Performing progress: the limits of representation at the 2025 Oscars

To many, the Academy Awards serve as a yearly celebration of progress in film and represent the breaking of barriers that were previously sealed shut. With politically conscious documentaries and socially-charged films at the forefront of the nominations, the 2025 Oscars appeared to uphold this conviction. However, this progress is far more controlled than it is often credited for; representation at the Oscars continues to be filtered through the preferences of dominant groups in society, who dictate not only which stories are told, but also who is allowed to tell them—and how. This dynamic was overtly demonstrated in two key moments: No Other Land’s award speech and Zoe Saldaña’s response to a journalist’s critique of Emilia Pérez. These instances highlight the phenomenon of Hollywood leveraging the language of representation while uplifting non-threatening, conventional voices—ultimately stifling genuine inclusion and cultivating a largely performative model of diversity.

The documentary about the forced displacement of Palestinians in Masafer Yatta, No Other Land, was debatably the most politically charged film at the Oscars—especially given its relevance. Co-directed by Palestinian activist Basel Adra and Israeli journalist Yuval Abraham, a much-needed perspective on the ongoing occupation and state-sanctioned violence was brought to light. The acceptance speech featured Adra explaining how it felt to live under constant threat of eviction and demolitions, while Abraham criticized American foreign policy and called for a two-state solution.

Had Adra stood alone, as a Palestinian, would the message have been embraced so warmly?

The speech, which was met with a standing ovation, raises a critical question: had Adra stood alone, as a Palestinian, would the message have been embraced so warmly? It seems likely that Abraham’s identity, and his tactful framing of the issue, helped soften the statement for both the Academy and its broader American audience.

A particularly telling moment was when Abraham said: “The atrocious destruction of Gaza and its people, which must end. The Israeli hostages, brutally taken in the crime of October 7, which must be freed.” The pairing of these two disproportionate statements—one describing the decades-long destruction of Palestinian life, the other a horrific but separate act of hostage-taking—creates a false symmetry between state-led devastation and non-state violence. It is also notable that the audience seemed to relax after this moment, highlighting how a softer framing of such tragedies is more palatable to Western audiences. The entire structure of the speech is also quite revealing of these power structures. Talking about the future of his daughter’s life and his own devastating experiences, Adra speaks from a place of personal anguish. Abraham, on the other hand, is afforded the ability to detach from the situation, analyze, and offer a more diplomatic solution. This narrative further emboldens questions about whose voices are able to theorize and “balance” narratives, and whose are confined to surviving them.

Another key moment shattering this representational façade came during the post-award press conference for Emilia Pérez, a musical crime drama centered on a Mexican cartel leader’s gender transition. Starring Zoe Saldaña, the film received overwhelming recognition for its stylistic ambition and progressive narrative. Saldaña’s win as Best Supporting Actress represented a triumph of diversity for many, yet for several Mexican viewers, these feelings came with more nuance.

In the press conference after her win, Saldaña was confronted by a Mexican reporter, who described the film as “hurtful to us Mexicans.” The reporter expanded on this critique by highlighting how the film—being deeply rooted in Mexican identity and setting—so egregiously lacked authentic representation. This critique reflects the opinions of many regarding the absence of major Mexican actors and the overall leaning into harmful stereotypes. Although Saldaña responded with an apology, she went on to claim that the story wasn’t about Mexico and could have been set “anywhere.”

Representation becomes less about inclusion and more about narrative flexibility upholding the industry’s global marketability

Saldaña’s response, perhaps well-intentioned, speaks to a larger, more regular issue in Hollywood: the stripping of cultural anchors in favour of so-called “universal” narratives. This results in a vapid form of representation, where culture is boiled down to a prop or a background, as opposed to a real, lived experience. When this is true, representation becomes less about inclusion and more about narrative flexibility upholding the industry’s global marketability. Saldaña’s response highlights how the voices of those being “represented” are treated as less legitimate than the industry’s own standards and limitations of representation.

At first glance, the elevation of politically-charged work and diverse stories at the 2025 Oscars seemed to mark a new chapter for Hollywood. However, beneath the surface lies a familiar structure that continues to control diverse voices and place conditions upon inclusivity. These instances surrounding No Other Land and Emilia Pérez are no anomaly, but rather a continuation of a long-standing dynamic in the industry which gestures toward progress without ever challenging the status quo. Hollywood remains largely symbolic in its diversity and maintains a palatable representation that ensures stories are filtered to appease the dominant groups in our society. If the Academy genuinely seeks to honour global storytelling, it must be willing to relinquish control—not just showcase new voices, but allow them to speak fully, critically, and on their own terms. Until then, the Oscars will continue to perform progress rather than practice it.