A Prophet With Honour

If I were to tell you that the movie of the year (admittedly, we are still only in January) is a prison drama, you might be forgiven for groaning at the thought of the numerous convict clichés, the jailhouse conventions that have become all too familiar: humiliating strip searches, simmering racial tensions, corrupt authorities, rampant drug use, violent beatings, etc, etc. It’s a (concrete) jungle in there! And yes, the French crime thriller “A Prophet” does contain all these old chestnuts, but this compelling tale forcefully takes you to a more imaginative place. Although it feels familiar, it’s a wholly original piece of work – the sort of thing you’ve seen before, but rarely done so well. Directed by the celebrated Jacques Audiard, this is an exhilarating, gripping film that will surely become a classic of the crime genre, taking its place alongside modern greats like “Scarface” and, whisper it gently, “The Godfather”.

“Un Prophète”, as they say the other side of La Manche, details the prison career of Malik el Djebena (played by impressive newcomer Tahar Rahim), a 19-year-old French lawbreaker of North African origin. Sentenced to six years, the new inmate tries to keep his head down, but the leader of the ruling Corsican gang, César (played with terrifying intensity by Niels Arestrup) makes him an offer that he literally can’t refuse. Caught between a (jailhouse) rock and a hard place, Malik is forced to murder a prisoner called Reyeb, who had offered him drugs in return for sex, but more importantly to the Corsicans is a potential witness against their crimes. As a result of this “bloody deed”, Malik comes under the protection of the Corsicans, gaining their trust and slowly, but surely, learning the ins and outs of their illicit operations. As the increasing numbers of Arabs in the prison begin to make their presence felt, Malik’s Muslim background enables him to also discreetly build networks with their gang.

"Warming the bench"

Captured with a cold-eyed clarity and a total lack of sensationalism, this is a hard-edged, painfully realistic portrayal of the brutal life within the dangerous prison corridors, the gritty authenticity ensured by the inclusion of non-professionals and former convicts in the excellent cast. Its lack of sentimentality brings to mind another Cannes favourite, the acclaimed Mafia movie, “Gomorrah”. Unflinchingly direct in the way it describes the constant struggle for survival that pervades the prison atmosphere, the film is equally as good at dissecting the various ways that power is obtained and manifested as it is in detailing the mind-numbing rituals and routines during the period of incarceration. There is a matter-of-fact, even cynical, approach to the corruption of the prison guards. In this dog-eat-dog world, it is taken for granted that the prison is actually run by a select band of dominant inmates, by dint of backhanders in both senses of the word.

Like “Taxi Driver”, the ever-present threat of violence explodes into vicious action in an unforgettable sequence of shocking brutality that will cause the most jaded observer to wince. The “cut him, Razors” moment comes when Malik uses a razorblade, uncomfortably hidden in his mouth, to slash the throat of the gay informant Reyeb. What makes this distressing scene even more uncomfortable is that Reyeb is the only prisoner to have shown Malik anything resembling kindness in the early days of his detainment, but Malik knows that if he doesn’t execute the Corsicans’ order, then his days will be numbered.

"Stick to your guns"

However, this film is so much more than a prison drama, with Audiard blending American toughness with a European documentary slant plus a host of stylistic flourishes, so that it also works as a gripping thriller and an unusually thoughtful social commentary. Much of the movie runs on a sense of sheer dread, as Malik walks an ever-lengthening tightrope, merely to stay alive. Constantly pushing against the bars of the standard jailhouse production, the director inexorably builds the tension within the walls, every frame loaded with menace, from the first lonely walk in the menacing prison yard to the work with the industrial sewing machines.

Most of the film is set within the claustrophobic confines of the penitentiary, but as the story develops, Malik is allowed to venture into the outside world via a series of day releases, which affords some relief to the growing feeling of apprehension. When Malik takes a plane for the first time on a flight to Marseille, we share his childish delight at the new experience, though his prison habits are never far from the surface, opening his mouth when scanned by security and grabbing several croissants when the trolley dolly walks past. However, life is just as dangerous on the outside, a stunning gunfight in a 4x4 being proof of that.

