TIFF '24: Contrarian takes on "Anora" and "Emilia Perez"

by Cláudio Alves

Sometimes, you find yourself going with the flow, becoming another among a million other voices with the same stated opinion. Such fate can be frustrating, but so can the reverse. When consensus consolidates, being on the other side looking in is just as irritating as picturing oneself as the metaphorical sheep following the flock. Contrarianism isn't fun in and of itself, especially when it manifests as a hostile take against a barrage of love. This TIFF, I've found myself in the minority regarding two Cannes prize-winners already praised to high heaven by our beloved Elisa Giudici. Indeed, one of them is so adored it's already considered a contender for the festival's Audience Award cum Oscar barometer. It's time to explain why neither Anora nor Emilia Pérez convinced me of their merits…

ANORA, Sean Baker

How do you describe Anora? On the surface, it seems apt to categorize it as a character study centered around its titular character – who prefers to go by Ani. A stripper and escort, she's an expert at selling fantasies to willing clients. We meet her in the middle of the job, performing in slow-motion to Take That's "Greatest Day." Euphoria surges from minute one, but there's also a keen awareness that, while Ani might sell the illusion of erotic dreams come true, her own aspirations are often left by the wayside. Life is tough, yet she perseveres with the energy of one who is always "on," perpetually in character even when she's being paid for putative vulnerabilities.

Tinsel stringed through her long hair, Ani is a sight to behold in awe and receive with enthusiastic applause. It's easy to like here, to root for her, as the possibility of a new life is dangled before her eyes, tantalizing like a carrot before a donkey. Ani may be about to live the dream, for once, courted by a Russian oligarch's son who, during an impulse trip to Vegas, puts a ring on her finger. Sadly, the Eden of married life is temporary, and Ani soon finds herself kicked out of Paradise. Only, that's not all. Armenian goons and guilt-ridden priests beset the house, tie her, and start a whole search for her hubby who, in the chaos, slipped away to heavens knows where.

The beginning of Anora proposes an über-polished variation on Sean Baker's preferred style, his storytelling and formal strategies taken to their logical endpoint. You'll be hard-pressed to find a macule. Going into the middle act, fates are switched and genres hop on the metamorphosis mania. Suddenly, it's as if the American director is trying to resurrect the screwball for the 21st century, stretching the long day's journey into night to its highest comedic properties. Though, as we know, the classic screwball comedy rarely exceeded the 90-minute sweet spot. Anora is more than happy to test the audience's patience at a whopping 139 minutes. 

It would be a deceitful to say you don't notice the length. Still, there's a fleetness to the construction that makes up for the runtime largesse, especially within sequences. Anora may run ragged at a macro level, yet it's a spitfire delight at the micro, scene-by-scene basis. If only all that time was well spent. Sadly, Anora is Baker's most grandiose effort and his most diffuse, often feeling as if it's regarding Ani from behind a glass wall. The aquarium-like distancing reaches its zenith at the worst time possible, concluding the Palme D'Or winner in its worst scene, flattening Ani into a cliché even when our extensive time with her signals we should leave the theater knowing her, perhaps even better than we know ourselves.

In essence, such quandaries are script problems with some directorial fragilities thrown into the guilty mix. That's important to denote because, acting-wise, the cast of Anora is exemplary. While comparisons to Gena Rowlands and Daniel Day-Lewis are absurd hyperbole, the flick does feel like Mikey Madison's star-making vehicle. Mark Eidelshtein is another precious find, and Yura Borisov proves he can succeed in Hollywood just as easily as he did in the European industry – remember him in Compartment Number Six? Still, if asked to pick an MVP, I'd go with the king of never-ending aggravation, Karren Karagulian. If you liked him in Tangerine, just wait until you see his stressed-out supporting turn in Anora.

EMILIA PÉREZ, Jacques Audiard

With Anora, my criticism and doubts are relatively small, a minimal thing that stops me from declaring it the heights of modern cinema like many have already done since it bowed at the Croisette. In Emilia Peréz's case, the situation is very different. To put it bluntly, dear reader, I hated Audiard's attempt at making a queer Mexico-set musical about cartel violence. There's no denying the man's ambition, nor the conviction of everyone involved. Nevertheless, ambition only gets you so far and Emilia Pérez is where the buck stops. There's no way to excuse its failures, and even the assumption of good intentions on the filmmakers' part prickles like a falsity.

