REVIEW. Emilia Pérez: Listen. Écoute. This audacious genre-crossing film will steal your heart.

I wish I had seen this movie on the big screen, but it only played for about a week in theaters. Here's the film that should have won the Palme D'Or @ Cannes: a transgender mobster musical (yes, you read that correctly) with subtitles, spoken mostly in Spanish and written/directed by French auteur Jacques Audiard, Emilia Pérez is a beautiful mess of movie genres. At times funny, at others heart-breakingly poignant, Audiard's masterpiece takes dramatic chances, bold cinematic risks, and delivers a stunning treatise on life, love, and finding your bliss.

But that road to happiness isn't necessarily easy or lasting. Audiard's vision of what was first designed as a four-act opera based on a character from Boris Razon's 2018 novel, Écoute, is filled with drama, passion, and nuance. No one escapes without being transformed in some way, not just the title character, Emilia Pérez, a wealthy drug lord formerly known as Juan "Manitas" Del Monte, and brilliantly portrayed by Spanish actress Karla Sofía Gascón, who was born Juan Carlos Gascón and transitioned in 2018.

The plot focuses on an underappreciated lawyer name Rita Mora Castro (a powerful and conflicted Zoe Saldaña) who, as the film opens, has gone against her own ethical standards to defend a well-known media figure against a murder charge. After successfully arguing that the death of the mogul's wife was instead a suicide, Rita gets a lucrative, if mysterious, offer from Manitas, who explains he has already begun the process of transitioning to a woman and needs help securing a willing physician. Rita not only finds a doctor, she helps Manitas fake his own death and relocate his wife Jessi (a radiant Selena Gomez) and their two children to Switzerland.

You might think the story is over at this point, but it's only just begun. Five years later, Manitas is missing his children and plots with Rita to return to Mexico City as Emilia Pérez, Manitas' long-lost cousin. At first, Jessi objects to the relocation but then realizes she could reunite with ex-lover Gustavo (Édgar Ramírez), with whom she had a fiery affair during the last years of her marriage to Manitas. Jessi doesn't recognize Emilia as Manitas (at least, not at first), and the move back to Mexico presents numerous challenges as Emilia establishes a non-profit to help the victims of Manitas' crimes: some comedic, as Emilia attempts to reconnect with her children under the guise of being their "aunt" - others, more poignant as Emilia finds love with Epifania Flores (Adriana Paz), the widow of a man killed by Manitas' henchmen, whose story of abuse moves Emilia and forms the basis of their soulful connection.

I'll stop there because this is a movie that must be seen (in a movie theater, if possible). What Audiard has accomplished fusing music into an otherwise edgy, unconventional storyline that transgresses boundaries of traditional mores, ethics, gender roles, etc., is astonishing. In what feels like a beautiful epic poem told through changing voices, but never once losing its commentary about life, love, and loss, Emilia Pérez seamlessly integrates dialogue with music so intimately as to create a lyrical flow where music and words are flawlessly intertwined. There were times when a character was half-way through a song before I realized it was music, that's how perfectly dialogue was transformed to melody. In a phrase, it was exquisitely organic.

The film's original songs, composed by Clément Ducol and Camille, feature vocals by the cast and underscore the range of emotions each experiences through the story. This is no Oklahoma or Sound of Music (I can feel a few of you sighing relief at that last line), nor is it full-on rap/song like Hamilton. Audiard has created a near-ideal synthesis of words and melody, punctuated by visually stunning images that explore the depths of the human condition. At one point, Manitas muses that he hopes his soul will one day "smell like golden honey." It's just one of many thoughtful, sometimes provocative, lines Audiard integrates in his narrative. Jessi's soon-to-be-iconic line telling Gustavo that her "pussy hurt" without him is quickly becoming a topic of discussion about unfeigned eroticism, using pain, suffering, personal flaws, and hopeful redemption to capture both the essence of the transgender world and those who become enfolded in it.

And then there's the film's underlying odyssey about gender: male and female roles are exposed here, raising questions about masculine and feminine stereotypes and how we embrace them. When Emilia reconnects with her children (who don't know she is their father Manitas), she exhibits a kind of traditional mother bear possessiveness, telling Jessi (who also doesn't yet know she is Manitas), that she wants custody of Jessi's children. Emilia founding a non-profit to help locate the remains of Manitas' victims shows another kind of female restitution. Would Manitas have helped the families of his victims? Is Emilia's determination to help those s/he previously hurt an attempt to atone for Manitas' crimes? Is this gesture feminine? Masculine? Audiard doesn't say, but he clearly lifts up the transformative nature of Emilia's transition through a subtle, but powerful examination of gender-based behavior and the differences between how men and women navigate family, relationships, life.

Emilia Pérez won this year's Grand Jury Award (re: second place) at the Cannes Film Festival. The movie's four actresses shared the Best Actress prize, making Oscar predictions intriguing. All four actresses are superb, so it will be interesting to see how they fare with various film awards. Saldaña is as much the lead as Gascón, though the latter character carries film's title. Gomez and Paz clearly have supporting, but equally significant roles in both the plot and the emotional journey of the main characters. I'd love to see multiple nominations/awards at Oscar time: for directing, adapted screenplay, acting, and original song (though I haven't yet decided which one is "best" - each is compelling in its own way). Clearly, this is a film that demands another look.

Which is why I can't figure, other than today's goofy, stream-driven environment, why Emilia Pérez didn't have a longer theater run. Perhaps, as awards season heats up, we'll see a return engagement. I certainly hope so. Watching at home on Netflix (which, for me, often invites disruption and me being less attentive than in a movie theater), I was riveted. This is a "can't-take-your-eyes-off" kind of cinematic experience, even with the potential for graphic violence. If I keep watching in the face of blood, you know this movie is something special.

As you may have concluded, this is not a story that promises a happy ending for any of the characters, but the path to happiness, even redemption, is worth witnessing the obstacles along the way. Like Quentin Tarantino, Audiard teases the audience with anticipation about what it to come, engaging them through a raw exploration of each character's heart and, eventually, the depths of their souls. It's been almost a week since I watched Emilia Pérez, and I can't stop thinking about its beauty, its lyricism, its extraordinary cinematography, or its powerful message.

A transgender mobster musical, you query? Yes, all that, a box of popcorn, and a lasting reminder of how transformative cinema can be. Emilia Pérez will easily be among my top five movies of 2024. Whether you love, hate or are indifferent to musicals, you'll be entranced by the exquisite audacity of Audiard's gender-bending, genre-crossing opus.

Emilia Pérez is currently streaming on Netflix. But see it in a theater, if you can.