Isabel Sandoval’s films have an auteur, European appeal; they take their time. Inspired by cinematic film legends including James Gray, Sandoval is pushing forward in an industry reluctant to change, creating narratives that speak to her existence, and her experience.

After making two feature films set in her native Philippines (Apparition, Señorita), Sandoval relocates to her adopted hometown, New York City—or at least a small seaside corner of it—for her third film. Lingua Franca follows Olivia (played by Sandoval), an undocumented Filipina trans woman who is looking to secure a green card so she can continue to stay and work in the US. Olivia knows the only way to legal status in present-day America is through marriage, but struggles to find the right person to accept her offer.

Green-card marriages also cost money. Olivia takes a job as a live-in caregiver for Olga (Lynn Cohen), an elderly Russian woman living in Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach neighborhood. She soon finds a love interest in her client’s grandson Alex (Australian actor Eamon Farren), and her future seems solidified. Or is it? As anxiety about deportation mounts, Olivia strives to maintain autonomy in a world that continually rejects her.

The slow, meditative nature of Lingua Franca has already found fans on Letterboxd. “Trans narratives are so often couched in dramatic twists and turns, but here we get something so much more gentle,” writes Connor. Sandoval’s turn as a woman searching for her truth while existing at the intersections of marginalization is also hitting home. “This is the hardest I’ve been struck by a performance since Jeon Do-yeon’s masterful display in Lee Chang-dong’s Secret Sunshine back in 2007,” writes Joshua. “I really cannot believe this is Isabel’s first performance and I certainly believe that it won’t be her last.”

Sandoval instinctively injects concepts of immigration, loneliness, and displacement throughout Lingua Franca in a way that doesn’t overwhelm, but does force deep empathy. “Artfully plays with a lot of themes at once,” agrees Letterboxd member Oluwatayo.

Merriam-Webster’s definition of ‘lingua franca’—“something resembling a common language”—can be interpreted in various ways. For Sandoval, she aims to create her own common language of ion, pain and new beginnings. With migrant workers sharing a common language of homesickness in every corner of the world, I had to ask why she chose New York to be the setting for this emotional drama.

That’s not an easy thing to accomplish in a New York movie, yet you manage to do that with such patience and quiet and subtlety. I was shocked. But, you know, New York is not all crazy. There are places that are quiet.
Exactly! Especially in Brooklyn. I wanted to capture the different worlds that exist block to block in the film.

Your movie deals with a lot of themes: family, immigration and romance…
I’m always drawn to stories with a socio-political point of view about women who are marginalized and forced to make intensely personal decisions. French filmmaker Jean Cocteau once said: “Filmmakers make the same movie over and over”. As you progress and make more films, and you’re being involved as a storyteller, you’re beginning to polish; your style becomes more evident and sophisticated. That’s just the story I felt attached to because it was one I was ionate about and it was the right time to create it.

How do you feel about being embraced by the film community, both domestically and abroad? Tribeca, Locarno, SXSW and Venice are among the festivals that have premiered your films.
It’s vindicating to me. My first feature film shot and produced in the US screened internationally, but, with Lingua Franca, it’s come full circle. I think critics now embrace and know that I have a voice and a sensibility that’s worth exploring more. They want to involve a filmmaker with different views, especially in an industry where you need to conform to certain formulas and certain group things in of how we approach certain issues or certain things or certain ideas. It truly makes me feel independent.

Art-house film and cinema has long been associated, or at least for the last fifteen years, with really gritty, social-realist drama. I’ve received reviews of my film that criticize it for not being romantic enough. My film captures emotions that are not easy, obvious and straightforward. I’m not the type of filmmaker that is into crowd-pleasing and I think that resonates with audiences.

You are the director, the star, the editor, and the producer of Lingua Franca. How did you stay organized enough to manage all of those tasks?
I have one job and that is to make a film and tell a story. I had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish, and honestly, it’s me being a stubborn auteur.

What do you think is the must-see Filipino film, classic or new?
[Peque Gallaga’s] Oro, Plata, Mata, which came out in 1982. It is a multi-generational tale set in central Philippines. It’s just a sprawling, dramatic epic, and it’s one of the films that made me want to be a filmmaker. It’s not the most technically polished film, but it takes risks narratively. At the end of the day, it’s not about how big the production is. It’s your willingness to be expansive and explorative as a filmmaker that counts.

What do you consider the sexiest film you’ve ever seen?
Out of Sight by Steven Soderbergh.

Out of Sight?! I did not see that coming.
Yes! That film doesn’t have any sex scene, but it’s the level of seduction for me. I think sensuality is not necessarily a physical encounter between bodies, but the patience and longing of the moment.

What is your all-time favorite comfort film?
A League of Their Own by Penny Marshall. That was the first movie that I saw where I bawled in the last ten minutes of the film.

If I were doing a triple feature with Lingua Franca, what two films would you recommend to watch before or after?
I would recommend Ali: Fear Eats the Soul by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, which is another interracial love story between a German woman and a Moroccan immigrant. The other one would be Two Lovers by James Gray, which is set by the beach.

Spoiler warning: The final two questions concern aspects of the film’s ending.

I thought the ending of your film was powerful, because we’re right back at the beginning of Olivia’s journey. Sometimes things don’t work out and you have to pick up the pieces and move forward.
Exactly! I also wanted to make a point that even though we are focusing on Olivia, I pulled the camera back to highlight bigger sociological themes. She is one of many immigrants in the script and their fates are not resolved by the end of this movie. I wanted that to be a subtle reminder this type of thing becomes cyclical. Life goes on, it’s just another day. Olivia is a displaced immigrant woman in America where Trump is president. Whereas Olga, who’s Ukranian-Jewish, left her home country fifty or sixty years ago in the aftermath of the Holocaust. I wanted people to see this connection.

Based on the meaning of ‘lingua franca’, was that your original choice or for the title? The definition really fits the story.
The film is an invitation to the audience to really pay closer attention to language—the language of things said and unsaid. That probably was also a big point of decision for me to open and close the film with words in Tagalog, which is my native language. A lot of people have asked “why didn’t Olivia accept the marriage proposal?” at the end of the film. Sure, that would’ve been practical, but I invite the audience to look at the language between Alex and Olivia. I challenge them to look beyond Olivia as just an immigrant without papers or as a trans woman looking for love, but this is a woman who is taking her agency back and her ability to determine her life moving forward.