"Ready, Steady, Cook"

Echoing the slow-burning epic transformation of “The Godfather”, we accompany Malik on a mesmerising transformation from gauche young inmate to cunning criminal overlord. Originally happy to barely survive, Malik begins to cockily thrive, with his determined journey from a humiliated outsider wholly out of his depth to the very top of the criminal hierarchy reminiscent of “Scarface”. It’s not just the changing facial hair that marks out the young man’s development. Malik’s transition is total (physical, emotional and even spiritual) – he enters prison as a scared loner and leaves it an entirely changed character, quite literally scarred by the experience.

It’s an extremely aggressive awakening, with Malik’s rise through the underworld ranks stained with cruelty, as he negotiates his way through a treacherous maze of uneasy alliances, constantly adapting to new situations, always on the look-out for opportunities to build his own empire. Although the film is very long at 2 ½ hours, the leisurely pace is fully justified to do justice to Malik’s depraved development. In the early scenes, his nakedness emphasises his vulnerability, his eyes anxiously darting around him as he takes in the grim surroundings, but he leaves the prison with the jaunty walk of the Bee Gees singing the entirely appropriate “Staying Alive”.

"There Will Be Blood"

As Malik’s confidence grows, so does the film’s scope, encompassing education and redemption, though there is little of the schmaltzy morality found in another great prison movie “The Shawshank Redemption”. Just before his death, Reyeb dispenses some worldly advice to Malik, “You can’t read, right? It’s not too late. There’s a prison school. You can learn in here. My idea is to leave here a little smarter”. OK, it didn’t work out for him, but his killer takes heed of these wise words and embarks on a highly pragmatic form of self-improvement, a further education that was not available to him on the outside as an illiterate youth with no family or financial support.

As well as formal classes in reading, writing and economics (useful for his adventures in the narcotics business), he also secretly studies the Corsican language, so that he may surreptitiously learn about their dodgy deals. Prison proves an education in every sense, as he begins building valuable links with other members of the criminal fraternity: the soon-to-be-release family man Ryad, the drug-dealing gypsy Jordi (Reda Kateb from the superb French TV series “The Spiral”), and the Muslim brotherhood who he had initially rejected. Essentially, he observes the prison’s inner dynamics and fragile power structures, so that he may exploit them for his own advantage. If nothing else, he realises that everyone will do you a favour, as long as they get something in return.

"Strike a light"

Ironically, crime only begins to pay for Malik after he goes to prison, as he discovers many more opportunities for success than he ever had the other side of the bars. He is locked up for a relatively minor offence, arriving as an impressionable kid, but the harshness of prison life means that he ends up committing far worse crimes than he could have ever imagined, ultimately leaving the premises as a hardened murderer. In fact, everything that he learns only serves to make him a superior criminal, not a better human being.

In the central role of Malik, newcomer Tahar Rahim is a revelation, making his character not only believable, but also as sympathetic as could be, given his homicidal acts. It’s a wonderfully enigmatic performance, first playing the lead with solemn uncertainty, then developing a dumb childish swagger, before maturing into a confident, intelligent man, albeit an extremely violent man, before our eyes. As befits somebody keeping his head down, it’s an understated portrayal with little dialogue, though there’s real depth here, as Malik can express every emotion through his eyes: either quietly watching, deflecting pain or controlling rage. On screen throughout the movie, Rahim is not without conscience. Although he does what he has to do in the violent world he inhabits, he never loses his moral compass, suffering when faced with the many life or death decisions that confront him.

"Search me"

Rahim’s strength recalls the dark-eyed, brooding charisma of Romain Duris in Audiard’s last film, the equally brilliant “The Beat That My Heart Skipped”, another observational study of a young man of unusual focus. Hopefully, “A Prophet” will similarly act as a breakout vehicle for the extraordinary Rahim. In many ways, Audiard’s latest film feels like a continuation of his previous effort with Malik also caught between two worlds, just as the protagonist was in “The Beat” with music and crime, only this time having to chart his course between different ethnic groups. Another similarity is the transfer of power between generations, the comparison being more obvious as Niels Arestrup plays the father figure in both movies. The intimidating tone is more redolent of Audiard’s earlier, Hitchcockian piece “Read My Lips”, which featured Vincent Cassel from “Mesrine”.

Although the overall feel of the movie is über-realistic, Audiard permits himself a few stylish directorial flourishes, notably using bold captions over slow motion shots to highlight the arrival of key characters, who will play an important role later in the plot’s development, especially Malik’s transformation. From time to time, he also uses the ghost of Reyeb, the convict who Malik killed at César’s request, either as a reminder of his sin or as a vision that somehow foretells the future.

