The Evolving Landscape of Alfonso Cuarón's Mexico: Y Tu Mamá También and Roma

Sarah Shahid explores the reality of Mexico’s political landscape and the significance of the human experience within Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También (2001) and the semi-auto biographical film Roma (2018) 

This article contains spoilers for Y tu mamá también and Roma.

“Life is like the surf, so give yourself to the sea.”

These are the last words of Luisa Cortes (Maribel Verdú), to the two teenage boys that have courted her over the span of a roadtrip built on lies and camaraderie. By the end of this trip, the boys, Julio (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna) lose not only their relationship but also Luisa, who passes away to cancer shortly after their departure from the fictional Mexican beach: Heaven’s Mouth. 

This is the sad reality of Alfonso Cuarón’s 2001 cult classic Y tu mamá también, which deceptively starts off with youthful notions of living life to the fullest, embodied through the ‘Charolastra Manifesto’, a set of rules created by the boys and their friends. Though the manifesto is composed of 11 rules, the one that essentially evokes its spirit is rule number two: do whatever you feel like. And this idea is treated as gospel by Tenoch and Julio, who shamelessly cheat, smoke, and lie their way through life. The boys are discontent with simply having girlfriends, no, they must sleep with other girls, but no, other girls are not simply enough, they must be each other’s girlfriends. 

This betrayal is one of many that shakes the foundations of their friendship, but the cracks were already there, far beneath the surface where neither Julio nor Tenoch dared to look. 

You see, though Julio and Tenoch are friends, they exist in different social spheres, with the former being middle-class whilst the latter exists within the upper echelons of society, even having familial ties with the governing party of Mexico. This awkward, unspoken line between the two is one that Cuarón seeks to navigate in more than just Y tu mamá también, though perhaps this subtlety is not mirrored in his 2018 semi-auto biographical film, Roma. 

Unlike middle-class Julio, Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) is an Indigenous (Mixtec) live-in-maid for an upper-middle class family in Mexico City during the seventies. Her position within the social ladder is far below her employers and the protagonists of Cuarón’s earlier work. This pronounced difference is clearly felt in every aspect of Roma, though the film is almost surprisingly empty of any brazen class commentary. 

Perhaps owing to its semi-autobiographical nature, Cuarón is more interested in exploring the joys and miseries that find Cleo in her everyday life. According to Cuarón, Roma was inspired by his own earlier childhood experiences in Mexico. The fictional Cleo modelled off a real-life counterpart that left a vivid impression on Cuarón’s mind. This sentimental connection to his earlier life explains the film’s emphasis on Cleo’s familial bond with her employer’s children, who are mirrored after Cuarón and his three siblings. Without listing every similarity between the two, the narrative links are quite clearly intentional, something the director himself admits to in a Variety interview. 

This dramatised portrait of his life lends itself to an easier exploration of the inherent humanity within a character like Cleo. Though it would be tempting to extract a socio-political agenda from a Mixtec maid in the seventies, Cuarón chooses to subvert expectations by filming her at work, or during dates out to the movies, or watching a martial arts demonstration, or celebrating the approaching new year with fellow domestic workers. 

Cleo works, develops feelings, gets pregnant, is rejected by the father of her unborn child, takes care of children that are not hers, miscarries, and eventually ends up back where she started. Nothing changes, except everything does. By losing ‘everything’, she gains something invaluable: the familial love that was her’s all along. 

In entirely different circumstances, Tenoch and Julio experience a similar exchange when they momentarily lose their boyish friendship after their deception to one another is revealed. Only for their bond to evolve as the false facade between the two finally falls away to reveal the undeniable sexual tension lurking underneath. Hiding behind the excessive machismo was a ‘shameful’ secret neither character wished to acknowledge, until Luisa’s actions propelled them into shadowed intimacy. 

Yet at the end of it all, neither one of the boys can comfortably return to their shared idea of normalcy after being irrevocably changed by Luisa’s presence. So they must part ways, and grow into the very adults they once detested, exchanging their desires for the safety of heteronormativity.

It is interesting, then, that, despite the central focus on the human experience, both films still engage with the political reality of life in Mexico. Cleo is caught up in a student protest when buying a pram for her unborn child, a situation that quickly turns into chaos and directly leads to her miscarriage. People are seen mourning their dead on the streets, as violent counter protestors go around with guns for the sole purpose of shooting protestors. Politics is not something that a character like Cleo has the luxury to glance away from. It impacts her everyday life.

Though it might not be Cuarón’s biggest concern, the sociopolitical elements are still present in Y tu mamá también, largely explored through the inclusion of an omniscient narrator. Cuarón’s use of external narration within the film is innovative and feels disruptive every time it appears, pulling viewers out of the physical and visible into the forgotten and unsaid. The narration is not limited to simple descriptors of historical events or contextual clues but is also there to explore dynamics within the trio and secrets that are seldom acknowledged by anyone on screen. 

It is fitting for the political landscape of Mexico to be shoved to the backburner, as none of the characters are particularly concerned about the ongoing demonstrations and protests. Following their ‘Charolastra Manifesto’, they are living life recklessly as teenage boys are so often expected to do. Yet this apathy extends beyond the governing body and into their own lives. And is it really a surprise how this film ends the way that it does, when the act of ‘meaningful’ rebellion would require Tenoch and Julio to betray the status-quo and sacrifice the safety provided by machismo?

REFERENCES

Trejos, Coco. “Y Tu Mamá También and the Confines of Machismo.” Film Cred, https://film-cred.com/y-tu-mama-tambien-alfonso-cuaron-masculinity/. Accessed 28 August 2024.

“How Alfonso Cuarón shot ‘Roma’s’ Beach scene in one take.” YouTube, uploaded by Variety, 20 February 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8BanE_LKMQ&t=149s