The film “Emilia Pérez” was born from a blending of genres. Jacques Audiard, a filmmaker accustomed to harsh and realistic stories (“A Prophet,” “Rust and Bone“), explores new territory by creating a music-based film at the crossroads of thriller and identity drama. This formal choice circumvents convention to search deep within the rarely featured themes of transgender identity and the quest for redemption, combining melodrama, western and film noir with musical comedy. A social and political critique of cartel violence, forced disappearances and corruption in Mexico gives the film urgency.

The film’s added value is its focus on a transgender protagonist (played by Karla Sofía Gascón, herself a trans actress). Emilia Pérez, the former boss of a Mexican cartel, undergoes a physical and psychological transformation that goes far beyond a change of identity: it’s both a quest for freedom and a desire to erase her criminal past.

Despite their topicality, narratives about transgendered people have remained confined to personal dramas or independent works such as “The Danish Girl,” directed by Tom Hooper in 2015. It is the true story of Lili Elbe, one of the first individuals to undergo gender reassignment surgery as she goes on a journey of self-discovery and transformation. Another example is “Tangerine” (2015), directed by Sean Baker, a film in which the actors come primarily from non-professional casting calls recruited via YouTube and Vine. This dramedy deals with the harsh reality of trans life in Los Angeles. In 2017, the fabulous film “A Fantastic Woman,” directed by Chilean director Sebastián Lelio, won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. Marina, masterfully played by actress Daniela Vega (herself a trans woman), is a transgender waitress who experiences the loss of her lover and must subsequently confront, despite her grief, the prejudices of her partner Orlando’s family. “Paris is Burning,” directed by Jennie Livingston, immerses the viewer in the New York ballroom scene of the eighties, focusing on transgender and queer characters and addressing issues related to race, gender, and sexuality while confronting the marginalization and social discrimination that impacted the LGBTQ+ community. Livingston was criticized regarding her documentary. Her response at the time was that her film was a rebuke to “an establishment that doesn’t want you as a female director, doesn’t want to see queer images, and doesn’t want to give you money, which remains a problem for queer directors.”

The TV series “Pose” (2018-2021), created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchunk, immerses viewers in the New York voguing scene of the eighties and nineties and features trans characters played by trans actors. Well-received by critics, the LGBT community, and viewers, the series manages to highlight the difficult reality of trans Americans with a touch of glamour and sophistication.

In “Emilia Pérez,” Audiard places his heroine Manitas in the violent cartel universe, which forces the viewer to question the place of gender in a patriarchal power structure. At the beginning of the film, Manitas, as a man, is the embodiment of the cartel boss: mildly psychopathic and charismatic. As the film progresses, his image is deconstructed and subverted as he becomes Emilia. Manitas’s language, speaking of his desire to transgress his identity, “I know I have to leave a lot behind,” or “when you’re born in the pigsty, you don’t have choices,” point to his awareness of the pain of being a product of one’s environment, which adds complexity to the film’s narrative and allows for an exploration of the difficulties surrounding the possibilities and limits of identity transformation.

This man/woman antithesis divides the film in two: a dark part at the very beginning, which we find again at the end of the film with Emilia’s death—erasing one’s past has its limits—and a bright part in which we see everything good and right that Manitas/Emila could embody, all the desire to be a loved and loving, person who’s opened up to the world.

Male stereotypes such as virility, the desire for domination and control (the kidnapping of the lawyer Rita), and a boss who maintains his authority through force and terror, embodied by Manitas in the first scenes, give way to the neat, elegant, smiling, open, lively, and loving image of Emilia. Masculine ostentation, expressed through the possession of money, luxury cars, weapons, and women that’s specific to drug bosses, gives way, through Emilia, to altruism and humanity, as illustrated through charitable works and social involvement, to the point of turning against her former cartel. Emilia’s actions shatter Cartel codes and tear apart the principles of loyalty and male fraternity on which the Cartel mafia is based.

While the film’s audacity is undeniable, its execution is haphazard. The addition of musical sequences, well-executed, raises questions: the film oscillates between intense psychological drama and moments where music awkwardly interrupts the tension. This hybridization of genres can be confusing for the viewer and create a sense of imbalance, making it difficult to immerse oneself in the story.

This narrative choice can be seen as an attempt at levity in the face of a serious subject, but it can also give the impression of a superficial treatment of certain themes.

One of the sticking points raised by critics of the film concerns the legitimacy of perspective. Jacques Audiard, a cisgender director, tells a trans story through the lens of an outside observer, albeit he appears authentic. Should this raise questions about the authenticity of representation and the way trans experiences are told in cinema? Will some viewers regret that the script wasn’t driven by a vision directly drawn from someone in the trans community? Moreover, the parallel between identity transformation and the desire to erase a criminal past is debatable, with some seeing it as a simplification that risks associating transition with flight rather than exploring transition as an affirmative process in itself.

It is precisely this process of identity affirmation that lends authority to the film, addressing the rather complex issue of being able to illustrate, in the same story, the conflicts that arise in multicultural societies at the intersection of social morality and minority rights.

The justice system, embodied by the lawyer Rita (played by Zoe Saldaña), who becomes Emilia’s shadow throughout the film, is legitimizing. Throughout the narrative, she’s covering up for a cartel criminal. Is she complacent, corrupt, or is she fulfilling her duty of righteous justice, which gives a second chance to all those who want to reintegrate?

This new perspective on Manitas’ dark past offers a humanizing reading of the character that goes beyond the notion of transgender. For Manitas, Emilia represents the desire to become a good person before, almost, the desire to become a woman.

The choice of rebirth (new body = serenity = better life) calls into question the social consructs that previously defined her.

The legitimacy of the director’s choices arises above all from her character’s desire to become the best she can be; this is everyone’s prerogative.

Ultimately, “Emilia Pérez” is a work that, through its singularity and ambition, cannot leave anyone indifferent. Its blend of genres, visual approach and a committed cast make it an important film, but one that suffers from a certain narrative imbalance. It is an imperfect but valuable work that opens the door to new representations in cinema. In a film industry still cautious on certain issues, “Emilia Pérez” exists and thrives, and that’s a win for humankind.