Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Andrea Pallaoro
Starring: Trace Lysette, Patricia Clarkson, Emily Browning, Joshua Close, Adriana
Barraza
Andrea Pallaoro's Monica has the sort of premise
that would probably have been played for cheap laughs not so long ago.
It's almost a reversal of Mrs Doubtfire, with a protagonist pretending to be someone else in order to spend
time with a family member. But this is a film that is in sympathetic
lockstep with its trans protagonist, while also avoiding making one-note
villains of those who can't understand her.
The titular Monica (Trace Lysette) is a trans woman who has been
estranged from her family since long before her transition. When her
brother, Paul (Joshua Close), tracks her down he brings bad news.
Their mother, Eugenia (Patricia Clarkson), is suffering from a
brain tumour, is largely confined to bed and likely doesn't have long
left. Monica decides to return to her childhood home, but when she gets
there her mother doesn't recognise the child she only ever knew as her
son.
Mistaken for a live-in caregiver, Monica keeps her identity a secret
from her mother. Seeing the woman who once treated her so coldly in such
a vulnerable state seems to prompt a forgiveness in Monica, and
ironically Eugenia treats her like the daughter she always wanted.
In blunter filmmaking hands, Monica would inevitably lead
to tearful monologues and fiery confrontations, but Pallaoro takes a
refreshingly subtle and nuanced approach to this subject. Monica and
Eugenia bond through glances and touches rather than dialogue. The
former's physical therapy allows an intimacy with her mother. Monica's
hands, which we initially saw perform a massage for a seedy male client,
are employed in an increasingly affectionate manner, her gentle
physicality salving the wounds of past words. Seeing how Monica kneads
her mother's tender flesh tells us more about her unspoken
reconciliation than any bombastic Oscar speech.
Awards bodies tend to focus on dialogue though, which means Lysette and
Clarkson's wonderful performances will no doubt be overlooked. Yet the
two are quietly fantastic as two women gradually meeting in the middle.
Clarkson does enough to suggest that Eugenia may indeed be aware of
Monica's true identity, with telling glances in her character's more
lucid moments. Lysette is given a largely dialogue free role that
requires her to embody the part through physicality. The ritual of
donning make-up and dancing alone in her room before a night out
(Lysette was once a staple of New York's club scene) suggests that
Monica can only really be herself when she's away from people. Monica is
truly alive in these scenes, which makes the subsequent disastrous night
out so dispiriting. Stood up by a Tinder date whom she lambasts via
voicemail for using her as "an experiment," Monica gives in to the
advances of a lecherous truck driver. The resulting shag in his lorry is
a curiously liberating experience. Unaware of her trans status, the
trucker may not exactly treat Monica how a woman might wish to be
treated, but he treats her like a woman, which ultimately is all Monica
asks of the world.
A teal and amber colour scheme is often the refuge of uninspired
filmmakers, but Monica deploys this dynamic in stunning
fashion. Monica's blue eyes are contrasted with her honeycomb skin;
Eugenia's hair with her dresses; dappled sunlight with the water of a
lake; all to striking effect. The colour scheme also has a thematic
resonance, suggesting that contrast of warmth and coldness that exists
in the dynamic between Monica and her mother, warm light slowly seeping
into shadowy darkness as the two silently bond. With its focus on
cinematic ambience and character building over didactic sermonising,
Monica is a key work of trans cinema.