"Be my baby"

This is one of the few references to the film’s title with Malik’s prophet-like attributes seemingly more about his ability to find his way to the Promised Land than predicting events in advance. His charmed existence and knack for emerging unscathed from the most dangerous encounters may be ascribed to him doing God’s work, but there is only one occasion when he foresees the future in a dream, even though others believe that he has powers of prophecy after surviving a near-fatal car crash. Audiard himself has confirmed that there are no religious undertones to the title, “The prophet is just a prophet. As for Jesus or Mohammed, I don’t eat that kind of bread”.

The other huge performance in the film is delivered by Niels Arestrup, who plays the Corsican mobster as a mixture of world-weary wisdom and pent-up aggression. It’s not dissimilar to Jack Nicholson’s role in “The Departed”, but I couldn’t help also thinking of “Genial” Harry Grout in the seminal 70s sitcom “Porridge” and, bizarrely, Noel Coward’s portrayal of Mr. Bridger in the institution known as “The Italian Job” – maybe because of “The Self Preservation Society”, which is incredibly apposite for this movie, despite the vast disparity in tone. While there is an element of the mentor in the crime boss, it is very largely a chilling turn with César demanding Malik’s total obedience. This is despite the fact that the actor has an uncanny resemblance to the TV chef, Antony Worrall Thompson, which only makes sense when you see the way he makes use of a teaspoon – but not to stir his beverage. His relationship with Malik is less love-hate, rather “live-hate”, given that Malik clearly despises César, but has to work for him in order to keep breathing.

"Listen, do you want to know a secret?"

As a French Arab, Malik is a thoroughly modern hero that plays against national stereotypes, an inversion that Audiard claims was deliberate: “In French cinema you see Arabs in one of two contexts, either naturalistically in a social realist context, or in genre fiction playing a terrorist. We didn’t want that. We wanted our Arabs to be heroes”. It may be strange to describe an imprisoned killer as a hero, but you will find yourself willing Malik to succeed. As Audiard says, “Do we root for Michael Corleone in the Godfather films? I think so, even if he is a monster. In my film, I wanted to make a nice guy, just like you and me, who also kills, so you can identify with him. Keep away from black and white moralising”.

Audiard understands that “People have difficulty swallowing the fact that Malik is a survivor, but I think that’s because he’s an Arab character. They’re not used to seeing Arabs come out on top and they don’t like it, not in France anyway”. However, the director does agree that, “You don’t have to like heroes. The hero in my film is there to illustrate the capacity for resistance of the individual and his ability to make himself his own rules, his own life”. And that’s certainly true, whatever your cultural background.

"Concrete jungle, animals are after me"

Indeed, the prison could be considered as a microcosm of the racial conflicts within the broader French social order with Audiard explaining, “What interests me in this tale is that it’s a metaphor for society. It’s not all that different on the inside or the outside”. Actually, I think that most of us would be happier on the outside, but I take his point. Although Malik is accepted neither by his Corsican superiors, who call him a “dirty Arab”, nor by the Muslim gang members, in a strange way the film shows that a better future can be imagined with Malik a metaphor of what France could become – a curious mix of right-wing capitalism and left-wing multiculturalism. Even when Malik gets closer to the Muslim crew, it is nothing to do with religious fervour, but everything to do with “commercial” expediency.

In fact, the more you explore the themes in this film, the more it is about the individual, regardless of his background, a point that Rahim is particularly keen to stress: “This movie is not talking about changing the way we see the Arabs. It’s about taking a man who is homeless, who has no origin, and showing you that he is just a person first, before being Arab, or Corsican, or whatever. This man just wants to eat, sleep and drink. He is writing his own life”. Audiard is of the same opinion, “it is a parable of one man’s willingness to survive and prosper”.

"Shadow boxing"

“A Prophet” is an epic adventure, which may or may not have a significant meaning. Audiard himself has scoffed, “Of course it has no message – it is cinema”, which may be true, but it is undeniable that it is cinema at its very finest. Although I don’t always agree with cinema juries (see this week’s Golden Globes for numerous incorrect choices), the London Film Festival nailed it when they gave this movie their Best Film Award, with Anjelica Huston calling it “a masterpiece, an instant classic and a perfect film”. Right on, sister.

