Unwasted Moments: Re-evaluating “Tangerine” (2015)
Mickey O’Hagan and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez in Tangerine (2015), a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.
“Hurry up! Come on!” Transgender sex worker Sin-Dee Rella (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) charges down the streets of Los Angeles in Tangerine, and the camera struggles to keep up. Alongside her, she drags a cisgender sex worker, one with whom her boyfriend is cheating, one who is periodically transphobic, one who is not walking fast enough for Sin-Dee. Time is not something Sin-Dee wastes.
Released ten years ago this month, Tangerine, directed and co-written by Sean Baker, was one of the earliest feature-length films shot on iPhones, the 5S. The film follows Sin-Dee and her friend Alexandra (Mya Taylor), a fellow trans sex worker, on the day of Sin-Dee’s release from a short jail stay. Time is also not something Alexandra wastes. As Sin-Dee journeys through Hollywood to find and confront her boyfriend for cheating, Alexandra passes out flyers for her small Christmas concert, which will be held at seven PM sharp—don’t be late. Intermittently, Razmik (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian taxi driver and client of both women, chauffeurs around dazed, dispassionate passengers who demonstrate little sense of urgency at all.
The same week I rewatched Tangerine, I saw the new movie 28 Years Later (2025), also shot on iPhones, now the iPhone 15 Pro Max. While Tangerine is purposefully gritty, 28 Years Later looks crisp and luscious, more so than most recent studio releases. In this viewing of Tangerine, my shock at how far the iPhone camera has advanced since the film’s release inescapably magnified the reality of how little the protections of trans rights have progressed in the same period. iPhone camera features have improved tenfold; meanwhile, the bills introduced to limit trans healthcare in 2025 are nearly two orders of magnitude more than in 2015. A fresh viewing of Tangerine makes dismally apparent America’s continued prioritization of industry and ease over the safety of marginalized people.
Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mickey O’Hagan in Tangerine (2015), a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.
Baker skillfully uses the visual graininess and scrappiness inherent in early iPhone filmmaking to reveal his reverence for Sin-Dee’s and Alexandra’s energy. Both women, especially Sin-Dee, walk as if each step they take can assert their presence and will onto all of Hollywood. Even if a step might be misguided or aggressive, they take it, not allowing themselves to be like Razmik’s taxi passengers, analogues for a certain kind of willfully numb, lifeless American. Baker confines these passengers within the frame, letting the slight haziness of the cinematography add to their pathetic, wilted quality. Meanwhile, Sin-Dee darts from frame to frame on her journey to her boyfriend, often making quick turns, nearly evading the camera. When focused on Sin-Dee and Alexandra, the film’s haziness becomes a tool to further their roundness as characters. They move with too much agility and purpose for the camera to precisely render them, and if they sometimes appear out-of-focus or stereotypical, it is the camera’s—or maybe even the viewer’s—fault for not keeping up.
Elsewhere in his oeuvre, Baker has explored the pain that comes from losing grasp of time. He does this in Anora (2024), his film that won five Oscars earlier this year. The title character, a cisgender sex worker, is proposed to by Vanya, a 21-year-old client and Russian oligarch’s son. Anora accepts, thinking she has found love and security, until Vanya’s parents get involved and quickly work to annul the marriage. Like Sin-Dee, Baker puts Anora on a hectic chase around town to find her partner. While Sin-Dee’s search is internally motivated, Anora’s is painfully necessary. If she doesn’t find her husband fast, she’ll lose him.
Sin-Dee and Alexandra impose their own pace onto Tangerine. In that sense, they are in control of time and their autonomy. Unlike Anora with its Russian oligarchs, Baker saddles them with no immediate political obstacle, and they can largely be themselves because they are left to themselves. For better or worse, they are treated by dominant society as invisible or as amusements, not as threats, which they would likely be painted as in 2025. Because Sin-Dee and Alexandra possess autonomy and drive the pace of the film, they slow down the story when they want. Rodriguez and Taylor play these stiller moments with particular passion, consciously quieting their faces out of the desire to connect or relax while letting us know they could speed up the film and reassert their dominance any moment.
Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez in Tangerine (2015), a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.
So what does Tangerine offer ten years on? Queer activism remains pulled between the competing poles of presenting as radically assimilationist or radically different. While assimilationist tactics have largely prevailed, especially during the fight for marriage equality, Tangerine continues to make a case for embracing and asserting difference. Fullness and complexity, when arguing for difference, need not be sacrificed for simplicity and likability. As in Tangerine, difference often has a captivating directness and exciting speed to it. Baker, Rodriguez, and Taylor portray this intimately.
Tangerine is playing this month in select independent movie theaters around the country for its 10th anniversary. The film is also available on streaming platforms.
