‘Emilia Pérez’ movie: An Intriguing History You Should Watch on Netflix

At this year's Cannes Film Festival, Jacques Audiard's genre-defying musical Emilia Pérez wowed audiences and swept the Best Actress category, awarding all four of its leads, Karla Sofía Gascón, Selena Gomez, Zoe Saldaña, and Adriana Paz.

In the wildly unconventional film Emilia Pérez, director Jacques Audiard bombards the audience with an eclectic mix of visuals and emotions: from graphic crime-scene photos to a sinister cartel leader and even a musical interlude featuring Zoe Saldaña singing and dancing. The whirlwind narrative is primarily set in modern-day Mexico City and centers around Rita, a struggling lawyer portrayed masterfully by Saldaña. She finds herself hired by Manitas, a commanding drug lord played brilliantly by Karla Sofía Gascón, for a highly unusual assignment. Manitas, who outwardly presents as male but identifies as female, seeks legal assistance to covertly undergo gender-affirming surgery while also managing the messy fallout of a violent criminal empire.

Audiard, a renowned French filmmaker known for his versatility, has a penchant for exploring stories on society’s fringes, often intertwining them with crime. His critically acclaimed works, like A Prophet, frequently dive into gritty, intense settings, including prison life. Audiard thrives on blending and bending genres, often infusing his films with unconventional characters and subverting expectations. For example, the lead in The Beat That My Heart Skipped is a brutal thug with aspirations of becoming a concert pianist, even showing up to a recital bruised and bloodied after a violent altercation.

In Emilia Pérez, the twists and turns come fast. Following a lively and dramatic opening sequence—complete with a murder trial, an unjust ruling, and two musical performances—Rita is whisked away by armed men to a hidden location, her head covered. There, she confronts Manitas, a cartel leader with face tattoos, stringy hair, and a chillingly soft-spoken demeanor. In an eerie monotone rap, Manitas promises Rita substantial wealth in exchange for her services. “I want to be a woman,” Manitas quietly confesses, her gold-toothed smile adding an unsettling edge to the revelation.

Rita reluctantly agrees to assist Manitas, though it’s clear she doesn’t have much of a choice. Her mission takes her across the globe in search of a discreet surgeon willing to perform the procedure. This journey leads her to a circular clinic in Bangkok, where the unexpected unfolds: amidst gowned, bandaged patients and a bustling surgical team, Rita finds herself in the midst of a lively musical sequence.

As Rita discusses potential procedures with a surgeon, the dialogue transforms into a melodic chant, with terms like “mammaplasty,” “vaginoplasty,” and “laryngoplasty” becoming the catchy refrain. The scene crescendos as the staff and patients join in, striking theatrical poses, while the camera twirls through the vibrant clinic. Audiard elevates the moment to surreal heights, cutting to a stunning overhead shot reminiscent of Busby Berkeley’s exuberant choreography, seamlessly blending whimsy with the bizarre.

The musical sequences—scored by Clément Ducol and Camille, with choreography by Damien Jalet—range from understated and personal to grand and theatrical, weaving seamlessly throughout the film. These numbers often feel like extensions of the characters’ inner monologues. For instance, in an early scene, Rita rehearses a trial argument in her mind while walking through a grocery store. Her internal thoughts gradually spill into song, and as she steps into the glittering city night, the voices of strangers begin to echo her phrases, chanting “rising and falling.” As Rita continues walking, her speech evolves into full-fledged melody, her gestures take on an expressive rhythm, and the passers-by transform into a coordinated ensemble. Audiard layers the sequence with images of Rita typing on her laptop, merging reality and imagination.

Initially, the film’s oscillation between the tangible world of contemporary Mexico and the surreal, metaphysical realm of the characters is both startling and amusing. The abrupt tonal shifts and unpredictable narrative pivots are captivating, drawing you in with their sheer audacity. Audiard’s ability to blend traditional genres with modern perspectives has been a hallmark of his work, but in this case, the film’s more intimate, reflective musical numbers feel like little more than creative flourishes. While Rita’s impassioned song about the corruption of Mexico’s leaders at a banquet is electrifying, it stands out primarily because it acknowledges the political realities of a world the movie otherwise treats as a whimsical backdrop.

Audiard keeps the momentum racing, sticking to the breakneck pace established early on. Before long, Rita is reaping the rewards of her lucrative cartel job, while a heavily bandaged Manitas awakens in a foreign clinic, emerging as her new self under the name Emilia Pérez. However, the question of whether Emilia’s transformation is purely physical or something deeper lingers as Audiard playfully leaves it unresolved, adding layers of intrigue to the narrative.

The story grows increasingly chaotic and deliberately melodramatic as new complications arise. One is Manitas’s wife, Jessi (played by Selena Gomez, who also sings and dances), whom Emilia left behind but now attempts to reconnect with to gain access to their children. To heighten the drama, Audiard introduces a pair of entangling love interests: Adriana Paz as the enigmatic Epifanía and Edgar Ramírez as the charismatic Gustavo, both of whom add to the film’s ever-expanding web of relationships.

The film’s relentless pace, explosive revelations, and purposeful omissions—such as knowing more about Emilia’s devotion to her children than the extent of her crimes as a cartel leader—create a destabilizing energy and growing suspense. This becomes even more pronounced after a sudden time jump (“four years later”) shifts the focus from Rita to Emilia. By now, Emilia seems like a character plucked from a telenovela with shades of Pedro Almodóvar and Douglas Sirk. Resettled in Mexico with seemingly endless resources, Emilia reinvents herself once again, this time as a compassionate benefactor to victims of cartel violence. While this introduces a sobering dose of real-world horror, the movie treats it as just another eccentric twist in the story.

That approach is disappointing, particularly because both Zoe Saldaña and Karla Sofía Gascón deliver such compelling, heartfelt performances. Gascón, a trans actress, brings Emilia a commanding elegance and a profound emotional depth, allowing us to glimpse the internal conflicts she carries. Audiard constructs an intricate narrative around Emilia, whose journey to embrace her true self is both poignant and heroic—a quest that mirrors the fraught and often politicized reality faced by many in the real world. While Audiard clearly aims to entertain and provoke, it’s Gascón’s layered performance that anchors the film, imbuing it with genuine stakes. She is its beating heart, giving the story its emotional core and elevating it far beyond its extravagant framework.