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52 Films By Women: Lingua Franca 2019

Lingua Franca

Lingua Franca

By Andrea Thompson

Urban isolation isn’t a new theme, but the protagonist of the tender drama “Lingua Franca” has a damn good reason to feel not just sequestered, but under siege. Olivia (Isabel Sandoval) is an undocumented Filipino transwoman living in Brighton Beach neighborhood in Brooklyn, and she is under constant threat of violence; not from any individual, but rather, an entire system built on her dehumanization. 

Watching it, I was reminded of a similar film, “The Garden Left Behind,” which in fact screened in the Film Girl Film Festival, and also followed an undocumented transwoman in New York City. But where Tina (Carlie Guevara) struggled to fathom individual intentions and their potential for harm, Olivia is facing far more sinister forces she is unable to predict, and which would deport her on a whim.

It is deportation rather than death which is Olivia’s ultimate fear, and Sandoval manages to capture the quiet terror of that word, one which is often, and very casually, tossed around by those who are wholly unaware of what it means for those it threatens to catch in its ever-widening maw. And Olivia is constantly aware that she could be literally snatched off the street at any moment with no consequences to her abductors. 

Even the tenuous stability she’s achieved perversely heightens her anxiety that it could all be taken from her. Unlike other transgender stories, Olivia has already transitioned, is mostly seen as a woman by the world at large, and has a mostly reliable source of income as the kind of caregiver we all wish could be looking after our loved ones. 

Lingua Franca

Lingua Franca

But it can, and often does, feel like a razor’s edge to Olivia even at the best of times, and Isabel Sandoval, who writes and directs in addition to playing the lead, emphasizes this tension with muted colors even as the characters and extras array themselves in brightness, as if attempting to deny the darkness which threatens to envelop their lives. Even home barely serves as a refuge, with the unsettling silence in the most intimate of spaces stretching on just enough to leave us wondering if there’s a shadowy threat lurking just beyond our vision. Which for Olivia, there is, perhaps even in plain sight.

It can be difficult not to define such a character by her pain, and Sandoval, who is a trans woman herself, takes care not to make Olivia a symbol, even when Trump’s voice is heard as he encourages everyone to give in to their worst instincts, only to be cut off as Olivia reaches her destination. Such politics may play a role in her life, but neither the film or Olivia define themselves by them.

And it doesn’t stop Olivia from yearning for more, as we discover shortly after she meets Alex (Eamon Farren), the adult grandson of the elderly Russian woman Olivia looks after. The two have more in common than they initially appear, Alex hailing from an immigrant background himself, and also feeling lonely despite his so-called friends, who are mostly toxic bro types he is unable to confide in. Alex may project confidence, but he is vulnerable in a way men are never supposed to be, struggling to maintain his sobriety after a stint in rehab. His and Olivia’s eventual connection is more than a meeting of souls though, with Olivia not only having some hot and heavy fantasies shortly after meeting him, but the two actually having passionate sex that is actually pretty sexy.

It seems like the perfect way for Olivia to combine love and security rather than saving up for a green card marriage of convenience. But Alex also royally screws up, telling her that a masked intruder was responsible for her stolen belongings rather than his friend searching for easy money, increasing Olivia’s fears of deportation. 

Lingua Franca

Lingua Franca

It’s especially cruel given how much Alex is privy to Olivia’s terror of the ICE, and when Alex does eventually propose, Sandoval cranks up the swooning music to romcom levels, underscoring how their life together is a fantasy. It seems strange for Olvia to hesitate at being offered what she’s basically been spending the entire film searching for, but as Sandolval said in an interview with The Cut, “At that moment, Olivia becomes more than a trans woman looking for love or an undocumented immigrant looking for papers...It’s Olivia’s journey toward agency and dignity and the ability to determine the course of her own life.” 

That taste of love leaves Olivia wondering if there isn’t something even better than she initially dreamed, and the film’s ending, which leaves her in an ambiguous state but committed to her own version of a happy ending, is nevertheless tinged with melancholy. Life will go on, “Lingua Franca” indicates, sometimes for no other reason than that’s what it does until it stops.


