People were breaking into song and dance at TIFF this year. Mike Flanagan’s “The Life of Chuck” has one of the most charming dance numbers in years, and “Megalopolis” feels like it could become a Baz Luhrmann film on multiple occasions. Still, it was Jacques Audiard and Joshua Oppenheimer who brought actual, original musicals, with varying degrees of success.
One of the more divisive films of this year’s Cannes, “Emilia Pérez,” is a wild swing of a movie. This flick plays like a traditional Narcos thriller filtered through the female-powered vision of an auteur like Pedro Almodóvar, but the characters break into song this time. It is unapologetically melodramatic and ridiculous, exaggerating characters and emotions in a manner that’s not going for realism as much as that expressive language that can only be captured at the movies. Some have thrown criticisms at the film for being shallow or silly, but I found it wildly entertaining. It’s anchored by Audiard’s fearlessness—there aren’t many septuagenarians making musical-comedy-gender-affirming-crime films in another language—and a trio of performances that shared Best Actress at Cannes. If anything, I walked away from it wanting more—more music, more dance, more drama, more Emilia.
Karla Sofia Gascon, the first openly trans performer to win an award at Cannes, plays Juan “Manitas” Del Monte, one of the most vicious drug lords in Mexico. He calls in an attorney named Rita Moro Castro (Zoe Saldaña) to help when he decides to become a woman, leaving his wife Jessi (Selena Gomez) and their kids behind for an entirely new life. When a powerful crime figure like Manitas wants to disappear, it takes some wheeling and dealing, so he needs Rita’s help. She will be the only person to know that Emilia used to be Manitas, even after she returns to Mexico to try and see her kids again and atone for past sins. This chaos unfolds with new songs by the duo Camille and Clement Ducol.
Audiard understands that great musicals often capture a feeling that something simply must be expressed through song that can’t be conveyed through traditional dialogue. The songs in “Emilia Pérez” sometimes push the plot forward in clunky ways. Still, they work best as expressions of simmering emotions, whether it’s Rita singing about the corruption she sees everywhere or Emilia finding love again. The music isn’t traditionally catchy, but it’s consistently entertaining, in large part because of how completely committed Gascon, Saldana, and Gomez are to the bit. Gascon is a bit flat as Manitas, but she bursts to life as Emilia, finding an undercurrent of regret that shades her character. The whole project carries a fascinating moral conundrum in that Manitas murdered hundreds as a criminal power broker—should we root for Emilia knowing what she did in a past life?
It’s a moral quandary that aligns with some of Audiard’s work in the past, as if he was drawn to ask questions in an entirely new way. So, while this is clearly a departure for, well, just about anyone, it’s grounded by Audiard’s technical acumen, thematic concerns, and skill with performers. Gascon is the breakout, but Saldaña has never been better, using her physicality in dance numbers that make one want to watch her in nothing but musicals. Gomez does her best screen work since at least “Spring Breakers,” giving the film a different energy from Saldana and Gascon. It doesn’t work without each corner of this riveting triangle.
“Emilia Pérez” is imperfect—Rita disappears for too much of the back half, and the final scenes feel extremely rushed from conflict into violent climax—but it’s a film that one loves almost for its flaws as much as its perfections. Even if Audiard doesn’t quite land all of his themes, watching this deeply entertaining trapeze act swoop through the air is all that matters.
From the air to deep underground. Given my love for wild, ambitious swings, along with the cast of Joshua Oppenheimer’s “The End,” I’ve rarely wanted to love a movie more. Most of my experience in the 150 minutes of this film was trying so hard to get into it but feeling on the outside looking in. I kept asking why “The End” falls flat for me, and I think the key word is in that phrase: flat. Believe it or not, a musical set after the end of civilization is just too muted, with almost no rising action at all, even after a character is introduced that should blow up the film’s careful reality. Admittedly, I think that’s part of the point in that the director of “The Act of Killing” interrogates how the privileged can merely brush off their sins and flaws before returning to their lives. Still, it makes for a touchy watch when it feels like a film this long and repetitive has no real stakes. I admire some colleagues who love this film, and I’m happy for them. I honestly, fully wish I did, too, given how much I feel like I should.
The entirety of “The End” is set in a bunker two decades after society has completely collapsed, leaving the surface in flames. It turns out that the unnamed patriarch (Michael Shannon) of the family in this underground shelter might even bear some responsibility for what happened to the rest of mankind. It’s not explicit, but the implication is that Dad took the family to safety as the world exploded due to climate decisions made by Pop himself, most of which he has kept secret from his son (George MacKay). The entire clan, which also includes a mother played by Tilda Swinton, a friend played by Bronagh Gallagher, a butler played by Tim McInnerny, and a doctor played by Lennie James, performs safety drills and speaks (or sings) about their luck to even be alive. But what if it wasn’t luck? When a stranger (Moses Ingram) finds her way to the bunker, it explodes issues of regret and responsibility that have been simmering under this family for two decades. Well, explode might be too strong a word.
Going from a documentary like “The Act of Killing” to an apocalyptic musical is unexpected for Oppenheimer. Alas, there’s actual thematic connective tissue if one thinks about the recreations of his masterful non-fiction film and the performative aspects of this one. They’re both about people who come to truthful revelation in non-traditional ways. The music is largely forgettable, often playing more as dialogue with a melody than traditional songwriting. The ensemble commits—Shannon and Swinton don’t know how to do anything else—which goes a long way to holding this one together. Still, it lost me about halfway through when I realized it wasn’t interested in being entertaining, and I couldn’t find my way back into it. It pains me to say that I was just waiting for it to … you know.