Picture it, Mexico, sometime in the 21st century. The camera moves through abstracting darkness to find the lightbulb-littered costumes of a mariachi band, and making it to them, Emilia Pérez dissolved into its metropolitan setting. People in the streets sing of violence, so, of course, Audiard must mark the lyric with the sight of a stabbing. Questions of taste arise from the start, but the illustrative madness is what irks the most. For Audiard, jumping from a social realist milieu must have been one hell of a leap, sure. However, that handicap doesn't somehow make the film better, or its infantile literalism any more excusable, digestible, tolerable.

An added issue comes in the form of the director's vision as that of an outsider. One never feels the same comfort with the material that's so evident in Audiard's French films, as if he were a tourist rather than a storyteller enmeshed in the realities he pertains to portray. The Mexico found within is a French dream philtered through Hollywood-made stereotypes, perchance the prurient pleasures of a bloodstained tabloid. Suppose this state of affairs raises concerns when Emilia Pérez is merely about cartel violence and forced disappearances. It turns into outright calamity as the film arrives at its titular shape-sifter. 

First encountered as an intimidating kingpin, Emilia Pérez hires the attorney Rita Moro to facilitate the process of transition and fake her death. She wants to be reborn and so shall be, from Satan to Santa Emilia. There's some business with the cartel leader's wife and their two children, a nascent romance with a client, victim of domestic abuse, and a lot of self-interested activism against the missing person crisis. There's also a domestic melodrama in there somewhere, a kidnapping plot, and the fairytale "happy ending" that tastes like the aftermath of vomit, a note of ash, mayhap disgust. To put it lightly, Emilia Pérez is an overstuffed mess, managing to feel rushed at 130 minutes.

The characters suffer the most, and so do their arcs. For example, the bond between Rita and Emilia is crucial for the emotional payoff, yet seems to have been developed off-screen, hollowing out the tragedy waiting for them all. Zoë Saldaña does her best with the role, yet not even she can make the incoherence cohere. Still, she's better served by the script than Karla Sofía Gascón, the history-making festival prize-winner whose Emilia is always more idea than person. Adriana Paz is the highlight of the Cannes Best Actress quartet, and would have probably elevated the picture had Audiard given her more to do in his musical mélange.

Wishing misfortune on artists is an ugly thing to do, yet I can't stop myself from waiting eagerly for the day when trans writers are finally able to say their piece on Emilia Pérez. I have an inkling there will be some critical vivisections in Audiard's future. While his most ardent defenders say the cineaste extended empathy towards his characters and the story's social systems, I see no such thing. It's like The Whale all over again. Pity isn't empathy, no matter how proclaimed through a collection of unpersuasive songs. You've heard of the magical negro, and now it's time to meet Audiard's magical transwoman.

Can you already sense the Split Decision convos in the site's future? They're coming and, with Emilia Pérez present, they won't be pretty.

Comments

[Adrian S-G]

Thanks for this! Haven't seen Anora yet--but although I love the verve and eccentricity of Emilia Perez, I share a lot of your reservations. For me, Saldana is best-in-show, although she has the benefit of a character arc that is the closest to being coherent. Gascon is magnetic, but the character's arc has so many false starts, resolutions and reboots, it's hard to get a handle on her.

[McGill]

I was delighted by the beginning of Emilia Perez, but that kind of trailed off. By the end, the only character I was interested in seeing more of was Zoe Saldana. The TIFF audience loved it though.

Saldana is a real pro, knowing how to keep the narrative going and coherent, and generous and responsible in giving focus to other characters to keep the story moving along. I’m so ready to see her in a whole series of other musicals now.

My favourite of TIFF (although I didn’t see a lot this year) was Nightbitch, Amy Adams directed by Marielle Heller. The old actors adage is “never work with children or animals”. Amy does both superbly, she is such a complete actress. I kept thinking that was her own kid, they were so totally on the same wavelength.

And I appreciate director Marielle Heller more and more. She’s both fun and thoughtful. I feel her gently nudging me to re-think and go down different mental paths.