Film Review: Kokomo City
Ama Will takes us through the thoughts and feels brought on by the women of Kokomo City.
A review of documentary film, Kokomo City, about Atlanta’s trans sex workers through the lives of Koko Da Doll, Dominique Silver, Daniella Carter and Liyah Michelle. Released in April 2023.
by Ama Will
D. Smith bursts onto the scene brimming with confidence and flair with her debut film, Kokomo City. An unorthodox and outstandingly unparalleled documentary film, Smith presents an exquisite illumination of the lives of four trans women who navigate sex work in New York and Atlanta. I watched the film on a friend's recommendation and was unprepared to be bowled over by the searingly honest accounts of four women whose stories touch on the contradiction and complexity encountered by trans women in sex work. At times stylistic choices like the musical overlays in 'awkward' scenes are obvious and we've seen them before. However, it is the raw and unfiltered direction by Smith that transforms the women- Daniella Carter, Dominique Silver, Koko Da Doll and Liyah Mitchell- into powerful storytellers and stars of their own reality.
“Smith invites us to be both the guest and voyeur of a nighttime world filled with sex, glamour, love, and humour.”
Captured in crisp black-and-white and switching between bedrooms, bathrooms, and inner-city locations like the strip club, watching Kokomo City feels like a brief rendezvous with a city's underbelly. Smith invites us to be both the guest and voyeur of a nighttime world filled with sex, glamour, love, and humour. While the violence, a devastating reality for each of the women, remains expectant and foreboding in the shadows. The soundtrack adds to the soul of the film, ranging from Tennessee Pistols' 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’ to Randy Crawford’s ‘Streetlife’. Smith's masterful score is a testament to her experience as a former music producer. Other stylistic choices border on avant-garde. and this creative freedom coincides with Smith as director, producer, shooter, editor, and cinematographer.
The interviewees are often filmed from obscurely low angles, untypical of documentary-style films. The camera moves freely, at times with the women, other times trailing off. It carries a sense of familiarity yet, at the same time, a subtle reluctance, as if we are being invited to glimpse into the interviewees' lives on their own terms. One of the stars, Daniella Carter, speaks to us from the bath, wearing her bonnet, while Dominique Silver smokes sultrily from her bed in a silk nightgown. The soft sleepover feel adds to the unfiltered, candid girl-to-girl briskness of the conversation. In the opening scene of the film, Liyah Mitchell recounts a harrowing time. Sensing her life was in danger, she shot-to-kill a client with their gun, only to find it was unloaded. Following a physical struggle, she escaped from the building with her life. Giggling and folded into her duvet, Liyah recalls that after vowing never to do sex work again. She and the client reintroduced themselves deciding to have sex once more. Liyah’s casual delivery of the terrifying event serves as a stark reminder to the audience that danger is an everyday reality for trans women in sex work.
At times, the humorous anecdotes and deadpan quips reminded me of the iconic queer documentary film Paris Is Burning (1990). The film was subject to criticism surrounding the director Livingston’s identity as a white middle-class lesbian and her appropriation of black ballroom culture. Kokomo City is pioneering because D. Smith, a black transgender woman, spotlights the nuances of existing as a black trans woman specifically within black communities. Making a bold choice, Smith includes interviews with cis-gendered men. Two guys from the hood hang out and smoke through their car windows, discussing views on homophobia and the inability of men to openly express their attraction to transgender women. In a stunning observation, one of the interviewees comments that closeted cisgender men haven't made the same jump in acceptance mentally as trans women have physically. Lo, a renowned producer and songwriter, openly acknowledges his attraction to a transgender woman, as his feelings evolve over the course of the film, Keenly emphasises that he would only sleep with her if she had transitioned 'fully'.On the other hand, Koko Da Doll is certain in her conviction that many clients look specifically for “big dick girls.” Interwoven between comedic and, on occasion, corny reenactment scenes Kokomo City exposes the undeniable yet awkward symbiosis between desire and homophobia in black cis-gendered communities.
“Each girl is a powerhouse, and in a brief runtime of 73 minutes, we are gifted a snapshot of their dreams, fears, secrets, and social commentary that is truly iconic.”
Each girl is a powerhouse, and in a brief runtime of 73 minutes, we are gifted a snapshot of their dreams, fears, secrets, and social commentary that is truly iconic. Daniella’s words, both poetic and witty, carry an urgency that reaches out to grab the audience and shake them by the shoulders. She flits between the fetishization and exploitation of trans women by men, the exclusion of trans women by black cis women, and her quest to reclaim a sense of value. Koko Da Doll is honest about the transactional nature of sex work: "Pay me and get the fuck outta my face.” In a moment of vulnerability, she reveals that sex work was a means of survival. Being forcibly unhoused with limited education, she learned to read and write while mastering her craft. All have dreams of leaving sex work and pursuing paths where they can live true to themselves. At the outro of the film, Smith captures a portrait-like shot of Dominique Silver that is breathtaking in its beauty. I will forgo giving a detailed description so as not to steal a moment from the pinnacle of the film. One which effortlessly encapsulates the empowerment of women in complete control of their narratives. Gather your girlfriends, guy friends, and they/thems-Kokomo City is a marvel to be enjoyed in the company of community.
Written in dedication to Koko Da Doll, who was murdered shortly after the premiere of the film, and in solidarity with our trans family who are fighting for the right to exist freely without oppression.