A Fantastic Woman (Una Mujer Fantástica) (dir. Sebastián Lelio)

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” - so says our eponymous heroine Marina - the central character in Sebastián Lelio’s exemplary tale of loneliness and identity recently bestowed the Oscar for Best foreign language film. This dazzling coming of age account is a semi-realist exploration of the true meaning of love in the face of adversary, oddly spellbinding in it’s storytelling and reassuringly ambitious in it’s cruel reality of the ignorance of the un-sympathetic.

Much like Luca Guadagnino's heavily revered gay-romance Call Be Your Name, some films take your breath away in their progressive attitudes to communities marginalized in society - on this occasion, Lelio and co-writer Gonzalo Maza depict the headstrong tribulations of a waitress and part-time nightclub singer Marina (played with devastating beauty by Daniela Vega), a trans-gender woman living in Santiago, Chile. Her life is shattered right before she moves in with her much older boyfriend Orlando (Francisco Reyes), as after a night of romancing is stricken with a momentary episode warranting immediate medical action, and Marina races him to the hospital, though Orlando doesn’t make it - giving Marina the unenviable task of explaining the circumstances around his passing.

Unravelling the plot with a master stroke of deftly orchestrated moments of profound beauty, Lelio and cinematography light the scenery with an unnerving sense of sympathy, and as we follow Marina as she deals with the fallout - the rich tapestry of the mis en scene lights up the screen even more given Vega’s groundbreaking performance.

Though still grieving, Marina is met with derision in multiple avenues: first, from a detective within the sexual assault department insinuating Orlando’s untimely demise was in self-defense to an unwanted act of sexual aggression - then the embittered family of her older boyfriend, in the shape of ex-wife Sonia (Aline Kuppenheim), and son Bruno (Nicolas Saavedra)- who, though aware of their fleeting romance, are unhappy with her being involved in the funeral plans or anything to do with Orlando’s affairs.

It becomes apparent that her inclusion in Orlando’s passing is less to do with her existence, rather than the indignity of being a transgender woman. As Bruno berates her - in the midst of attempting to her through her out of the apartment they shared- by remonstrating “I don’t know what you are”, yet she remains defiantly headstrong. Equally, so, Sonia is the embittered ex-wife, in uncomfortably self-righteous form, and during a particularly poignant sequence - which has it’s preamble a splendid rendition of natural woman anchor Marina’s arrival - is as enraging as it is well-executed, as Sonia muses that her dalliance with Orlando was merely a “perversion”, and like Bruno sneers “I'm not aware of what i’m looking at”. Consequently, the doctor at the hospital mocks her name as a colorful nickname, and she is asked to present her ID card when grilled by a local Police sergeant, though these merely fuel her desire, and she remains vigilant in her will to find resolution.

Though at it’s core, Lelio’s modern day romance is a defiant examination of the sentiments of a woman in grief, Lelio’s tale drifts into the fantastical on several occasions: an allegorical moment sees our heroine fighting an almighty wind whilst walking down the street, clearly mirroring her uphill struggle in life to find acceptance. As she attempts to return to normal life , nightly visits to the seedy nightclubs become the norm, though occasional visions of her beloved - shot in devastatingly evocative fashion - remind her of the torment her life has become since the the only person in her life who understood and accepted her for what she was was taken. These moments of pain inexplicably turn into visually arresting dance sequences as well, as Vega is forcefully pulled towards the camera - we start to feel her life is back on track.

In supporting performances, Luis Gnecco as Orlando’s brother Gabo is involving, as he boasts a more forward approach to proceedings, helping and abetting Marina’s right to be involved in her previous lover’s wake. Though the films most poignant scene is with Marina’s singing teacher, commanded by an excellent Sergio Hernandez, that is reminiscent in it’s astuteness of Michael Stuhlbarg’s heart-rending soliloquy on his son’s sexual awakening in Call Me By Your Name. As she navigates the vicissitudes of single life, hoping to achieve a vindication in all walks of life, Matthew Herbert’s unlacing score footholds the drama with a delicate and unnerving transcendence.

But at the heart of the film is Vega - in only her second feature and only brought onto the project as a consultant before being given the lead role - her unabashed confidence on screen is unbridled in transgender cinema, and though it’s commendable the Academy littered Lelio’s masterful romance with the Best Foreign Language Oscar , her turn as the impenetrable conquer of societal persecution is worthy of every awards possible. Indeed Marina is “the fantastic woman” of the title, but you’d be hard pressed to find anything in Lelio’s enchanting tear-jerker that isn’t steeped in the wonders of humanity.

Rating 5/5.