It is no wonder considering the awkward politics of Oscars
that Chilean film-maker Sebastian Lelio’s A Fantastic Woman ('Una Mujer Fantastica', 2017) won the
‘Best Foreign Film’ award. Its victory has got much to do with it being
considered as a ‘narrative about a trans woman’. That is particularly ironic,
considering the movie’s underlying themes. However, it would only be shocking
to expect something different from the maddeningly politically correct Academy
Awards. By making us and the movie’s protagonist see her image in mirrors at
different occasions in the narrative, Mr. Lelio repeatedly insists on how
the society’s definition of a person is often at odds with one’s own self-definition. It tries to say, ‘she is who she is’, and any methods to
pigeon-hole her in the name of identity is an unnecessary infliction. Of
course, few narrative decisions itself somehow reduces the complex individual
qualities to pave way for transgender feminist flag-bearing. Moreover, the plotting
isn’t its superior quality and despite the vibrant, indelible performance from
Daniela Vega, the scripting never makes it a richer, profound exploration of
the trans experience. A Fantastic Woman does boast a lot of gratifying
qualities, but personally, I felt the other films in the Oscar shortlist were
more deserving of the award.
A Fantastic Woman opens in an elegant and tender manner. It
starts with an intriguing misdirection, as we witness the routine activities of
a sophisticated middle-aged man named Orlando (Francisco Reyes). Lelio’s camera
traces the guy’s movements from a sauna to a hotel, office, and then a night
club. At the club, Orlando fixes his gaze upon a singer named
Marina Vidal (Daniela Vega), and later we see the two celebrating her
birthday with a musical cake at a Chinese restaurant. He is in his 50s, and she
in her late 20s, but it’s clear they are enchanted by each other, the latest
encounter is just part of long succession of loving get-togethers. After
dinner, they are together in his apartment, with Marina looking forward to move
in soon. Alas, Orlando collapses, falls down long flight of stairs, and dies
soon after entering the hospital with the doctor clearly pronouncing ‘aneurysm’
as the cause. Up to this point, we have simply perceived committed
relationship between two caring individuals. But it changes with Orlando’s
death.
Now Marina’s trans identity is called
into question. After announcing the fate of Orlando to his gentle brother Gabo
(Luis Gnecco), Marina tries to make herself scarce.
She knows the attitudes of deceased man’s ex-wife Sonia (Aline Kuppenheim) and her eldest son, Bruno (Nicolas Saavedra), and their combined disgust for Orlando’s new relationship. Director Lelio doesn’t cook a mystery
out of Orlando’s death. But Marina’s gender identity and sudden disappearance
from the hospital instantly attracts the attention of local authorities, who
are alleged to have been provoked by the scornful family members of Orlando. A
police officer asks for her name, and when she says ‘Marina’, he asks again for
her ‘real name’. The acts of misgendering or misidentifying her continues in
both overt, aggressive ways or in very subtle manner. A female detective
reassures Marina that she has sympathy for battered, humiliated
individuals like her, but remains suspicious about the bruises Orlando got from
falling down the stairs. Just to rule out the possibility of foul play, Marina
is subjugated to consent to a humiliating examination. While all Marina wants
is to process her grief and figure out life, her body and identity becomes an
object of intrigue for others. Although she is often stripped off her dignity,
Marina refuses to quietly relegate herself to a corner. She quietly exercises
defiance to say final goodbye to her loved one.
A Fantastic Woman mostly comes across as a marriage in
themes and styles of prolific German auteur Rainer Werner Fassbinder and
Spanish auteur Pedro Almodvar. Be it the symbolical mirror compositions or the
striking moment of fantasies (especially the shot of Marina trudging through a
windy street), Lelio tries to embeds tasteful melodrama and sentimentalism of
those two legendary directors (even though Lelio’s film lacks the edgy,
intricate structure found in the works of Fassbinder). Lelio and his co-writer Gonzalo Maza’s
script fixates on protagonist at her most intimate moments, but never really
gets into her consciousness. By pitting her almost as a lone crusader in the
later portions, the complexities of Marina vanishes and is simply turned into a
impassive conduit for exhibiting idealistic intentions. Focusing on the
marginalized or ostracized character is really not same as deeply offering a
portrait of her character. It becomes a character-driven narrative, where the
character is just watched, accompanied by certain on-the-nose symbolism. Even
if the narrative is only about social stigmatization of Marina, the series of
troubles she encounters doesn’t seem complex on the whole. Leilo and Maza’s
writing does hit stronger tones in the confrontational scene between Marina and
Orlando’s ex-wife. She tries to make sense out of her deceased, ex-husband’s
relationship, but little into the conversation, we see her brutal honesty
making itself visible. “When I look at you, I don’t know what I’m seeing,” she
tells Marina, further adding that she thought Orlando was just ‘perverted’ to
choose Marina. Lelio brings out the general contempt trans people are subjected
to without overly villianizing or caricaturing the ex-wife character.
Since Marina’s body is oft prodded or commented upon as if
it’s an object, Lelio focuses on how she navigates through the consciously
gendered spaces. There aren’t many dramatic visual flourishes, but there’s
quiet power in the way camera conveys her looks of loss and challenge. I
specifically the visually seductive scene, set in the sauna, when Marina
expects to discover some missing link to duly process her grief. Finally, if
there’s a reason that makes A Fantastic Woman, a must watch it is Daniela
Vega’s ultra-nuanced approach in playing Marina. By making a trans actor like
Vega enact the central role, we are spared from the irritating details of how
so & so famous male or female actor mentally and physically prepared
themselves to assume the role. Vega doesn’t go for big emotions. Her restraint
and casual dismissal of other’s disdain looks very natural, as if the life time
of ostracism and wrongful sort of attention has imprinted such qualities. Even
when the narrative feels like a rhetoric, designed to superficially promote blunt
social messages of tolerance, Vega’s towering presence makes it inherently
worthwhile to watch. Moreover, one could hope that the actor’s intensity would
open the possibility for making of more profound features on transgender
experience than Lelio’s A Fantastic Woman.
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