"Man is condemned to be free, but his freedom is constantly staged, like a character in a show."

— Jean-Paul Sartre

In a dark corner of the world, amidst the violence and social disorder, the lives of those living on the margins intertwine, marked by a fate that does not conform to convention. Imagine a chaotic period, the end of a decade, where the dynamics of otherness and the struggle for recognition blend with the most deeply rooted and savage codes of our existence. It is Mexico, a country where justice is an illusion and power is measured in blood.

A man, a leader, a symbol of primal brutality and exaggerated masculinity, is forced to confront his deepest identity, one that the whole world cannot even imagine. A man who, immersed in the violence of the drug trade and the shadow of an apparently perfect family, has always been someone else. This being, who has always seen himself reflected in his male body, realizes that the mask can no longer be sustained, that the desire for transformation is a necessity that can no longer be denied. He calls himself Manitas, yet his dream is to become Emilia. The idea of dismantling his masculinity, of breaking the unwritten laws of virility, is both a liberation and a condemnation. But he will do it in the utmost secrecy, because the system that has shaped him forgives neither the most intimate dreams. His reality is built on an appearance that admits no deviations.

In response to this request, as unsustainable as it is necessary, is a lawyer who has yet to find her fulfillment, despite her intellectual capability and professional rigor. She, the figure that can be seen as the symbol of order and law, must perform an act that suspends all rational logic: the journey to find a surgeon who can help him be reborn under a new body. The operation is not only physical but philosophical, because her task is not just to change form, but to radically alter the perception of self.

The process of transformation is inevitable. When Manitas's body becomes Emilia's, a new existence opens up, like a new chapter in a life that has buried its past in the quicksand of history. Years pass, and Emilia's identity is now consolidated. She is no longer just a woman: she is a woman who has played her cards well, becoming a respected, admired figure who defies the conventions of a cosmopolitan society. The encounter with the lawyer, now a figure who has taken her place in the cycle of history, is a game of destinies that is never accidental. Emilia, now free from ties to her past, seeks to embark on a new mission, carrying with her a vision that is as ambitious as it is dangerous.

Yet, the film does not simply offer a transposition of personal drama. Emilia, in the midst of her transformation, not only seeks to save herself, but throws herself into a mission of social redemption. Her new existence is not just an attempt to finally be herself, but becomes a fight for justice, for the recovery of the bodies and memories of those destroyed by the criminal system. Her words, now spoken by a charismatic figure, seem to seek to rewrite history. But her mission is not without shadows: while Emilia stands as a champion of the oppressed, her true nature remains that of someone complicit in an oppressive system, someone who was part of that violence she now condemns.

In this figure, perhaps, lies the greatest irony of human existence. The search for one's identity, the will to reclaim oneself through a radical act like gender transformation, is not a path that can lead to linear redemption. Emilia, who claims her place in the world with pride and determination, becomes the incarnate version of the promise of a better future, but the past remains a scar that never truly heals. There is no liberation that can truly expel the ghosts of violence and guilt.

Thus, Audiard’s film, which might seem like an uplifting message about the possibility of change, turns into a darker, more disillusioned warning. One can never escape their past. Identity, in the end, is a prison from which one cannot escape, because every choice, every step forward, is marked by what we once were. The transformation that seems liberating becomes the greatest of illusions: like any figure who stands as a symbol of hope, Emilia is destined to face the emptiness that lies behind her splendor.

Audiard also seems to treat the drama of the crisis related to violence and disappearances in Mexico with such irritating lightness that it almost becomes a caricature of pain. It's as if every aspect of tragedy is filtered through a screen of superficiality and frivolity, where each tragic event loses its gravity and becomes just another occasion for a spectacular event. Emilia Pérez is a striking example of how the attempt to address serious issues like violence and human suffering can turn into a discordant and jarring spectacle.

In all this, however, the music becomes nothing more than a forced distraction, a dimension that clashes with the rest and amplifies only emotional exaggerations, adding nothing of significance. Instead of exploring the complexity of identity or the depths of fate, the soundtrack seems like a failed attempt to mask narrative voids and make bearable what would otherwise be unbearable. It is not a harmonious accompaniment, but an intrusive tool that accentuates confusion and superficiality, trying to give meaning to what has no substance. The musical, rather than pushing beyond conventions to reveal new possibilities, ends up reducing everything to a stylistic performance without substance, a pure strategy that drains the content of any authentic value. It's as if the genre, rather than serving to tell a story, is a pretext for slipping into the realms of the unbelievable without any regard for reality.

The actors then launch into an acrobatic "acting-singing" performance that only exacerbates everything. The dialogues, which transform into songs without warning, only add another layer of irritation, making each scene even more unnatural and exasperating. If the attempt to avoid naturalism is intentional, it is clear, but it is certainly not a choice that justifies the mixing of melodrama with an exuberant, winking, baroque style. The sumptuous costumes and the eternal desire to display extravagance only underline the distance between the real tragedy and what Audiard is trying to portray, as if he is mocking the suffering of others.

And we cannot fail to mention that scene—a true grotesque twist—where a chorus of doctors, with the calmness of those singing a lullaby, illustrates gender reassignment with surgical procedures described like a surreal symphony. A moment that is not only inappropriate, but seems like gratuitous and insensitive provocation. Audiard has opted for an extreme approach, favoring a space for unrestrained exhibitionism.

Of course, the film might appeal to those looking for something "different," something unafraid to take risks. Emilia Pérezwalks on a very thin line, but unfortunately often stumbles, dragging with it every intention of seriousness. It is a film that tries to seem courageous but often falls into the spectacle for spectacle's sake.

"In the world of spectacularization, depth is sacrificed at the altar of visibility."

Guy Debord

09-Jan-2025 by Beatrice