A Daring Musical Misadventure That Divides and Dazzles
Emilia Pérez, the Spanish-language musical crime drama directed by French auteur Jacques Audiard, has stormed into 2025 as one of the most talked-about—and divisive—films of the year. Released on Netflix in November 2024 and bolstered by a Hindi-dubbed re-release in March 2025, it follows the audacious journey of a Mexican cartel leader, Manitas Del Monte (Karla Sofía Gascón), who fakes his death, transitions into Emilia Pérez, and seeks redemption through philanthropy. With a star-studded cast including Zoe Saldaña as the lawyer Rita, Selena Gomez as the ex-wife Jessi, and Adriana Paz as the love interest Epifanía, the film blends melodrama, musical numbers, and narco-thriller vibes into a fever dream that’s as bold as it is bewildering. After racking up 13 Oscar nominations and four Golden Globe wins, does it live up to the hype—or is it a glittering mess? Here’s my take.
A Wild Premise That Grabs You Early
From the opening frames, Emilia Pérez throws you into a whirlwind. Rita, an overworked lawyer tired of defending criminals, gets kidnapped by Manitas’ goons and offered a deal: orchestrate his disappearance and gender-affirming surgery for a hefty payday. The setup is absurd yet gripping, and the film wastes no time diving into its musical DNA. Characters burst into song—sometimes rap—about everything from vaginoplasties to cartel power plays, set against vibrant choreography and Shanna Besson’s dynamic cinematography. The first act crackles with energy, selling you on its genre-defying premise. It’s a telenovela on steroids, and for a while, it works.
Karla Sofía Gascón is the film’s anchor, delivering a powerhouse dual performance. As Manitas, she’s a menacing, gold-toothed kingpin with a whisper that chills; as Emilia, she’s a softer, conflicted woman haunted by her past. Her transition isn’t just a plot twist—it’s the emotional core, and Gascón imbues it with raw vulnerability. Zoe Saldaña matches her step-for-step, bringing wit and grit to Rita, especially in a standout musical number where she dances through a courtroom. The early buzz from Cannes—where the cast collectively won Best Actress—feels justified here. These performances are the film’s heartbeat, pumping life into its wild swings.
A Musical That Forgets to Sing
But then there’s the music—or lack thereof. Billed as a musical, Emilia Pérez leans heavily on songs by Camille and Clément Ducol, yet they’re the film’s weakest link. The lyrics, often described as Google Translate-level Spanish, range from clunky (“From penis to vagina”) to forgettable. Unlike The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which Audiard cites as inspiration, there’s no soaring melody to latch onto. The numbers feel more like spoken-word interludes with dance breaks than cohesive songs, and the cast—save for Gomez’s modest vocal chops—struggles to sell them. Online chatter echoes this: viewers can’t hum a single tune post-credits, a damning flaw for a musical aiming for Oscar glory.
The pacing falters too. After a propulsive start, the middle sags as Emilia reconnects with Jessi and her kids, who believe Manitas is dead. Gomez shines in these quieter moments, her Jessi a mix of fragility and fire, but the plot meanders. The shift from crime saga to family drama feels disjointed, and by the time the third act rolls in—complete with a kidnapping and a rushed climax—the film’s ambition outstrips its coherence. At 132 minutes, it’s a rollercoaster that overstays its welcome.
Controversy and Cultural Missteps
Emilia Pérez doesn’t just polarize for its execution—it’s a lightning rod for cultural critique. Set in Mexico, directed by a Frenchman who doesn’t speak Spanish, and starring actors with non-Mexican accents (Saldaña’s Dominican, Gomez’s Tex-Mex), it’s been slammed for inauthenticity. Mexican viewers and critics have called out its stereotypical portrayal of cartels and violence—think mariachi bands and mezcal references galore—while Audiard’s admission of minimal research stings like a self-inflicted wound. A parody short, Johanne Sacreblu, even racked up a million YouTube views mocking its outsider gaze.
The trans narrative adds another layer of contention. Gascón, the first out trans woman nominated for an Oscar, brings authenticity to Emilia, but the script’s handling is messy. It wavers between treating her transition as liberation and implying she’s still tethered to her “male” past (her voice drops when mentioning her kids). Trans critics have labeled it regressive, and Gascón’s resurfaced offensive tweets—decrying diversity and George Floyd—only fueled the fire, tanking her awards campaign. It’s a film that wants to champion marginalized voices but stumbles over its own privilege.
A Glimmer Amid the Chaos
Yet, for all its flaws, Emilia Pérez has moments of brilliance. The visuals pop—think neon-lit streets and surreal surgery scenes—and the sound design (when not botching song mixes) immerses you in its world. There’s a chaotic charm to its refusal to play it safe, a trait Audiard fans (like me, from A Prophet days) might appreciate. When it focuses on the women—Emilia’s redemption, Rita’s defiance, Jessi’s resilience—it finds a pulse. Paz’s understated Epifanía adds a tender counterpoint, hinting at a better movie buried within.
Verdict: A Flawed Fever Dream
So, where does Emilia Pérez land? It’s a 3 out of 5 for me—a daring experiment that dazzles as often as it disappoints. The performances, especially Gascón and Saldaña, elevate a script that’s too in love with its own eccentricity. The music’s a letdown, the cultural missteps are glaring, and the narrative sprawl dilutes its impact. Yet, there’s something magnetic about its messiness—a “you’ve never seen this before” allure that explains its awards haul (13 Oscar nods don’t come cheap). Audience scores tanked (18% on Rotten Tomatoes’ Popcornmeter), but critics’ 76% suggests it’s a love-it-or-hate-it affair.
For Netflix bingers, it’s worth a watch—preferably with subtitles and low expectations for singalongs. It’s not the masterpiece Hollywood elites claim, nor the disaster users decry. It’s a flawed, fascinating artifact of 2025 cinema—proof that ambition alone can’t harmonize a fractured tune.
