Road Trips

Y Tu Mamá También

Smokey and the Bandit

Well, dear reader, the weather is only getting warmer (in my neck of the backwoods, at least) and while I am a Winter bitch, the beginning of Summer is always exciting. Before the heat goes to my head and ruins my life for five to six months out of the year, I love making plans for the Summer. One of those hare-brained schemes that always seems to comes up (even if I don’t follow through) is the idea of a road trip. In theory, road trips are my favorite kinds of trips because you don’t have to set foot in an airport, you can tailor your itinerary anyway you want, and the destinations for visiting are only limited by the confines of the continent you live in. Texas is so persistently large that even in-state road trips are lengthy, but my childhood was full of fun but long roadtrips that spanned all over the South. As with any kind of trip, though, it’s not about the destination, but the journey, and who you spend it with. Both of tonight’s films are centered around road trips, both have bizarre instances of sexual tension, and both really prove that even if you’re on a road to nowhere, all you need is a good crew to keep things exciting (and to keep the driver awake.) Up first was Alfonso Cuarón’s highly-acclaimed Mexican road adventure from 2001: Y Tu Mamá También. This is a film that appears on many lists, not just “Best Road Trip Films” but “Sexiest Films” (and this critic believes it should be regarded as one of the “Best Weed Films”), so, clearly, it contains multitudes. Y Tu Mamá También (aka And Your Mother Too) follows working-class Julio (Gael García Bernal) and upper-class Tenoch (Diego Luna, in a cunty lil puka shell necklace), two best friends who’s girlfriends have just ditched them for a Summer vacation in Italy. The film opens with both of these couples respectively having awkward, teenage sex—each one promising their significant others that they will not cheat while they’re away. Julio and Tenoch are some of the horniest individuals ever put to screen, however, so I knew that these would be famous last words. When these two weren’t talking about sex or jerking off side-by-side by the pool, they were smoking weed, partying with their friends, and calling each other “charolastra” which means “space cowboy”. While in the thick of their Summer boredom, Mexico’s political and economic spheres are astronomically shifting, as evidenced by Tenoch’s powerful, politically-corrupt father. Tenoch and Julio can’t be bothered by the history unfolding around them, though, they’re far too distracted by their coming of age, and by Luisa (Maribel Verdú) who they first meet at a big, fancy wedding. Luisa is married to Tenoch’s cousin, Jano, but that doesn’t stop Tenoch and Julio from flirting with Luisa relentlessly. They’re so entranced by Luisa, they stand two inches from her face telling her about a special secluded beach they want to take her to, unabashedly fawning all over her. Luisa radiates beauty and mystique, and her backstory is a delivered by a narrator who consistently builds the lore of each and every character (in a very Amelie-esque fashion) We find out that she’s from Spain, that she’s in her late twenties, that her life has largely been tragic, then shortly after the wedding ends, we find out that Jano has cheated on Luisa. With this revelation, Luisa calls the boys up and takes them up on their (previously fake) offer to go to the beach. Suddenly, the three are off to “Heaven’s Mouth”, a beach that their stoner friend likely made up, and their adventure really begins. Y Tu Mamá También is a proper road trip movie, complete with riveting car conversations, visiting slices of life along the route, and imbued with playful yet wistful antics. Luisa enjoys hearing about the boys’ petty social drama, the way their lives revolve around hedonism, and their bizarre, vaguely homoerotic hang-ups with one another. In her everyday life, Luisa is not respected by her husband, and they move in circles where no one cares to hear from her. But in this car, with these freshly-graduated, hyper-horny dudes, Luisa is the wisest, most interesting subject imaginable. I loved the way these car conversations were filmed, how appreciative Luisa was of the boys and how they “embellished their own personal mythologies” for her listening pleasure. Along their trip we see tiny little cafes and hotels, sandy beach bars, stunning sunsets, and some people who are only passing by but leave quite the impression. Luisa is feeling reasonably conflicted when she gets moments of alone time in the hotel(s)—this trip is transformative and educational to these boys, but for Luisa, there is a mix of excitement and rebellion with regret and confusion. One day, at one particular hotel, Luisa sleeps with Tenoch, much to the butthurt of Julio. Within moments of Julio finding out, their friendship is in shambles. And when Luisa and Julio eventually sleep together, too, things only become more complicated. I hesitate to mention too much more about this plot because there are several more bombshells left that are best to be discovered on your own. This movie is as wholesome as a sexy movie can get, but it was also, quite sexy. I’ll admit that at first I questioned why this film is revered as hot, when all I saw before me were some baby-faced dudes comparing dick sizes. But once Luisa opens their world up, and they’re able to speak candidly about their desires without fear of shame, Y Tu Mamá También takes a severe turn for the sexy. This movie is full of good Mexican and American music, a good cast, and like all good road trip movies, it’s full of