This lively, powerful drama centers on a transgender woman in her late-20s who is also an undocumented Mexican immigrant living in New York City. Tina (Carlie Guevara) gets by as a driver, shares an apartment in Queens with her grandmother Eliana (Miriam Cruz), and has started the screening process to eventually transition, which necessitates meeting regularly with a therapist (Ed Asner).

Tina already has plenty going on with her life, but what sets it in a new direction is activism. After hearing about an incident of police brutality, she joins local advocates and other transgender women, rabble-rousing alongside them and even ending up on television. Tina also lands a boyfriend, Jason (Alex Cruz), whom she has been romantically involved with for two years, although he has avoided being seen in public with her all this time. A more promising romantic option, or so it seems at first, might be Chris (Anthony Abdo), a shy bodega worker with whom she occasionally engages in friendly banter.

First-time feature director Flavio Alves depicts his main protagonist’s existence as challenging and uncertain, but not oppressive. Tina has a loving relationship with Eliana, who not only dotes on her granddaughter but accepts her as she is: Tina needs not make compromises regarding her gender identity at home. In a heartwarming scene, Eliana surreptitiously asks one of Tina’s fellow activists about what she should expect once Tina’s transitioning process begins. If anything, Eliana is more concerned about Tina setting down permanent roots in the United States as she would rather they move back to Mexico.

Other supportive figures in Tina’s life include a local bar owner (Michael Madsen in an all-too-brief appearance), who takes a chance on her as a mixologist. Her one-on-one sessions with the therapist offer a safe space, although he constantly pushes Tina toward self-actualization with questions such as, “Why are you here?” They may seem superficial, but Tina has trouble answering them.

The Garden Left Behind belongs in the coming-of-age category, as Tina takes steps to grow, whether that is physically, emotionally, or politically. Through it all, Alves edits in a fast-paced style that reflects all of the tumult happening in her life, although much like Tina, the film occasionally slows down to catch its breath. (She has a secluded spot that she drives to in order to collect her thoughts and calm her mind). Despite being quite kinetic on a whole, the film is grounded and authentic thanks to gritty details. For example, inside Tina and her abuela’s apartment, we can scarcely make out the neighbors’ baby screaming through the walls.

The casting is uniformly excellent as Guevara (a transgender actress making her feature debut) is instantly sympathetic in the role of Tina. Through her highly expressive performance, we sense the character’s inner conflict regarding love, work, family, her future, and especially the transitioning she faces. Small victories feel euphoric while the disappointments are absolutely devastating.

Meanwhile, as Chris, Abdo undergoes a journey perpendicular to Tina’s, which ultimately becomes like a cautionary tale about toxic masculinity. He finds himself among a group of young alpha males so virulently homophobic as to border on caricature, and for whom the line between sex and violence is blurred. More than once, they verbally harass Tina on the street, and the tone of their wolf whistles sound like a precursor to physical assault. As Chris finds himself increasingly in their world, the more difficult it becomes for him to reconcile his feelings toward Tina, whom he recognizes as transgender.

Overall, the film successfully balances grit with heart and humanity. If I had any quibbles, it would be that the activism story line becomes a little buried. At one point, Tina’s fellow #TransLivesMatter activists congratulate her for important contributions to the cause, but it’s unclear exactly what they are. Meanwhile, the sudden, gut-wrenching tonal shift during the last half hour threatens to leave viewers feeling inexorably broken, although it’s a nod to the harsh reality transgender women of color face at present. Alves lets us not forget we’re living through some of the deadliest times to be transgender as well as black or brown.