Hidden Depths

Most modern thrillers start with a bang, but that’s certainly not the case with Michael Haneke’s “Caché”, a coolly elegant, challenging French mystery movie released in 2005. No way, José. Instead, this insidious film opens with a lingering, static shot of a nondescript, gated townhouse in a bourgeois Parisian neighbourhood. We watch in silence as a woman leaves through the front door. We observe nameless pedestrians strolling by. We note the parked cars in the side street, for in truth nothing much happens for a few minutes. Eventually we hear a couple talking to each other, though we do not see them. Finally, the image abruptly blurs, and then begins to fast forward and we realise that we’ve been watching a videotape, along with the couple that owns the house. It’s been sent to them anonymously and they are as much in the dark as we are. In this way, “Caché” grabs our attention from the very first frame (literally).

Georges Laurent (Daniel Auteuil), the successful host of a literary talk show on television, lives in a comfortable house with his wife Anne (Juliette Binoche), a book publisher, and their teenage son Pierrot. They appear to be the perfect (happy) family, but cracks appear when Georges starts to receive surveillance tapes of his family and alarmingly gruesome drawings from a stalker who seems to know a great deal about their lives. As the tapes contain no direct threats, the police refuse to help, leaving Georges to follow a clue in one of them, which leads him to the modest apartment of an Algerian man named Majid (Maurice Bénichou), whose parents worked for Georges’ family when he was a young boy. This meeting raises questions about Georges’ childhood, which he does not want to discuss, not even with his wife.

"Welcome to the house of fun"

In fact, nothing is ever as it seems in this film, which was aptly translated as “Hidden” for the English-speaking market with a double meaning – hidden camera (camera obscura, if you will) and hidden guilt. From that very first scene, the viewer can never be sure of what he is watching: is it the film’s (semi-reliable) narrative or another tape recorded by the unknown voyeur? Before long, we feel as off-balance and confused as Georges and Anne. As their trust in each other crumbles, we also realise that the director’s perspective is untrustworthy, resulting in an ever increasing sense of dread and paranoia. The same, indistinguishable long distance view is used on numerous occasions, but only as the scene develops does it become clear whether the shot is “live or Memorex”. Haneke is subtly, but effectively warning us that we should be suspicious of any expectations we may have or indeed any “reality” that we are shown – it’s what’s under the surface that really counts.

The movie is all the more powerful for the secrets that it keeps and most of its inner tensions are left unresolved apart from one brief and shockingly visceral moment. As it happens, the director is not the only one holding out on people, as Georges informs Anne that he might know who is behind the terrifying campaign, but refuses to say any more. It becomes increasingly likely that it pertains to some unspoken and long suppressed event, but Georges keeps the truth hidden in the same way that Haneke conceals the movie’s point of view, its political references and even the identity of the perpetrator.

"Video killed the radio star"

It’s a masterclass in how to unnerve your audience, not through what you show, but what is hidden from view. The tapes sent to George contain nothing threatening, but their menace arises not from their content, but the fact that they are being filmed. In traditional European fashion, not much seems to take place, but this slow burning study in buried guilt and sub-conscious prejudice steadily ratchets up the tension and develops an atmosphere of approaching danger. The film might not scare you out of your skin, but it will most certainly get under your skin. While Haneke clearly wants to deliver a political message, he never allows himself to be distracted from the business of building suspense, resulting in a taut, unsettling psychological thriller of the utmost originality. He manages to imbue the most ordinary of moments with a feeling of vague dread, making use of disquieting devices and sinister hesitations, as he repeatedly subverts the audience’s expectations.

As with many previous Haneke films, such as “Funny Games” and “Time of the Wolf”, there is a sense that something dire could occur at any time. Another common premise in his movies is the comfortable life of a complacent, middle-class family being threatened by an outside force. In this case, the simple fact that someone is watching them is enough to shatter their smug world. Their contented existence would have continued in its merry way, except for the disturbing fact that it was being observed by persons unknown. Although Socrates believed that “the unexamined life is not worth living”, the other side of the coin is disquieting in its own way.

"Can you guess what it is yet?"

