通用语言

美国独立电影往往将目光投向社会边缘人，这个群体在主流商业片里要么几乎绝迹，要么成为点缀剧情的配角，然而，在独立电影里他们却常常占有极为重要的份量。这部《自由的语言》就是典型的边缘人题材，主人公是一名来自菲律宾的非法劳工，而且是个变性人。非法移民和跨性别身份这两个炙手可热的话题抢尽眼球。然而，出乎意料地，导演并没借此角色对美国当下的社会问题高谈阔论，至少社会批判并不是影片的重点，导演为我们奉上的是一个私人化而饶有诗意的爱情故事。 这也许跟导演伊莎贝尔·桑多瓦（Isabel Sandoval）的亲身体验有关，她本身是菲律宾移民也是跨性别人士，所以由她亲自执导和编写剧本，同时出演女主角便顺理成章了。影片讲述一名菲律宾的变性非法劳工Olivia在纽约布鲁克林从事居家保姆，照顾一名记忆衰退的老妇。当她迟迟无法获得绿卡而有可能被递解遣返之际，她爱上了老妇的孙子，对方想为她实现合法身份而留下来……

尽管有性别身份和非法移民这两个热门话题，但是叙事重点却没有偏离爱情的主线，也没有完全陷入这些话题的沉重气氛之中。导演始终将焦点放在刻画这个变性女子追求爱情的过程，她对男主角的感情没有掺杂别的成分，从一开始对男性身体的幻想，到坠入爱河后想过上安稳的生活，剧本大胆展现出一位跨性别人士的欲望和情感渴求。导演打破以往题材里对此类角色的猎奇角度展示，这一点在美国电影里罕见而令人惊喜。 同样惊喜的还有导演的风格，有别于美国独立电影的小清新意味。她注重摄影、构图和剪辑，零配乐、脸部特写、空镜头、静止长镜头等浮现出欧洲电影独有的诗意。电影以声画错位手法拉开序幕，一边是女主角和母亲通长途电话，一边是布鲁克林布赖顿海滩的画面（行进的列车和空旷的木板路），这种冷漠孤独的环境氛围像极了瓦尔达或者阿克曼的作品，更与之后女主角骚动不安的心理形成有趣的比照。

导演善用暗示性的构图来传达两人情感关系的演变，透过室内的门框分隔和镜子里的反射，充分刻画出女主角与男人保持距离与内心的疑虑。男女主角的表演自然而充满欲望的意味，特别是从女性目光对男性身体的注视，颠覆了传统的男性凝视角度，令女主角独立自主的形象更加突出。 欲言又止的对白将含蓄感处理得恰到好处。

导演并不急于显露男主角得知女主角真实身份后的懊恼或惊讶，同样地，女主角面对男人的承诺，心里的真实盘算也耐人寻味。导演完全以流淌的氛围感来取代戏剧化叙事，最典型的在高潮一幕，两人在舞厅里随着音乐起舞，彼此在试探性的对话里你来我往，男主角间接承认偷了女人的护照，而女人开始对这段感情有了动摇，两人的思想和感情在细微处酝酿着变化，而没有显露出激烈的对峙。

女主角最后与男人分手的结局似乎有点突兀，但是在导演的诗意氛围里却令人若有所思。结尾再次出现与开头一样的布赖顿海滩画面，也是女主角与母亲通电话的内容，给这个独立自主的跨性别女性形象添上淡然的一笔。她追求的是真正平等的爱情，而不是放弃尊严、附和大男子主义的委曲求存；即使面对身处险境的非法移民搜捕，她也宁可舍弃眼前的“捷径”而靠自己的努力去实现。

Filipino transsexual filmmaker Isabel Sandoval’s third feature, LINGUA FRANCA is a low-key, simmering immigrant drama that sheds a more positive light on trans-acceptance in the States. Sandoval is the supreme hyphenate here, she is the directer, writer, editor and also plays the protagonist Olivia, a Filipino trans woman working as a caregiver for an elderly Russian woman Olga (the late, fragile Cohen) in Brooklyn. Olivia’s illegal status is on the line, after an intending paid arranged marriage falls through, which is concurrent with the arrival of Olga’s grandson Alex (Farren), who has returned from rehab and stays at Olga’s. It goes without saying that Alex becomes a low-hanging fruit for Olivia as a potential husband candidate, admittedly, Olivia is also physically attracted to his rough-edged charm. Their romance blossoms under the same roof, and Alex is more than sympathetic towards Olivia’s quagmire. But the rub is, it is him who should initiate the marriage proposal, Olivia is too decent a soul to lure a man to secure her a green card. And what about her trans identity? Can Alex accept that too? Here, we are a few steps ahead from the rampant stage of transphobia, though it is far from being extirpated, only now it circulates in a more insidious, covert way (the notion of transsexuality is normalized but being a minority, it is habitually derided and belittled), what distresses Olivia most is President Trump’s harsh immigrant policy. However, and most significantly, LINGUA FRANCA singles out honesty as the deal breaker, it is above everything in a relationship. Olivia’s secret is hers to keep, it is up to her when she is ready to divulge it to Alex (in fact, she proves her honesty in front of Alex’s proposal), whereas Alex is eventually put on his mettle and willing to accept Olivia as who she is, but he makes a prior mistake which turns out to be fatal. Sandoval is so determined to dignify Olivia that even a marriage out of love is unfeasible when it is marred by deceit, which must seem like a mote in Alex’s eyes. He deems that he has done a good deed (an entitlement he earns solely by birthright), but Olivia’s near silent response is louder than any words. In that regard, LINGUA FRANCA is refreshingly stubborn and idealized (any woman would jump on the opportunity in Olivia’s shoes), thankfully, Sandoval incarnates Olivia with a measured but lived-in commitment and the film stops dead before heading into the abyss of self-righteousness and phoniness (the ambiguous coda is quite a curveball). Even if you don’t credit the lofty gesture, you get the film’s progressive, lucid point: bless you my merciful savior, I might be a damsel in distress, but kindly, treat me as an equal every which way! referential entries: Lino Brocka’s MANILA IN THE CLAWS OF LIGHT (1975, 7.8/10); Sean Baker’s TANGERINE (2015, 7.3/10).