“What would you like the audience to think when they see this film?” a friend asks Karla, a trans girl who is the main character in the Mexican documentary Niñxs. “I’d like them to laugh, that it isn’t a tragic film like most of the ones we appear in,” Karla replies. “Either we get killed or we’re sex workers and have to be pitied. But there’s never a film where we live happy lives, where we’re happy.”
It’s not often that the hoped-for audience response to a documentary is discussed in the film itself. And since critics are also part of the audience – albeit a rather specific subcategory – this wish also applies to the reviews. So: did I laugh? Yes, I believe I did. At least a few times. And I certainly smiled a lot. Niñxs (a gender-free spelling of ‘children’ in Spanish, similar to a word like Latinx) shows best friends having fun, putting on make-up, dressing up for parties, making TikTok videos and lazing around in the sun. These are friends you would want to hang out with. They look happy.
But just before that question, Karla’s friend asked her another: “What are you most afraid of in your life right now?” And Karla answered matter-of-factly: “Being killed. Not dying, but being killed.” There is an honesty both in Karla, saying this while she knows the camera is running and she’s also committed to showing the happiness of trans people, and in the documentary itself, choosing to include both positions.
This back and forth between dreams and reality, hopes and fears, is the backbone of the documentary. Some of it is explored in on-camera conversations, but most of it is part of the very clever device filmmaker Kani Lapuerta has created (together with Karla, I’m sure) for this film. Kani, who is trans themself, started filming Karla eight years ago because they were fascinated by her childlike honesty. Eight years, that means there is a lot of material. Kani says: “I don’t think I really knew what I was doing.” Karla reacts with: “And how would you know, Kani? There aren’t any films like these, with protagonists like us.”
Niñxs begins with the two of them sitting in a pink, soft, cloud-like cave, a fantasy world outside of everyday reality, talking about the film. Kani asks Karla if she’d rather start in the present and work their way backwards, or in the past and work chronologically towards the present: “Where would you want to start?” Karla chooses the latter.
Such questions and answers and brief discussions about where to go next, recur throughout the film. Instead of one voiceover looking back after all the footage has been shot, there are two simultaneous ones who don’t always agree. It’s a ‘dialogue-over’, a commentary track on their own film.
It’s a wonderful device, which, I think, is new in this form – as far as I know – and which I’m sure could be used in many more films in many different ways. The crucial choice between showing the negative things done to trans people or showing positive role models to inspire others – the latter which I believe to be more emancipatory – is one which every filmmaker tackling the subject has to face. But it goes beyond this specific issue: for any socially engaged filmmaker, the question is the same: to focus on the enemy (creating fear and victimhood) or to celebrate your subjects (creating hope and role models)?
The way Kani and Karla have this discussion within the documentary – and navigate its nuances – is really very clever and manages to keep the tone mostly upbeat through their friendly, heartfelt conversations, even when darker fears are addressed. It always leaves room for Karla to say, in a way that feels very natural: okay, that’s enough, let’s move on.
Karla’s parents are loving and understanding, “a combination of punk, hippy and food artist” as Karla calls them. They moved with Karla from Mexico City to the small hippie-friendly town of Tepoztlán after discovering that she had asthma. The air is cleaner there, but there’s not much for a teenage girl to do. Kani follows Karla roughly from that point onwards until she enters high school.
There are some more societal aspects to the story, such as when Karla decides to officially change her registered name and gender (which she succeeds in doing, supported by her parents); also, when a friendly professional warns her that social acceptance in high school is not a given and that she should prepare herself by having a back-up set of (possibly trans) friends on hand. And then there is the Pride, which Karla attends with her friends, and the picnic for trans children and their parents, which they all go to together towards the end of the film. But even here, the focus mostly remains on the loving care that Karla and her friends, her parents, Kani and the people they meet, all share. In this balance between hope and fear, the film lands squarely on the former: watching Niñxs makes you feel good about the lives of trans children.
There’s no mention of the politics of Trump and other transphobic authoritarians who are currently repealing laws, restricting aid and banning sources of information about trans people, not just in the US but around the world. And I think it’s good this film doesn’t go there. It’s exactly because of this, that Niñxs sends such a strong and relevant message. It doesn’t react to the hateful agenda of the radical right, but follows its own. One of love, growth and community. That is the answer.
Mexico/Germany, 2025, 86 minutes
Director Kani Lapuerta
Production La Sandía Digital
Producer Suleica Pineda
International sales Kani Lapuerta (La Sandía Digital)
Script Kani Lapuerta
Cinematography Quetzalli Malagón Pimentel
Editing Yuri Amaral
Sound design Eloisa Diez
Sound Karina Villaseñor, Jonathan Noveron, Loretta Ratto, Ana Robleo, Atzin Bravo
Music Boris Skalski, Jonathan Noveron
With Karla Bañuelos, Kani Lapuerta, Rocio Aranda de Figuera, Assur Bañuelos Serrano