Consequently, the mystery of who sent the tapes is of almost secondary importance, as the impact on the Laurent family becomes the most significant issue. Previously unimagined weaknesses in the fabric of Georges and Anne’s marriage emerge, as their well-dressed façade begins to fracture under the pressure of untold secrets. There is no real love or sentiment with this couple, just the cosy chemistry of a shared existence. The fragility of their ideal relationship is revealed and matters are made worse when Pierrot’s simmering discontent causes him to accuse his mother of having an affair.

When the intimidating tapes start to arrive, Georges initially seems almost paralysed by the need to carry on as if nothing had disturbed his glamorous media life. The deflating of his self-importance seems almost as painful to him as the notion that his family is under attack. Aficionados of French cinema have long appreciated Daniel Auteuil as a great actor and he delivers a magnificently compelling performance here as a man who cannot acknowledge his past – not because he thinks that it didn’t happen, but because he does not appreciate its significance.

"It wasn't me"

It’s an ambiguous, and in many ways unsympathetic, role, as Georges simply refuses to accept any responsibility or express any regret for his previous actions, which is hardly surprising, as he does not even connect emotionally with the present. He is an arrogant, self-justifying man, who has repressed his youthful cruelty for a long time. His anger lies just beneath the surface, so when he feels under pressure, he reacts with (racist) aggression, repeating the behaviour that started the cycle and adding insult to injury.

As his more balanced wife, Juliette Binoche is equally superb with her subtle, but utterly convincing portrayal of a woman who comes to realise that she no longer understands a husband who cannot be honest with her. Anne is one of those beautiful women who make everything seem effortless, balancing a flourishing career with an enviable private life, where she is a loving wife, a dutiful mother and a gracious hostess. It’s a sensitive display of bemusement and betrayed trust, and Anne is shocked to witness Georges’ emerging secrets and violent reaction.

"Juliette Bravo"

Haneke’s characters are never easy to like, yet it’s impossible not to empathise with the Laurents’ predicament and their growing anxiety. Initially, we cannot help but relate to this seemingly decent couple, as their perfect lives come under threat, but gradually we begin to question the basis of their conceited, self-righteous existence, as it appears that Georges’ casual cruelty as a child has returned to haunt him.

Ultimately, “Caché” is a story about guilt and how this is denied – on both a personal and collective level. The events not only re-open old wounds that Georges had long since repressed, reminding him of the harm he inflicted on his Algerian “brother”, but also highlight the issue of the French nation’s collective responsibility for the mistreatment of Algerian immigrants. As Haneke said, “this movie is a tale of morality dealing with how one lives with guilt”. In the case of Georges, the answer is to deny any responsibility, so when he meets Majid’s son, he says, “You’ll never give me a bad conscience. I’m not to blame”.

"It's such a perfect day"

While the film is almost claustrophobically personal, it is fascinatingly broad in scope, as it addresses the universal theme of the West’s responsibility for the damage done while colonising Third World countries. On the face of it, Georges is an educated, enlightened liberal, but his response to the tapes is to accuse the foreigner in his midst, thus exposing the latent fear and hatred of the Muslims that lies not very far below his urbane exterior. This is an obvious metaphor for France’s inability to accept accountability for the way it has handled its indigenous Algerian population. We hear that Majid’s parents never came back from a march in Paris, which is a reference to a shameful night in October 1961 (“la nuit noire”), when the police massacred up to two hundred Algerians during a peaceful demonstration.

The film’s social statement is unmistakable, but it is so skillfully woven into the fabric of the story that it never feels like a lecture. Indeed, the subject matter proved eerily prescient, when the movie’s release preceded the riots in the Parisian banlieues by only a few weeks, once again demonstrating the problems caused by the divide between those who enjoy the fruits of a capitalist society and those who are consigned to its fringes. There are parallels with other recent conflicts, such as the ongoing struggles in Iraq, which is actually shown on the enormous TV screen in the background of the Laurent’s living room. Needless to say, the unworried couple remains oblivious to the deaths announced by the latest news bulletin, only reinforcing the blithe indifference felt towards those less fortunate than them/us.

"Is it because I is black?"

