Emilia Pérez Can Not Win at the Oscars

Ela Moss ’27 / Emertainment Monthly Staff Writer

A dire and dangerous cultural concern looms at this year’s awards show season. Opinions are often contentious, and decisions are very often subjective, especially during a year as dismally mediocre as this one. This is not to say that there are no good films nominated, of course there are, only that, in my opinion, none stand out as a Best Picture contender, and among the list is one of the most confounding and embarrassing nominees in recent memory. It seems that this year, the Oscars in particular have become more than an award show that showcases the best of filmmaking talent. Instead, they’ve become a battleground for superficially “woke” wannabes to stick it to our current governmental administration and grasp at personal exoneration, and potentially a handful of cash. 

You may have guessed that the film being referenced is none other than Emilia Pérez (2024). Since the film’s release, there’s been an abundance of discussion about its awards season promise: whether it should be considered, why and how it’s won awards so far, and what it might continue to win. Therefore, I’ll spare a long tangent of my gripes with the film which have already been rehashed by many. In brief, Emilia Pérez is a film dealing with topics of the Mexican drug cartel and trans-identity filmed entirely in France by a cisgender French director. It inaccurately and shallowly depicts Mexican culture and makes an abysmal and offensive attempt at trans-representation. Additionally, its poorly written script, racist casting choices, and perpetuation of sexist ideology do it no favors, and yet the illusion of a film supporting a transwoman of color have the pathetically obtuse Hollywood elites transfixed. 

If you’ve managed to overlook these circulating grievances with the film, this interview with Rodrigo Prieto goes over Mexican cultural insensitivity and this article compiles the many inaccuracies with trans representation, disrespectful oversights, and audaciousness with which trans identity is handled in the film. For a more refreshing perspective, contrasting the film with a very different approach to representing transwomen of color exhibits even more incriminating issues. The film in consideration is Tangerine (2015), ironically directed by a fellow Best Picture director-nominee, Sean Baker. 

Baker’s new film, Anora (2024), has on its own sparked discussion about the relationship between authorship and representation. Sean Baker is a cisgender white man from a middle-class background who has dealt with themes of sex work and characters whose cultural backgrounds and demographics are not reflective of his own in all of his recent discography. There’s a separate argument to be made about the ethics and the collaborative rules of this. For example, I don’t stand behind the way Baker handled collaboration credits for Tangerine, and there’s an important point to be made about acknowledging the difference in power and experience between a cisgender white man and a trans woman of color working in collaboration. On the whole, however, Tangerine is an outstandingly angelic approach when juxtaposed with the way Jacques Audiard handled the making of Emilia Pérez. 

To clear up some vocabulary, the concept of representation as “depiction” versus representation as “delegation” is a very important distinction when it comes to defining how and by whom groups are represented. Depiction refers to the speaker speaking from a personal experience, whereas delegation refers to an outsider speaking for an experience not honest to their own, typically in the form of the majority group speaking for a minority. In the case of Emilia Pérez, Audiard delegates representation of a Mexican transwoman. Whereas in Tangerine, Baker would be delegating representation of black transwomen if he worked alone, except he collaborated with Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez—the two co-starring black trans actresses—to make the film as accurate a depiction of the trans community (in the subsection of LA they focused on) as they could. The best case scenario in every case is for representation to be depicted by someone within the community in question. Delegated representation, even in goodwill, cannot be legitimized as accurate no matter the intention and most often has negative impacts. The voices of minority groups are not often given a large enough platform to be heard, and so when the chance arises, it’s vitally important that the message and their expression come from an authentic place. Otherwise, it’s detrimental to how the group is perceived by audiences who experience that media. 

Baker and the rest of the crew of Tangerine did a respectably articulate job when talking about how they went about making a film about a community they were interested in rather than having come from themselves. They placed a massive emphasis on collaboration and the necessity that the story be told through their lens of Taylor and Rodriguez’s perspectives and voices. Taylor only agreed to work with Baker under the condition that he be transparent about the harsh reality of the struggles these women face, and make something that appeals directly to the transgender community—in this case, a comedy in the style these women would enjoy and see themselves in. This collaborative effort remained present throughout shooting and post-production and Baker professed that the input of Taylor and Rodriguez during shooting was vital in making sure the film stayed true to a trans perspective. During promotion, Baker intentionally and honestly marketed the film as a collaborative effort. His casting of transwomen actresses in these roles and their joint effort in its creation legitimized the film as speaking authentically to trans audiences. 

