Life is about transition, about change, about being in-between certain ways of being. Vuk Lungulov-Klotz seeks to explore this feeling of in-betweenness with his delicate, disarming debut feature film, Mutt. The film shows a day in the life of Feńa (Lio Mehiel, whom Sundance awarded the U.S. Dramatic Special Jury Award for Acting for this role), a transgender male who must navigate the conflicts between their current and past lives, their family and themselves, and their dueling cultures and ethnicities. As a transgender storyteller himself, this is a personal film for Lungulov-Klotz, and it shows. Over the course of this seemingly slight, shaggy film, the director offers incisive insights into in-betweenness, highlighting just how human and relatable it is as a state of being.
Within seconds of meeting Feńa, the many transitional aspects of their life are apparent. In a phone call to their father, Pablo, who’s en route from Chile, asks Feńa what they look like, clearly still uncomfortable with their child’s gender reassignment. Their exasperated response is, “I look like me!” They encounter micro-, and macro-aggressions like this throughout the story as they go about their day. A passerby condescendingly compliments them on their Spanglish, and so on. There’s not much of a plot to speak of; instead, we spend time with Feńa as they encounter various remnants of their former lives. First is John (Cole Doman), an ex-boyfriend from when Feńa still identified as a woman. The other two significant players are Fena’s sister Zoe (Mimi Ryder), as well as Pablo (Alejandro Goic), who arrives late in the proceedings. New York itself is arguably a character, as Feńa travels the city streets, to various apartments, a diner, and a nightclub—where, interestingly, Ben Bohmer’s “Weightless” plays overhead, from an album that the musician had written for his father.
Partly lending the film its formless, laid-back quality is the cinematography. It has a warm, celluloid texture to it, with its 4:3 ratio and the use of a 50 mm Leica for shooting. Many scenes appear to use only natural lighting, often with the actors backlit by ambient light, their faces cast in shadow. The movie truly feels like a throwback, like a vintage gem recovered from the 1970s.
Anchoring it all and keeping it endlessly watchable, is Mehiel’s delicate, open performance. Their Feńa is an impressively good-natured, easygoing character, laughing off most insults and injuries with ease. At one point, they suffer a forehead laceration trying to jump a subway turnstile. Cracking a joke about it and a wry smile, they remark, “Funny’s all we got sometimes.” Mehiel also expertly carries the film through its darker moments and is completely authentic in their performance as a transgender individual torn between conflicting worlds.
In particular, their relationship with John is deeply complex and moving. John finds himself still drawn to the person he once loved (and might still love), and recognizes that Feńa seems truly happy now, but is unable to get past his own prejudices and toxic masculinity. In the end, no matter our gender or sexual orientation, it’s always the cis-het men who need the most coddling. This brings out a compelling shade of Feńa as well, as they make an honest attempt to engage with John in their new body, exposing their vulnerability in tender ways. Similarly, Zoe brings out a different facet of Feńa, as they seem looser and goofier around her. After some initial awkwardness, Feńa and Zoe settle into an amusing sibling banter, the former constantly, fiercely looking out for their little sister.
The long-dreaded arrival of Pablo allows for Mehiel to further display their range, cleanly articulating the points the movie has been making all along. To their father, who has been constantly deadnaming them and questioning their decisions, Feńa finally explodes, telling him, “Do not tell me not to be myself.” The interaction between the two is subtly moving, as Pablo’s affect softens, finally realizing that liking men doesn’t make his child a woman. Feeling contrite, he then offers to pay for Feńa’s gas money.
The film is made up of small, meaningful gestures like this. To name another: an elderly pharmacist correctly genders Feńa, referring to them as “young man.” The delight in their eyes is palpable. These moments, combined with the central character’s monologues to their father, repeatedly, but not repetitiously, drive home the movie’s message, of humanity and acceptance. Yes, Feńa looks, moves, and perhaps sounds different than the person that they once were. But at the end of the day, how is that any different than other major transitions that, say, cis people have gone through? Like everyone else they encounter over the course of the film, Feńa is simply just trying, and by all accounts, succeeding, to be true to themself.