Yes, I do mean “them and us”, for one of Haneke’s great strengths is the way that he uses the camera to engage the audience, so that it is impossible to remain a passive participant. At first, he makes the viewer complicit in the voyeuristic pleasure in watching Georges disintegrate on receipt of the creepy tapes, turning us all into accomplices for the crimes being played out on screen, as his destructive gaze invites us to partake in the remorseless campaign of terror. Then, by creating sufficient suspicion of Majid in Georges’ mind, the film forces us to confront our own attitude to immigrants in the post-colonial world. In the same way as the camera, we edit our memories in order to spare our conscience.

With its sparse, economical manner, the film confronts viewers head-on with some issues that are profoundly uncomfortable. Haneke is just as uncompromising in the way that he does not mollycoddle his audience. He glories in ambiguity, leaving the audience to think for itself, pretty much letting people draw their own conclusions. He explained this approach thus:

I like the multiplicity of books, because each book is different in the mind of each reader. It's the same with this film - if three hundred people are in a cinema watching it, they will all see a different film, so in a way there are thousands of different versions of “Hidden”. The point being that, despite what TV shows us, and what the news stories tell us, there is never just one truth, there is only personal truth.

"He's behind you"

Frequently described as the “conscience” of European cinema, Michael Haneke is a provocative film-maker with a justified reputation for stark, sometimes brutal, films that will make heavy demands of their audience. His trademarks include tremendously long static shots, no dramatic musical scores and brief outbursts of extreme violence. “Caché” is possibly his most watchable work, and though it is still an austere piece, it manages to explore serious themes of guilt and complacency without stinting on the suspense - demanding yet accessible. Critics have long acclaimed Haneke with the Cannes Film Festival giving him the Best Director prize in 2005 for “Caché” and this year rewarding his latest film “The White Ribbon” with the coveted Palme d’Or.

With its voyeuristic theme, “Caché” inevitably recalls Hitchcock’s “Rear Window”, albeit the perpetrator’s intentions are much less benign than good old James Stewart and Haneke has a far more political agenda than “the master of suspense”. A better comparison may be David Cronenberg’s powerful “A History of Violence”, which is also about a man with a secret history hidden from his family, whose capacity for violence emerges when under attack. Like “Caché”, the fate of the “violent” hero is similarly uncertain when the film ends, though at least we are reasonably sure of the identity of the “bad guy”.

"My life's not an open book"

Haneke, on the other hand, does not play by the traditional rules of the thriller and never explicitly identifies who has been sending the tapes. He very cleverly uses the audience’s greed for a neat answer to encourage any preconceptions we may have. The desire to know “whodunit” leads us down many false roads, making us Georges’ partners in crime when he flings out false accusations. This absence of closure may frustrate some, but is an essential element in the film’s success. Haneke is unapologetic about not dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s:

I'm not going to give anyone the answer. If you think it's Majid, Pierrot, Georges, the malevolent director, God himself, the human conscience - all these answers are correct. But if you come out wanting to know who sent the tapes, you didn't understand the film. To ask this question is to avoid asking the real question the film raises, which is more: how do we treat our conscience and our guilt and reconcile ourselves to living with our actions? I look at it as productive frustration. Films that are entertainments give simple answers, but I think that's ultimately more cynical, as it denies the viewer room to think. If there are more answers at the end, then surely it is a richer experience.

It is therefore logical that the closing scene, a long shot of multi-cultural pupils conversing on school steps, is defiantly ambiguous, but it feels like a natural conclusion to a film that aims to prove that there are no easy answers. If you watch closely, you will observe two children casually talking in the background, giving a tantalizing hint of something truly horrible. But is this really the solution? Is it the end of the family’s torment? Or the birth of another revenge plot? Maybe Haneke is once again toying with our perceptions by alluding to a vision of modern France at peace with itself, when it could be yet another videotape. Whatever the answer, the ending has the desired effect of leaving the viewer feeling as paranoid and distrustful as the characters, underlining the need to think more deeply about who the real victims are in this tale.

"Silent night"

Like the best French films, “Caché” is open to numerous interpretations. It is a movie of rare, penetrating intelligence that will leave you considering the many issues that it raises long after the closing credits have rolled. Haneke has produced a wonderfully edgy thriller, while addressing important themes like guilt, racism, recent French history and even the art of cinema, so it would be churlish to also expect him to present us with the “answer to life, the universe and everything else”. As he said, “It's the duty of art to ask questions, not to provide answers. And if you want a clearer answer, I'll have to pass”.

