
Fervently imaginative, they are adorned with the sparkle of outrageous personalities that towers above documentaries these days, like those in the trans sex worker portrayal “Kokomo City”. This documentary revolves around four trans women such as Koko Da Doll, Daniella Carter, Liyah Mitchell, and Dominique Silver. They are interviewed in their homes or public spaces. Most of the time, the women are not wearing much makeup. In some scenes, they are glammed up. The black and white imagery pulls it towards the mid-century style of American documentary filmmaking, like the “Maysles Brothers Salesman” or Shirley Clark’s “Portrait of Jason” which focused more on coloration.
There is a twist, however. The combination along with the editing and structure intertwining together gives this captivating punk rock feeling, “Cockroach“, spice and fusion the documentary never had. The best of both worlds. It goes over the supposed rules of documentary-making, the handbook that brings everything together. The snarky subtext is, if you do not like what we made, go watch something else.
Kokomo City was shot and cut by D. Smith, a Black transgender Grammy-nominated producer who used to work with artists such as Lil Wayne, Keri Hilson, and Katy Perry. After Smith came out in 2014, she was ostracised from the music world, she later appeared on season five of the reality show Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta which, in hindsight, was one of the many things she tried to do to escape from caricaturing as a homeless person. This movie is a reinvention, reclamation, and a blend of the all. While it is energetic and ambitious, there are moments in the movie where it seems like the movie suffers from a self-imposed over-arousal. And as the movie goes on it is apparent that it becomes harder to determine what “works” and “doesn’t” work due to Kokomo City trying to compete with itself. This movie is a depiction of a world that is uncoupled from the so-called normie life with the New York and Atlanta concepts of life.
The first scene of the movie brings forth an extemporaneous monologue that takes place along the backdrop of a sex worker manhandling a gun with a client where the ‘client’ gets the gun taken away. It is further edited with comical recreation over a pop-art-looking capture of Baz Lehmann’s movies, additionally, the monologue is filmed with a shaky camera.
The framing gives the impression that the audience is being given a glimpse into the insider’s world. This impression is maintained through a politically incendiary closing montage with full-frontal nudity, filmed and cut in a way reminiscent of a 1990s MTV video that the channel would never have dared to broadcast. Some of the subjects’ accounts of their work are partially acted out including some of the most graphic sex scenes ever filmed with cartoon sound effects. Then there are the so-called ordinary intimate moments like grooming in front of a mirror or cuddling on a couch, which are captured in a very relaxed manner. In some sequences, Smith, like Spike Lee, puts music underneath every bit of speech, making previously sober documentary footage feel a bit over-the-top glamorous.
These contrasting pieces are placed next to one another and arranged in a linear order of a compilation film of short topics. There is no attempt to gently move the audience from one state of being to another. This is not only warranted but is also visually appealing.
The underlying theme of the subjects’ accounts is centered on a common conviction, informed by their experiences, that most members of society do not pay attention to them, take advantage of them, or oppose them with aggression (one section mourns the trans women murdered by clients). This is why “Kokomo City”, like other works, did not concern itself with the issues of decorum that any viewer, even some from the community, would raise about how Smith exhibits some body parts.
This film has an audience and at times openly engages with them. However, the subject is equally introspective of Black as well as trans communities and the overlapping spaces, particularly the bedroom. The title of the film stems from a blues singer named Kokomo Arnold, famous for his song “Sissy Man” which has the lines “I woke up this mornin’ with my pork grindin’ business in my hand/Lord if you can’t send me no woman, please send me some sissy man”.
The people interviewed are aware and discontent about the existence of “trade”—secretly married or unmarried men who sleep with them. When people do “know” but are embarrassed by the things they went to great lengths to do, the phrase “gay panic” does the trick for them. It effectively puts a barrier to their unflattering portrayal of masculinity while still allowing them to show vulnerable and desireful sides. In the context of posturing, they can pull, “They wanna see a pretty-ass girl with a big d—,” Koko states. A few months after Kokomo’s City gained accolades on the festival circuit, Koko was shot dead in Atlanta.
The film does a commendable job of showcasing how the lives of transgender women are and while it may reveal unpleasant consequences in the process, it is ultimately a kind and welcoming feat.
Maintaining flexibility with arms and legs wide open, she explained, results in each narrative being advertised concurrently. As Smith described to The Guardian, apart from her actual working processes, in achieving a certain sensitivity towards the Claire character, one of her filmmaking influences was 2016’s Joker, especially those parts that depicted the titular character in his daily grind without makeup. ‘What we truly are’, she said she sought to change. ‘We are human and this is what we look like. We are fun, vulnerable, and want love like you do.’
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