Emilia Pérez - Cinematography Review

General Overview:

I have to say, I enjoyed this film. I wouldn’t call it a groundbreaking masterpiece or anything, but I thought it was edgy, sweet and thought-provoking. I’m not surprised by some of the bad reviews it’s getting, but if I’m honest I think some of comments I’m reading about it are pretty unfair. For example, I completely disagree with the complaints about the film lacking authenticity. Yes, when you choose to tell a story in place that really exists, then respect for that place and it’s people really matters. However, I’m sure plenty of effort went into capturing the essence of Mexico—through set design, dialect work, and more. Plus, at the end of the day, films are made-up worlds. That’s the beauty of filmmaking: it’s not reality. And especially for a story as symbolic and stylized as this musical melodrama, authenticity in the traditional sense isn’t the point.

I actually love that they shot this in France. Watch the behind-the-scenes footage—the director, Jacques Audiard, knew his vision was so stylized that most of it would be done in a studio anyway. He said he would have loved to shoot in Mexico, but with the majority of the film being in a studio, it just wouldn’t have made sense to do so.

And as far as accents are concerned, actors have limited prep time, especially for indie films. The priority is consistency over accuracy—because nothing is more distracting than a mostly spot-on accent that completely shifts every time the character says “home.” Better a solid, if imperfect, accent than one that wobbles unpredictably. Also, as Roger Ebert points out in his review of the film: “Audiard doesn’t try to pass Saldaña’s nor Gomez’s characters as women born and raised in Mexico. Through dialogue, Rita reveals she grew up in the Dominican Republic, and Jessi points to a likely Mexican-American background when she invokes her sister in the States.” 

There's also an argument floating around that this film doesn’t represent the “real trans experience," but I think that's kind of an impossible expectation. They cast a trans actress who has openly discussed bringing her own experiences to the role. One character in one story can’t (and shouldn’t have to) stand in for an entire demographic.

So, for me, authenticity was irrelevant in a film that was hyper-dramatized, chaotic, dizzying and dazzling. Karla Sofía Gascón was captivating—evocative, brilliant. Zoe Saldaña was equally fascinating, and her dance sequences were a highlight.

As for the music in this "musical"? Well, no, it wasn’t revolutionary—but it was different. Some numbers worked better than others (Selena’s odd karaoke moment felt totally random), but other compositions really pulled me deeper into the story, heightened the emotion, and pushed the narrative forward. Mission accomplished, I’d say. I also loved how raw and real the performances were. Some people are criticizing the vocal qualities of the actors, but I think those people are missing the point. I loved that some of these vocals sound just the way any of us might if we started singing in the middle of our living rooms (quavering and whispered and not always quite on key) ... it's not meant to be Wicked! It's a style, a choice, a device used to help the characters try to express feelings that are impossible to put into words so come out as songs. I'm here for it.

Cinematography: 

Right, getting into the visuals - I had a few thoughts on this one:

Camera Movement

Some of the most special moments in Emilia Pérez for me were the steadicam moves—where operator Sacha Naceri becomes a dancer himself, matching the movement of the performers with his own physicality. The result is this unique blend of steady yet handheld energy, a raw and expressive visual language that mirrors the film’s theatricality and emotional depth. Beyond these sequences, I found a fluidity and freedom in the camera work that suited the film’s dreamlike, melodramatic tone.

Still from song El Mal: for me, this was the standout musical number of the film with vivacious and intuitive steadicam work.

Some have criticized the camerawork of this film as shaky or inconsistent, but cinematography isn’t about maintaining a rigid aesthetic—it’s about serving the story, the director’s vision, and the performances. If you read about Paul Guilhaume AFC’s collaboration with Jacques Audiard, it becomes clear that Audiard intentionally uses the camera as a counterbalance to the performances. When a scene feels stiff, he opts for handheld. When emotions are chaotic and explosive, he keeps the camera still. This might result in a less traditionally cohesive look, but if it heightens the emotional impact, then it’s a trade-off I fully embrace. I never found the camerawork distracting—in fact, it reinforced the fluidity and heightened theatricality of the film. In fact, for a film like this, which is dreamy and overdramatic and ethereal, I think it’s more important to have this type of freedom on set with the camera rather than being tied to confined rules about when and why the camera should move.

Light, Darkness, and Transformation

One of the more deliberate visual choices in the film is its treatment of light and darkness. The entire first act unfolds at night, reserving daylight for the reveal of Emilia’s transformation—after her surgery, when she is finally living in her new body. This shift is an obvious but effective cinematic device: light symbolizes a new beginning, relief, and freedom, while darkness represents struggle, confrontation, and uncertainty. And as the film progresses, we gradually descend back into darkness, mirroring Emilia’s internal conflict. She becomes more sure of herself, yet increasingly lost in the world, realizing that the freedom she imagined may never fully exist.

On another note, Guilhaume speaks often about texture in his interviews, crediting his color grader Arthur Paux as a master of breaking and redefining the image. The colour grade uses layering to soften definition and amplify contrast, making the film feel both bold and surreal, yet still grounded and natural. The technique is subtle, but effective in helping to amplify the contrast between light and shadow, which in turn helps blur the lines between reality and dream, clarity and distortion - culminating in an experience that is as evocative and intense as the characters themselves.

Surrealism, Voyeurism, and Theatricality

One of the most visually fascinating elements of Emilia Pérez is how it plays with contrast, space, and perception. The shadows are so deep we feel like we’re falling into them, blurring the line between reality and thought. At times, characters leap from their physical setting into a void, and the intensity of the blacks in the image makes these transitions feel almost seamless—we’re never quite sure when we’ve left reality or if we ever truly return.

The shadows are so deep we feel like we’re falling into them.

This surrealism extends to the musical sequences, which feel both documentary-like and theatrical. The dance numbers have a raw, almost paparazzi-like quality, reinforcing the theme that these characters are constantly being watched and scrutinized—by society, by each other, and by themselves. At the same time, the way they are staged—on literal soapbox-style platforms, under harsh spotlights—turns these moments into personal revelations, with each song marking a turning point in a character’s journey.

Final Thoughts

Overall, I enjoyed exploring a lot of the devices used by Guilhaume in this film and it seems a lot of passion and emotion went into it’s making. Sometimes filmmaking lead with the heart doesn’t always work - and that being said, certainly not every cinematic decision was successful in this film. One sequence, featuring a series of floating, disembodied heads lit by a single harsh light, felt unintentionally comical rather than profound. It was one of the few moments that took me out of the film. But hey—you can’t win them all.

I found this sequence really distracting and laughable

And overall I think films like this are what filmmaking is all about - experimenting, questioning, suspending your disbelief and just going on a ride not really sure where you are or where you might end up. So, I don’t believe in arbitrary star ratings, and I’m not even sure how to classify this film. But I do know this: Emilia Pérez was different, intriguing, and impossible to look away from. And if a film keeps me engaged until the end, then in my book, it has succeeded—whether I “liked” every choice or not.