Written by Guillermo Calderón and Alejandro Moreno, Pablo Larraín’s Ema follows a fraught couple on the brink of family turmoil. The titular Ema (Mariana Di Girólamo) is a young and brash dancer — impossible to miss with her cropped platinum hair and impressive rotation of bomber jackets. Her husband, and her choreographer, Gastón (Gael García Bernal) is older and more withdrawn to the point of terseness. There’s a sense that he is always watching her like a hawk — at home, in public, dancing at the studio — as if she is an otherworldly specimen he doesn’t know how to control.
While their marriage is already on the rocks, it’s the loss of their adopted son Polo (Cristián Suárez) that sends Ema over the edge to initiate a separation. Ema, though reckless and selfish, always wanted a child deep down in her heart. But since Gastón is infertile (in her words, he’s “a human condom”), they chose to adopt. But a tragic fire-related incident forces Ema and Gastón to give Polo up to be adopted by another family.
Fire permeates every corner of Ema. The film’s first shot is a traffic light set ablaze. Gastón’s dance troupe contort themselves in front of a glowing ball of fire, almost like a burning sun. When Polo’s pyromaniac tendencies (among other disturbing behaviors) go too far, the ramifications spread throughout the city and change the perceptions of the couple, especially Ema, who carries the bulk of the shame. But Ema also starts fires of her own — donning a fireman’s uniform and a blowtorch, wandering through the streets of Valparaíso at night. There is a certain catharsis about being able to set your own fires, especially amidst personal and political pandemonium.
Larraín is a Chilean filmmaker, and much of his previous work (outside of 2016’s Jackie) focuses on Chile’s past, and in some ways, reworks that history to help convey whatever it is he wants to say. But Ema is the first time Larraín is able to paint a picture of modern Chile — one that is bombastic, neon-tinged, and bursting at the seams with the possibility of revolution and the illusion of freedom.
There are many attempts at personal revolution embedded in Ema. There’s the push and pull between the old and the new: Gastón’s affinity for traditionalism vs. Ema’s (and other dance members’) love for the much maligned reggaeton music genre — and taking their skills out of a stuffy studio and onto the streets. Ema is also trying to find her own agency outside of Gastón, which comes in the form of having hot orgies and exploring her bisexuality, engaging in intoxicating and liberating dance sequences, and using the aforementioned blowtorch.
But the most crucial conflict in Ema is her complicated relationship to motherhood. Ema and Gastón spend much of their time together fighting about the loss of Polo and looking for a place, or a person, to put the blame on. But it’s not as simple as that, and neither are Ema’s thorny plans to do whatever it takes to get her son back. Throughout the film, there are moments where she deliberately sets her plan in motion, but the whip-smart pacing and intersplicing of high-energy dance montages make it so whatever is going on only clicks into place when all is said and done.
Ema is also a marvel on a technical front. Sergio Armstrong’s cinematography is lush and dynamic, mastering both the highly saturated tones of the Chilean nightlife and the more understated home backdrops. There are a few breathtaking instances of Armstrong and Larraín starting a scene with a super-wide interior shot, only to slowly move closer to the subject as the dialogue and the emotions behind it become more intimate.
The editing, choreography, and use of music are a central backbone to the success of Ema, with editor Sebastián Sepúlveda cutting between the thematic highs and lows with expert precision. When Ema and her girls make the switch to reggaeton, the marriage of the thumping music and the chaotic movements takes center stage. And while there is one pivotal dance sequence that plays out like a music video, it crucially never leaves the realm of cinema or takes you out of the moment — it’s instead centered on Ema’s haunting stare, one that dares you to come along with her.
At its fiery core, Ema is a rumination on liberation, personally and politically. It challenges a lot of preconceived notions — what it means to be a good mother, a good wife, a good woman — and instead puts its energy on what it means to be free from those expectations. It asks you to blast some loud music, dance wildly in the street, and watch the world burn.
