There’s an aching kind of poetry in the title My Emptiness and I, one that’s not quite present in Adrián Silvestre’s sensitive yet rather didactic fictional guide through a trans woman’s psychological journey towards selfhood. A natural offspring of his documentary Sediments, most of whose protagonists have small roles here, the film feels in some ways like a primer for those trying to understand the mental processes involved in embracing a trans identity and then openly living that life, in its chronicle of a young trans woman’s quest for love together with her fears of being fetishized and pigeon-holed. Blessed with the forthright yet vulnerable Raphaëlle Perez in the lead role (she’s also one of the writers), Emptiness too often feels like a step-by-step guide for those who’ve never considered what it means to be othered by a cisgendered world, but its honesty and straightforwardness will likely find welcoming audiences.
The early scenes are the most problematic owing to the difficulty in believing that Raphi (Perez), out of college and largely dressing as a girl, is disturbed and confused when informed by a doctor-therapist (Isabel Rocatti) that he’s got gender dysphoria (the pronoun “he” is being used here because he tells the doctor he’s a boy). Raphi calls his parents, admitting to feeling shock at being told he’s a girl in a boy’s body. Yet in this day and age, are we really meant to buy that this person, French living in Barcelona, exists in such a bubble that he’s not thought about his gender identity enough to look it up? If he’s so clueless, why is he in the clinic to begin with?
It’s a clumsy opening which begins to right itself when it jumps ahead, with Raphi back at the doctor’s following a year’s course of estrogen. The doctor – wise and supportive but too ahead of the game for Raphi’s comfort – talks to her about gender reassignment surgery, sagely explaining that were she to keep her male genitals, she’d find herself fetishized, reduced (so to speak) to being a woman with a penis rather than a woman. It’s too soon for Raphi to hear this, although she’s learning the hard way through a series of Tinder chats, seen on screen, as well as casual hook-ups.
Group therapy with other trans women helps to concretize her thoughts but it remains as much a mental as a physical process. In the meantime, she’s trying to find the right guy to fall in love with and make her feel complete. There is one, a pharmaceutical executive (Alberto Diaz) – they have a great date at a costume exhibition (the sequence is stylishly shot), and although Raphi’s relationship with her male genitals remains fraught, this is the rare guy sensitive to her physical boundaries. But she’s taking things way too fast and he pulls back, not sure if he’s ready for this commitment and all that it means.
When Raphi meets a theatre director (Carles Fernández Guia) looking for a nonprofessional willing to tell her story in a creative way, she finally discovers the means not just to tell her story but to process what it all signifies. She’ll still look for Mr. Right but also accepts the advice of a casual encounter (Marc Ribera) to take things day by day; the hurt she feels when looked upon as something other than a woman remains, but she’s learning that the emptiness inside can be addressed by loving herself as much as loving another.
The message sounds sappy when written out that way, but Silvestre fortunately doesn’t make it quite so simple and emotionally fuzzy. There is however something naïve about Raphi’s railings against the world, which seem designed for an audience who’s not really thought these things through before – in other words, an audience unlikely to be watching this movie. Especially odd is that nowhere is there an acknowledgment of just how fortunate Raphi is to have parents who completely support her choices and co-workers who buck her up when she’s down. Surely that puts her in a rare minority, and given how the film aims to be a kind of manual on what it means to be trans, it’s surprising the script, co-written with director Carlos Marqués-Marcet (The Days to Come), doesn’t even give a head-nod to those rejected not just by nasty Tinder dates but associates much closer to home.
Raphi’s transformation and comfort with herself is nicely signaled through costume design (oddly not credited) but most of all through Perez’s physicality, and while it’s impossible to know how much of her own story is woven through the film, she’s a trustworthy guide through the emotional upheavals. DP Laura Herrero Garvín’s camera is equally trusting, discreet but not prudish and enhanced by occasional set-ups, like in the costume exhibition, that creatively make use of space. My Emptiness and I benefited from a Malaga Work in Progress Award.
Director: Adrián Silvestre
Screenplay: Raphaëlle Perez, Adrián Silvestre, Carlos Marqués-Marcet
Cast: Raphaëlle Perez, Alberto Díaz, Marc Ribera, Carles Fernández Guia, Isabel Rocatti, Artur Busquets, Sergio Reverón, Joan Senfs, Álvaro de Rosario, Carmen Moreno, Montse Tapia, Mar Álvarez, Magdalena Brasas, Alicia de Benito, Tina Recio, Cristina Millán, Yolanda Terol.
Producers: Marta Figueras, Javier Pérez Santana, Alba Sotorra, Adrián Silvestre
Executive producers: Marta Figueras, Javier Pérez Santana, Alba Sotorra, César Martínez
Cinematography: Laura Herrero Garvín
Production design: Anna Chwaliszewska
Editing: Adrián Silvestre
Sound: Natxo Ortuzar, Matías Núñez
Production company: Testamento (Spain), Promarfi futuro (Spain), AlbaSotorra (Spain)
World sales: The Film Collaborative
Venue: Rotterdam International Film Festival (Big Screen Competition)
In Spanish, French
98 minutes