52 Films By Women: Pariah (2011)

IMDB

IMDB

By Andrea Thompson

The 2011 Dee Rees film “Pariah” may be a coming of age film about a Black teenager who is also a lesbian, but her struggle isn't with her sexuality exactly. From the film's opening shots, it's pretty clear that 17-year-old Alike (Adepero Oduye) knows she's into women. As “Pariah” begins, Alike is staring in awe at a female stripper at a club with mostly Black lesbians while the very uncensored version of Khia's “My Neck, My Back” plays. So no Alike isn't in denial, but most of those around her are. Alike has to leave soon after, and her insisting that her best friend Laura (Pernell Walker) leave the bus before her is the first sign that Alike doesn't feel. Sure enough, Alike sheds her preferred masculine clothing for a more conventionally feminine look.

The reasons why are soon clear enough. New York City is generally depicted as a bastion of liberalism and acceptance, where stand-up comics can confess onstage that they're pregnant and planning on getting an abortion the next day. Not so in Alike's Brooklyn neighborhood, a more conservative world where in seems most are happily in denial when reality doesn't suit their beliefs.

Alike's parents certainly are. They're not only in denial about their daughter's sexuality, but their marriage itself. “Pariah” never officially reveals that Alike's father Arthur (Charles Parnell), a police detective, is having an affair, but the late-night phone calls, the absences, his lack of interest in almost any kind of intimacy with his wife Audrey (Kim Wayans), and his general defensiveness, are all clear indications.

Alike's inclinations are just as equally clear. It's inescapable even in trivial moments, such as when Audrey buys Alike a pink shirt, and her coworker immediately assumes it's for Alike's younger sister Sharonda (Sahra Mellesse), who is clearly interested in boys and what dress to wear to the school dance. Rather than accepting Alike, Audrey tries to mold her into the image she believes Alike should conform to, which backfires as such efforts usually do.

IMDB

IMDB

The really heartbreaking thing is that it backfires in a way neither Audrey nor Alike predict. Audrey disapproves of Alike's friendship with the openly gay Laura, and pushes Alike to befriend Bina (Aasha Davis) instead. Alike is at first reluctant, but quickly forms a bond with Bina, who proves to be more complicated than she appears. In a film where music plays such a large role, the two first bond through a shared appreciation of the underground rap Alike adores. This also gives her a welcome relief from the club scene that the studious Alike has never felt truly comfortable in.

It turns out though (if it needs to be said...spoiler alert!) that Bina is pretty deep in denial too. She's very aware that Alike is a virgin, and takes the initiative throughout their relationship. Bina is the one who makes the effort to get to know Alike, and is the first one to kiss Alike, invite her to stay the night, and take their relationship deeper. But the morning after Bina and Alike have sex, Bina is detached, picking up stuff around her room and not looking at Alike. Not good.

It gets worse, as Alike naturally assumes that Bina still cares about her, even telling Bina that last was amazing and thanking her. In response, Bina dismisses both Alike and the ramifications of their night together, telling her it was just playing around and that she's not “gay, gay, just doing her thing.” The only concern she has left for Alike is whether or not she'll tell anyone. It's basically every girl's worst nightmare of how your first time will be.

This can't leave Alike anything but devastated, but it seems to make her more determined than ever to live her own truth. When she hears her parents arguing, she decides to get involved and finally tell them the truth neither of them wants to hear. Far from being cathartic, Audrey beats Alike in spite of Arthur's pleas, and Alike retreats to Laura's house. Even though Arthur makes a feeble attempt to bring Alike back home, Alike decides to head to Berkeley for an early college program she's been accepted to. “I'm not running, I'm choosing,” she says defiantly. Even if Alike's mother still refuses to reconcile with her daughter at the end, Alike's loved ones, which include not just her father and her sister, but Laura, are there to see her off.

IMDB

IMDB

In a way, “Pariah” is a far more brave film than “Moonlight,” a far more iconic film directed by Barry Jenkins that came out in 2016. Dee Rees even utilizes many of the same techniques as Jenkins, albeit in a far more subdued fashion. Jenkins used a far more instrumental score in “Moonlight,” bathing its Miami neighborhood setting in far more sumptuous colors that spoke to Jenkins's influences, specifically Wong Kar-wai.

“Moonlight” also has Chiron reconciling with his mother and finding love by the end. In contrast, diligent student Alike leaves by the end for a new life, still estranged from her mother and the classmate who was her love interest. Even Alike's closeness with the father who was far less interested in changing her remains tenuous. Yet Rees leaves us in no doubt of the bright future Alike has ahead of her. Her heartbreak has allowed her to delve deeper, leaving us with a poem that speaks of her brokenness, and defiance, the freedom she has found as the result of her struggles.