What an interesting, engaging film Tangerine is. Occurring all in the course of a day, Christmas Eve, the movie follows Sin-Dee, a transgender prostitute just released from four weeks in jail, as she tries to find her boyfriend/pimp and confront him for cheating on her while she was in jail. To sum up the movie in that one sentence, though, is unfair. Over the course of this day, Sin-Dee and her friend Alexandra, also a transgender prostitute, share with the viewer a world of which I have very little knowledge. And what an interesting world it is—with amazing differences and sizable similarities.
Every so often during the film you’re reminded again it’s Christmas Eve. And each time that realization occurred, I felt sad watching this group of people whose lives involve no holiday celebration, no family, no genuine place that felt like home. At the same time, their family clearly was each other, as rough around any edges a family might be. And those genuine touches of friendship, of caring, of compassion—those parts of the film sang a harmonious melody.
The players in the film live a different life than what I’m used to seeing. No cars– instead, public transportation. No cell phones– instead finding each other at known hangouts or by word of mouth. No security– instead, making a few dollars here and there just to get through the evening. Drugs are present. The risk of violence lurks around the corner. Seedy motels with clerks who look the other way naturally fill in the landscape.
They refer to their scene as “on the block.” We learn at one point in the film that this territory, this block, is specifically for trans sex workers. We learn too that this is as much home for them as any other neighborhood is to any other group living somewhere. And we learn how the rest of the nearby society interacts with and responds to their particular setting—sometimes with irritation but usually even that with a spark of gentleness.
After watching the film, I listened to the Fresh Air podcast in which Terry Gross interviewed the film’s writer/director, Sean Baker, and the actress who plays Alexandra, Mya Taylor. I was not surprised the interview was as engaging as it was, given how much I enjoyed the movie. And I learned a lot through that podcast.
The writer wanted to make a movie about this area in L.A.—this block of trans sex workers. So he started hanging around there, meeting people. He met Mya Taylor, and their lives changed.
The film had almost no budget. Thus, the filmmaker employed mostly first-time actors. The two leads had some experience at least from high school or modeling or a single bit part, but that was about it. He also shot in one day due to no money for wardrobe. And the filmmaker used an iPhone 5s for shooting. That’s right, not even the 6. (It was made before the 6 was out.) But using apps designed for editing and filming, it works; this wasn’t a handheld jerky feel of a movie. And other than the initial scene, which felt choppy and in which the acting left me cringing, the rest of the film glowed. Sometimes, that glow came from the color spectrum the director used—getting that warm red tone of L.A. Sometimes it came from the grainy texture he added back to the movie, trying to capture the quality of actual film. But most of the time that glow came from the ones on the screen, all delivering a beautifully genuine performance.
Not only were the leads not seasoned actors, both Mya and Kiki Rodriguez (who plays Sin-Dee) are transgender. They helped create the story line too, insisting on incorporating humor into what could otherwise be a deeply dark and dismal movie. If I recall correctly, Kiki Rodriguez helped create the basic plot too, crafting the story about her character. Much drama is played out on the screen, but it is the kind of drama that Mya said was natural in this environment. See, Mya even spoke of having been a sex worker in her own past. She talked about how frightening the work is—every time getting into a new car, how risky it is, how scary it is, how awful it is. But she spoke too of feeling she had no other opportunities, having been rejected by her family after coming out, and having been subject of repeated discrimination in getting a job, getting offers only for them to be revoked once learning her legal gender was male, although she presented female.
I’ve had some fabulously informed conversations about the fluidity of gender in the past few years, and I’ve learned so much. I will admit, though, those initial conversations left me confused and struggling to understand. One day, I got it—that fluidity. Tangerine helps reinforce those lessons and understandings. More so, though, it highlights how compassion and friendship come through for all people, no matter if you’re an accountant or a lawyer or a store clerk or a trans sex worker. And listening to Mya on the podcast, I could not help but fret over how ignorant so many are in the area. I wish everyone could see the remarkably touching scene between Sin-Dee and Alexandra at the end of the film and understand, as much as we may have our differences, we are all people, and we all need care and kindness.