Emilia Pérez: Jacques Audiard’s outlandish telenovela-style musical shouldn't work, but it does

Divisive? ¡Claro que sí! In Jacques Audiard’s latest, the veteran director of blistering dramas such as A Prophet (2009) and Rust and Bone (2012) channels the improbable dream logic of a hepped-up telenovela into a riotous trans musical about crime and redemption. Ruling with terror over the streets of Mexico, the snarling crime kingpin Manitas del Monte (Karla Sofía Gascón) kidnaps a talented but under-achieving lawyer called Rita (Zoe Saldaña) and makes her an offer she can’t refuse. If she secretly arranges their gender transition, she’ll never have to work another day in her life. When the surgery is completed, the reformed drug lord goes undercover as Emilia Pérez but is quickly confronted by overwhelming guilt about her past crimes. With Rita’s help, Emilia sets up an NGO called La Lucecita (‘the little light’) to help find the victims of Mexico’s drug cartels, the so-called ‘disappeared’. Reunited with her family, the now benevolent matriarch takes in her estranged ‘widow’ Jessi (Selena Gomez) and small children. Although she is able to live as her authentic self, trouble soon stands in the way of redemption as Emilia skates ever closer to being found out.

Emilia Pérez shouldn’t work. For one, there are too many plates spinning: a mix of genres ranging from crime caper to queer musical, trans telenovela and lesbian romance to state-of-the-nation exposé; an improbable redemption arc, and tonal shifts that fly by quick enough to give you whiplash. Surely its septuagenarian French director is going to slip up on the shifting sands of political correctness? Perhaps the biggest surprise in Emilia Pérez is not the director’s giddy experimentation with genre and form (Audiard has never been shy in that department and crime is a prevalent theme in his work), but that it casts such a heartfelt and even sympathetic look at gender transition. Neither of those adjectives should be confused with subtle. Emilia Pérez is many things, but it most definitely is not boring.

The film’s political commentary, which is abundant, is weighted far more towards critiquing Mexico’s internecine corruption, social inequality and horrifying violence than it is in dwelling on identity politics. This lends a refreshing quality to the representation of trans-ness in the film, which is not questioned, mocked or made to ‘stand’ for anything else. But the film’s attentiveness to narratives of authenticity, personal fulfilment and vindication at times jostles awkwardly with the vertiginously high-camp flourishes. The way the film flits between the grandeur of Shakespearean tragedy, the earnestness of millennial self-empowerment messaging and plain old farce makes it hard to take any of this very seriously. Thankfully, the gutsy Mach 10 performances at the centre of the film stop the whole thing from crashing down.

In the title role, Karla Sofía Gascón is the film’s breakout star. A telenovela actress from Madrid whose generous dual performance recalls the best of Almodóvar’s cinema of women, Gascón has already made history with this film as the first out trans performer to win the Best Actress award at Cannes. (The award was shared with the film’s excellent ensemble cast of Gomez, Saldaña and Adriana Paz, who plays Emilia’s lover Epifanía.) Saldaña gives her all to the determined and unshakeable Rita, a role that requires constant live-wire choreography, singing, and a remarkable emotional range. Working exhaustively on sci-fi franchises has clearly trained Saldaña well. Continuing her streak working with innovative arthouse directors, Gomez turns in a star-powered performance (questionable Hispanic accent aside) as a whacked-out gangster’s widow in love with somebody else, in another supporting role that leaves you wanting more.

There’s a lot to love about Emilia Pérez, from the elegant cinematography to the operatic songs of love, crime, and punishment – a winning collaboration between singer-songwriter Camille Dalmais and composer Clément Ducol, who worked on Leos Carax’s rock opera Annette (2021). While some of the musical set pieces are spirited and fun – the ode to vaginoplasty was a particular favourite – others are really quite bad. A heavy-metal-meets-hip-hop-inflected musical sequence at a charity gala had me cringing in my seat. But this is bold, ambitious and risky filmmaking. Just don’t expect it all to land.

► Emilia Pérez arrives in UK cinemas 25 October and will be available to stream on Netflix from 13 November.