t been good or diligent enough in its storytelling and character development to earn this catharsis. It’s just spectacle for its own gory sake. This mediocrity might just inspire Davidson to retire from horror movies.
Our Call: Hate to say it, but 1.7 decent kills does not a horror movie make. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.
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