good and bad luck. This isn’t just the story of how Luisa got her groove back, nor is it merely a story of people coming of age with a hot older guide, Y Tu Mamá También is the reflection of a culture changing. As this article explains far better than I could, Y Tu Mamá También is a seductive, exciting, transformative film that manages to capture the bizarre intersection of teenagehood and adulthood, in a way that doesn’t cheapen or scandalize the experience (a la American Pie.) While there are copious amounts of toxic masculinity here, this wasn’t glorified, nor was it simplified. If more teenage boys were able to have an unforgettable summer road trip with their bros where they were able to discuss sex and adulthood without being embarrassed, I believe the world would be a better place. Y Tu Mamá También does the difficult job of both romanticizing and demystifying sex, effectively curating a tone that was both brightly whimsical and darkly sincere. It illustrated the simple yet complex fact that life, love, sex, friendships, road trips can all be so fleeting, but not without meaning. Another film that accomplished this, albeit with far less sincerity, was Hal Needham’s 1977 road trip classic: Smokey and the Bandit. This is one of those movies who’s name is so well-known, so oft-referenced by baby boomers, and is so confusingly-beloved that I couldn’t wait any longer to check it out myself. Smokey and the Bandit follows Bo “Bandit” Darville (Burt Reynolds) and Cledus “Snowman” Snow (singer Jerry Reed), two friends who live in Atlanta and are challenged (to the tune of $80 grand) to smuggle 400 cases of Coors beer from Texarkana back to Atlanta. If this sounds like a dumb plot, that’s because it kind of is, but it is also, based in more truth than you’d think. Coors was once a regional product that was illegal in many states. As this article states: “It was made in Colorado, but because it wasn’t pasteurized and contained no preservatives, shipping could get a little tricky. Coors didn’t get national distribution until 1986. Which is why, in the 1970s, Coors wasn’t actually licensed to sell east of the Mississippi, making it, briefly, a rare and sought-after product. (Time Magazine states that Gerald Ford, Eisenhower, and Paul Newman hoarded the stuff.)” Hollywood stuntman Hal Needham wasn’t much of a beer-drinker (a man after my own heart) but when he was on the set of the film Gator he was gifted a case of illegal Coors. Little by little, beers would go missing from his trailer, which made Hal realize how coveted this product was, and how smuggling this beer might just make a fun premise for a movie. So, naturally, Hal wrote a script, and despite his roommate Burt Reynolds saying the dialogue sucked, got the film made, and the result is one of the best bro movies of all time. The only thing more fun than a road trip movie is an “on-the-run” roadtrip movie, and Smokey and the Bandit took this task and ran with it—with a great cast, catchy original music (by Snowman aka Jerry Reed), and some wildly dangerous stunts. The Snowman drives the rig full of illegal beer while Bandit drives a flashy, speedy Trans Am in front, as to distract the cops (or smokeys) from catching on to what they’re doing. The car tricks and stunts in this movie fluctuate between death-defying and absurdly goofy, and this critic couldn’t help wondering how none of that beer managed to spill during this trip. During this time, and also because of this movie, CB radio usage became very popular among the American populace. This movie demonstrates a lot of the fun that can be had with CB radios, from using codenames aka handles, to going through the proper language you use while communicating with truckers on the road. We learn much of these vocab terms along with runaway bride Carrie (Sally Field) who’s hitchhiking as far away from Texarkana as possible when Bandit rolls by. I mostly know Sally Field from her dramatic roles in Norma Rae, Steel Magnolias, and Forrest Gump, but she got her start in comedies like this one, and manages to be a memorable comedic presence to this day. Because they’re making such good time Bandit decides to pick Carrie up and take her on his cross-country smuggle tour, much to the town Sheriff and his son, the groom’s, chagrin. Thus begins a South-spanning manhunt for Bandit and the runaway bride, where a ruthlessly hilarious Sheriff (Jackie Gleason) and his son (Mike Henry [the football player not the voice actor]) are in pursuit. The action in Smokey and the Bandit takes off instantly and the humor is painfully 1977 which means (unfortunately) that I was laughing. Much like Y Tu Mamá También, Smokey and the Bandit features lots of shenanigans that take place on dirt roads off the beaten path, but unlike Y Tu Mamá También, this movie’s commentary on toxic masculinity was not intentional—nor were its bizarre depictions of human sexuality. Smokey and the Bandit is 90 minutes of pure, silly, fun at 110 mph that really spends its time proving that “fuck the police” is a universal and timeless phrase. I wanted to see this movie, not just to see what all the fuss was about, but to finally put a face to the Burt Reynolds impression that Norm MacDonald used to do on SNL’s Celebrity Jeopardy. I’m not sure why but Burt Reynolds, in all his mustachioed glory, will never compare to this caricature of him—for this critic, at least. I hope you enjoyed these very different excursions into road trip cinema, and before you take off on your next car adventure: remember to buckle your seatbelt, keep an eye out for smokeys, and try not to get into any life-changing love triangles. Beep beep~