Directed by Alfonso Cuarón. Written by Carlos Cuarón and Alfonso Cuarón
Life in its heady youthful exuberance and wistful impermanence is laid bare in Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También, the story of two teen boys and a woman who take a road trip to the beach before they must get on with the rest of their lives.
Tenoch and Julio live in that magical time in between school and university. Their girlfriends are off together in Europe, so they’re making the most of the summer to the extent their limited teen boy imagination will let them: fantasizing about women, enjoying the weather, smoking weed. They basically can’t stop smiling; life is good when you’re young, privileged, and honed in on the greatest of all teen boy passions once discovered: getting laid.
Tenoch and Julio fuck the way the first fish to move onto land flopped around. Gasping, in love with this new world, taking every step like it’s both the first and last they’ll ever get to experience. Their partners even get to experience that passion for all of 10 seconds.
It’s thankfully not as crass and tunnel-visioned but Y Tu Mamá También is in love with life the same enthusiastic way. It runs its hands over it, caresses it, holds it tight every second of every scene. It has wanderlust, open glee and excitement about what the future holds, ready for it to come around the corner and reveal itself.
That’s the allure that draws you in, but Y Tu Mamá También is not all daydream. As much a critique of an unequal Mexico in the grips of a corrupt regime and transitioning economy, the horndog adventures of Tenoch and Julio take place against a backdrop of menial workers struggling, fishermen being displaced to make room for glitzy hotel resorts, and rural poverty these two boys cannot conceive of. And then there’s Ana López Mercado as Ana, Tenoch’s cousin-in-law who wants to head to the beach for existential reasons similarly beyond the boys’ grasp.
The performances by Diego Luna and Gael García Bernal as Tenoch and Julio respectively are pitch-perfect. Giddy, goofy, and volatile the way boys are in the throes of hormones of every stripe. In their bumbling behaviour and uncouth manners, they’re exasperating. In their portrayal of youth unencumbered, they’re beautiful.
But it’s Mercado who provides the firm hands keeping this flighty kite soaring. As amusing Tenoch and Julio are, two hours in their company would be too much for anyone to bear and would reduce Y Tu Mamá También to mere satire. Mercado, on the other hand, must do something much more nuanced as a woman racked with longing, grief for what was, and appreciation for what still is.
Life washes over Tenoch and Julio and it rolls right off their backs. Ana, with newfound appreciation for what life offers, provides an entirely different context to Cuarón’s movie and opens it up to become a poignant depiction of life in all its beauty and transience.
Together, this threesome of performances drive Y Tu Mamá También forward and once you arrive at its destination, you’ll have experienced something equal parts intoxicating and sobering, a mercurial cocktail with a poignant sense of clarity about life and its twists waiting at the bottom of the glass.
Mikkel Frederiksen 