Take it From a Mexican: “Emilia Pérez” is Trash

Emilia Pérez. (L-R) Karla Sofía Gascón as Emilia Pérez and Zoe Saldaña as Rita Moro Castro in Emilia Pérez. Cr. PAGE 114 - WHY NOT PRODUCTIONS - PATHÉ FILMS - FRANCE 2 CINÉMA.

Emilia Pérez is trash. No, I don’t care that it’s been nominated for thirteen Academy Awards and won a few Golden Globes. Yes, this is the hill I, a Mexican, have chosen to die on.

For those lucky few who still have not heard about it, Emilia Pérez – written and directed by straight, French guy Jaques Audiard – is a film about a Mexican narco kingpin who, after transitioning into the (white) woman she was always meant to be, feels guilty for her past behavior and uses her vast fortune (acquired by illicit means, naturally) to become the savior of Mexican society. The film, which is supposed to take place in Mexico, be about Mexicans, and show the country’s most painful, modern problem, features exactly one Mexican actress (Adriana Paz, in a supporting role with barely any screen time). Since its release in the States last year, Emilia Pérez has been the target of rightful and valid criticism by many Mexicans, who see Audiard’s work as a mockery of the country it claims to celebrate.

Audiard’s lack of research is painfully evident at every turn. The first thing that caught my eye as the opening credits rolled was Rita Mora’s (Zoe Saldaña, probably the film’s only redeeming quality) law school diploma. While the diploma says Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (Mexico’s largest public university) in big bold letters, the picture shown on it is very obviously an American graduation photograph featuring Saldaña in her cap and gown. Mexican degree photographs are famously known for having strict guidelines: black and white, no smiling, subject looking straight at the camera, and no hair or hat covering the face and forehead.

Then, of course, is the infamous first scene where Rita prepares and argues a case before a jury, who are dressed in what looks like English-style barrister gowns who forgot to put their wigs on. Mexico’s judicial system has no jury. Trials, for the most part, do not happen in the same dramatic, in-person way they occur in the States – they’re long, drawn-out paperwork back-and-forths. A private meeting with a judge or a clerk here or there, maybe, but there is no theatrics or performance.

It isn’t just this painful lack of understanding of the Mexican judicial system (because seriously, how can a film that misunderstands something so central to its premise understand a topic as complex and gut-wrenching as the cartel violence that it attempts to tackle?). It’s also the misunderstanding of the nuances of Mexican Spanish and the way we speak in our daily lives.

Not once in my life have I heard “cuándo vas a abrir el despacho” (a line Saldaña sings in one of her musical numbers) to refer to someone having kids and starting a family. Sure, the expression “cerrar el changarro” exists – it means to close the factory and stop having children – but that’s not what the film uses. The two phrases might sound the same to a foreigner and they might even translate to basically the same thing in English (or French, the director’s native language), but little details are where the beauty of Mexican daily life, language, and culture lie. And Emilia Pérez misses them entirely.

And since we’re on the topic of the nuance – Where is Manitas/Emilia’s Norteño accent?! Karla Sofía Gascón’s Spanish accent pokes through and her saying, “I’ve been away for so long I lost it” doesn’t justify it. The lack of a Norteño accent isn’t the only linguistics issue, either. Saldaña’s Spanish is perfect but her accent isn’t Mexican either. Anytime any of the main characters spoke, it felt soulless. There was no Mexico in their words.

Ostensibly, the message of Emilia Pérez is that people deserve a second chance, but that second chance cannot come without acknowledging the hurt and damage caused. It’s hard for me, someone born and raised in Northern Mexico – where Emilia Pérez claims to be from – who has seen the damage and destructions that narco-violence brings, to believe a story about a “reformed” (I’m being very generous with that word, as we all watched her revert to her violent ways when she felt she wasn’t getting her way) drug lord who is welcome into society with open arms. Especially not by sweeping under the rug how her past actions hurt her people.

If Emilia truly wants to “live in her truth,” then she should have owned her sins. A new face and a new name don’t magically erase the mistakes of her past. A past that might be a work of fiction, but the events that inspired it are very much the reality of millions of Mexicans who have been offended and disturbed by Audiard’s careless portrayal of our country’s situation.

I could’ve ignored the accents, the trial-by-jury, the insinuation that Las Lomas and Polanco in Mexico City are too far for Emilia to drive and see her kids anytime she wants, the stereotypical “you smell of spicy things and mezcal” lyrics, the cliché Virgin Mary imagery all over the film, and the laughable musical number where Rita Mora sings about corrupt rich people at the fundraiser (as if she was above it all when she’s literally the devil’s advocate, having been the personal lawyer to a prominent cartel leader who had a hand in creating the very problem she’s later celebrated for solving).

I could have ignored all that if the cast and crew had been less hostile and obvious in their disdain for the people of Mexico. Carla Hool’s (the film’s casting director) said she didn’t pick Mexican actors because their talent wasn’t “adequate” enough (when Mexican trans actress Coco Máxima, who is famous for being the first trans actress in a Disney production, auditioned for the role and even got four callbacks). Karla Sofía Gascón called those who criticized her performance “gatos,” a deeply insulting classist slur here in Mexico. Jacques Audiard abandoned Paz (who plays Epifanía in the film) at the film’s first screening in Mexico City after realizing he’d get torn to shreds by the attendees. This is the guy who said, “Spanish is a language of emerging countries, of modest countries, of the poor, of immigrants.”

In fact, the movie only opened in Mexico after the Oscar nominations had been announced.

Emilia Pérez is yet another example of Mexican struggles and culture being exploited for the benefit and ego of non-Mexicans (and yes, I know that Selena Gómez has Mexican roots. I’m not questioning her Latinidad but there’s a difference between being a Mexican national and not). This is cultural appropriation through and through.

The truly disheartening thing here is that the very valid criticism of the film will get lost and brushed off as “haters being haters” after its Golden Globe wins and Oscar nominations. I beg those who aren’t Mexican who watch the movie to listen to our criticism with an open mind. Our anger comes from a place of pain and disappointment, not envy, lack of intellect, or anything else Gascón alleged in her now-deleted Twitter account. As Mexican movie critic Carlos Izcoa told Latina Media Co, “I’ve left a movie theater feeling angry before. This might be the first time I ever leave feeling offended.” While I celebrate Gascón’s historic nomination as the first trans actress to be nominated in her category, I can only pray that the Academy won’t keep adding salt to the wound by further rewarding this film.

The best I can say about Emilia Pérez is that it united the Mexican community. And we have expressed our anger in true Mexican form: by laughing about it. Emilia Pérez not only inspired thousands of memes and even a viral short film parody, Johanne Sacrebleu. At the end of the day, there’s nothing more Mexican than mocking our tragedies, but Emilia Pérez is a tragedy that never should’ve occurred.

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