The differences between Baker’s process with Tangerine—notably released a decade ago—and Audiard’s careless approach to Emilia Pérez, is appallingly stark. There’s a reason why so many inaccuracies appeared in Audiard’s film, and it’s clearly because of his lack of background in the culture he attempted to represent. More alarming is his blatant refusal to even attempt research, let alone consider collaboration throughout production. This quote has been widely circulated, but its transparency is important to understand where Audiard is coming from. When asked about the research he did on Mexico for the film, Audiard responded “I didn’t study much. I kinda already knew what I had to understand.” Well, “kinda” is right. It’s impossible to represent a community authentically without the direct perspective of that community. None of the actors in Emilia Pérez, save Adriana Paz, were Mexican, or could even speak convincing Mexican Spanish. The casting director remarked in an interview that actors most well-suited for the roles were chosen, which can only mean this casting director believes these non-Mexican actors were somehow better than every other proficient actor of Mexican origin in Mexico.

In examining the text of Tangerine, the visible agency of trans voices through trans-specific language and the positive portrayal of their identities speaks to authentic trans-centrism. It’s a film made for trans people of color rather than a film made about a minority group in an attempt at screen representation. Instead of transness being an anxiety-driven tragedy in the film, gender dysphoria is showcased in a comedic light that reflects the characters’ autonomy. The trans body becomes a source of power that their confidence can weaponize. The only stereotype of trans women of color present in the film is that of their being involved in sex work, which originates from the fact that these women are disproportionately rejected from standardized work environments. Tangerine manages to uniquely flip that stereotype on its head by showcasing the characters’ exasperation with the job, characterizing their work as actual work, as well as not letting the industry define who they are as people. The film doesn’t victimize transness or trans narratives, or assign trans struggle to their personal identity, rather the oppression comes from the systematic socio-economic struggles and transphobic institutions in place against the characters’ livelihoods.

Conversely, Emilia Pérez somehow manages to perpetuate both offensive trans stereotypes and sexist ideology. In the film, transness is portrayed as this kind of death and rebirth; a violent drug cartel leader transitions and the audience is supposed to suddenly forgive her for all of her past crimes. Not only do trans people not regard transitioning in this way, as that would connotate the idea that someone pre-transition is a different person altogether, which arguably negates trans existence in the first place, but the transition in the film is not only a physical one but an emotional one: the character of Emilia goes from a violent, masculine persona to a sympathetic and gentle one. This actively upholds sexist gender roles without doing anything for the script other than attempting to make the viewer empathize with the character. 

Lastly, the difference in the way Baker and Audiard behave during promotional tours is important to understanding each director’s perspective and intention. In the press tour for Tangerine, Baker used the space to advocate for casting trans people in trans roles, vocalizing the disproportionate rate of unemployed trans women of color. Additionally, very recently, after winning Best Director for Anora at the Indie Spirit Awards, Baker articulated the monetary inaccessibility to Indie filmmaking, advocating for higher minimum wages. In comparison, Audiard and the rest of the cast and crew of Emilia Pérez have been silent on the topic of drug war victims, or any other minority voices, during their press run and Golden Globes acceptance speeches, which is substantial material within the film itself. Audiard evidently has nothing but his own appeal to success and achievement in mind. 

At a time when trans existence is so jeopardized in this country, it is more crucial than ever to uplift trans voices. This is precisely why a film like Emilia Pérez is getting so much attention from awards show panelists—whether it be a way to stick it to Trump and his administration, or simply defend their own skin. It is also a pristine time for someone looking for an easy opportunity to shine in the limelight to produce something incredibly half-assed. The consequence of misrepresenting communities that largely do not have a platform to speak for themselves, especially during this extremely dangerous time, is horrifically destructive. There was a time when delegated representation predominantly flew under the radar, however, films like Tangerine mark significant steps towards a more equitable industry for all minority communities, and films like Emilia Pérez set progress many steps back. This is why, at a time as perilous as ours, Emilia Pérez cannot win any more awards shows than it has already; it jeopardizes the image of trans identities, and by and large, trans lives. 

By the time this article is released, the Oscars will have already taken place, but win or lose, it won’t diminish Emilia Pérez’s cultural implications. Whatever happens, it was at the very least nominated, and that in and of itself is a call to action for progress.