Y tu mamá también (And Your Mother Too, 2001)

Alfonso Cuarón

Mexico

105 min, color, Spanish (English subtitles)

Perhaps the most charming and appealing thing about this film is the feeling of "being real" (for lack of a better description). I don't know Spanish but judging from the translation, these guys speak the way normal teenagers speak, they have the concerns, sometimes shallow, sometimes profound, we all did, and there's nary a hint of artifice in them. Mexico is a lot like Bulgaria in ways too numerous to list, and I felt at home with this film.

The stunning metaphor of the actual existence of "Heaven's Mouth" provides one of the pivotal themes in the movie. It is as if the powerful desires of the two boys willed it into existence. They set out on a trip that had no destination, only a vague purpose of flirting, and if lucky, sleeping, with Luisa. However, the same powerful desires led them on a voyage in which they found more than they expected, they found things they were not looking for consciously, things both beautiful and repellent. The strong touch of "reality" also comes in their inability to face up to the realizations they encounter, much like many others would. In the end, there is no resolution, the trip becomes a part of their lives that will gradually fade away but never quite disappear, much like the memories of the 95 year old woman.

The film is a funny road story, laced with a strong doze of witty social criticism, and wrapped in a sexy envelope, a mix that makes for one sharp presentation. Cuarón has an eye for the fascinating, and a subtle way of getting the audience to care about the characters without really serving any outrageously moving or pathetic scenes. In a way, we care about them because they are human. The narration by Daniel Gimenez Cacho frightened me at first, mostly because I thought it would be didactic, and a cheap way of "steering" my emotions, a device I am invariably opposed to. As it turned out, the narration, which tells us things we cannot see and that mostly appear peripheral to the action, is an excellent supplement, critiquing without saying so Mexican traditions and social behavior. (Again, for me the impact was enormous because Bulgarian ways are so similar.)

Cuarón alternates the scenes between funny, almost comedic banter among the three, with gloom and a sense of impending doom, as he insists on showing dead bodies, or talk about people and animals killed in road accidents. Once in a while, a character would blurt out a startling confession smack in the middle of a light-hearted chat (as in Luisa's talk about the death of her boyfriend).

The most important events come wihtout premonition and without much dramatic buildup, seemingly out of the blue. Thus, Julio's confession about him bedding Tenoch's girlfriend came after Tenoch fucked Luisa and then let him win their customary underwater race. Although the immediate cause was perhaps anger, one cannot help but notice (as the movie develops) that this was no accident. The more we learn about the two friends, the more we realize that their friendship is impossible. It's the same reason that makes Tenoch lift the toilet seat with his foot when visiting Julio's house and that makes Julio light matches to get rid of the smell when going to the bathroom at Tenoch's.

There is, however, another, a third world of misery and poverty, and the threesome blithely cruises through it, unaware and ignoring everything around them. The road trip is not exactly a journey through pristine wilderness. Instead, we see filth scattered everywhere, police checkpoints, drug busts, road blocks for the purpose of extorting money from passing cars, slums, and deaths. In short, we see the backbone of Mexico's economic development. Yet, curiously enough, none of this seems to bother any of the characters. It is normal, part of their lives, not once to they comment on the surrounding, even when a jeep with armed police passes them by or when Tenoch realizes that they are passing his nanny's village (which she had left at 13 in order to make a living). Consumed by their personal problems and passions, neither is aware that larger, more important, and more tragic events occur around them. It does not help Julio much to have an activist sister. It is thing silent indictment that makes Cuarón's statement much less heavy-handed and more poignant.

Luisa is the thread that holds the film together as she teases, challenges, and comes to dominate the two boys. There is some premonition about her unhappy life in the visit to the doctor's office, when she takes a test in a glossy magazine that accuses her of being afraid to live, and then goes into the room with the doctor closing the door behind her, surely a sign of awful news. We never learn what this news is (until the end of the film that is) but seeing her on the verge of crying right before her husband calls to make a drunken confession is another strong hint that her acceptance of the boys' offer will be anything but a simple desire for revenge for his promiscuity. Looking back to the film with the knowledge of the end is another way to appreciate Cuarón's delightful double-meaning scenes, in which Luisa weeps alone in motel rooms and in a phone booth. Having been permitted to see only what the director wanted us to see, I admit to misinterpreting these scenes much like anyone else would: as sadness over the breakup of the marriage. This they are not. They are the tears of someone who is trying desperately to live and yet has the courage to do it alone.

In the end, Y tu mamá también turns out to be a complex film with many parallel stories. Clearly, Cuarón has much to say about contemporary Mexico, about adolescents, about love, sex, and the first discoveries of life. He is a gifted director too, and so his sharp observant eye (he co-wrote the script with his brother) is tremendously aided by the skillful visuals.

I would object vehemently to characterizing this film as a 'road movie' or a 'teenage drama' for this brings up unpleasant associations with recent Hollywood puke-a-tons. The problem is that Hollywood cannot say much about the lives of young people without getting rid of the MPAA straightjacket. I cannot imaging being able to sit through another two hours of stupid chat about sex, cum jokes, or hints of things to come (e.g. as in all of these) knowing full well that the creators either have nothing to say or that even if they wanted to say it, the result would be stifled by the R rating, and made bland, artificial, and ultimately disgusting because of the pretense. I am almost positive that the repressive nature of these ratings leave many healthy American youths as conflicted and depressed about their sexuality as the 17th century Puritans with their Bible-thumping obsessions.

October 28, 2002