Mama Used To Say

There’s a moment towards the end of Alfonso Cuarón’s vibrant, joyous movie “Y Tu Mamá También” when one of the characters gazes across the sandy coastline at the beautiful blue sea and remarks, “You’re so lucky to live in Mexico. Look at it – it breathes with life”. Her perception is equally valid for this wonderful film, which justifiably broke all box office records in its native country.

The director, Cuarón, has pulled off two incredibly clever tricks here. First, he has created a fantastically urgent experience that manages to invest real humour, sensuality and pathos into the hackneyed rites of passage movie that at no time feels derivative, predictable or manufactured. Second, he has skillfully blended a number of genres, while ensuring that the film speaks with its own unique voice. Combining elements from the coming of age tale, buddy movie, road trip, love triangle and teenage sex comedy with an unsettling dose of social commentary, this is a substantial motion picture that’s impossible to pigeonhole. The title is a boastful, boyish taunt (“And your mother too”) that hints at the sexual swagger and (misplaced) confidence of the main protagonists.

"That's what I call a headrest"

The story follows the adventures of best friends Tenoch (Diego Luna) and Julio (Gael Garciá Bernal), two boys in Mexico City on the threshold of adulthood. Abandoned by their gorgeous girlfriends, who have traveled to Italy for the summer, the teenagers quickly become bored and frustrated. Forced to attend a society wedding by their parents, they meet the elegant, stunning Luisa (Maribel Verdú), the wife of Tenoch’s cousin, and awkwardly attempt to impress the older woman with talk of a remote, secluded beach called la Boca del Cielo (Heaven’s Mouth). Intoxicated by alcohol and Luisa’s beauty, they invite her to accompany them on a trip to the imaginary beach. Initially, she gracefully declines their blatant proposition, but, to the boys’ amazement, impulsively changes her mind a couple of days later, after her husband drunkenly confesses his latest infidelity. During the journey, they discover things about themselves and each other that they did not expect.

This 2001 film represented director Alfonso Cuarón’s triumphant return to his Mexican roots after ten years in Hollywood, where he made two literary adaptations: the big budget “A Little Princess” and the surreal remake of Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations”. On the face of it, the sparse “Y Tu Mamá También” is very different in style from his efforts in America, but, at their core, they share the same atmosphere of rich sensuality, especially the criminally under-rated “Great Expectations”, which brought a freshness and visual excitement to the updated story, featuring a luminous Gwyneth Paltrow. Subsequently, Cuarón directed possibly the best Harry Potter film, “The Prisoner of Azkaban”, and “Children of Men”, based on P.D. James’ novel.

"Baby, you can drive my car"

Cuarón himself said that this movie is “about two teenage boys finding their identity as adults and ... also about the search for identity of a country going through its teenage years and trying to find itself as an adult nation”. Thus, it may be considered a straightforward coming of age movie, but that does not do justice to its passionate examination of the boys’ loss of innocence. Each of them has lived a relatively sheltered life, not just due to Tenoch’s wealthy background, but because their immature lives revolve around instinctive, unthinking activities, involving large quantities of sex, drugs and alcohol. However, they now stand on the verge of manhood with its associated responsibilities and will soon experience the bewilderment caused by rapid change – as indeed will their young nation.

The film is neither complicit with the boys, nor hostile to them. Instead, it views them from an amused distance, showing us teenage boys exactly as they are. Young, dumb and full of come they may be, but the movie perfectly captures that moment in young men’s lives when they are no longer boys, but they still feel genuine excitement about the possibilities that lay before them (sometimes literally). The world is still new enough to fascinate and excite, so they embrace life with the unbridled joy of youth. This may lead to a decadent lifestyle and hedonistic excesses, but their way of life is bursting with energy, as they seek to fulfill their youthful urges.

"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson"

The boys are not entirely likeable characters, being self-indulgent, thoughtless, crass and rarely contemplating matters above the belt. At the age of seventeen, they’re still juvenile, indulging in all sorts of childish competitions, including farting in the car and masturbating on adjoining diving boards, when they encourage each other with cries of “Salma Hayek!” and “Salmita!”, but the important point is that they are not cynical or jaded. Obsessed with sex, thanks to the hormones raging around their bodies, their callow braggadocio and obnoxious machismo are essentially covering up their inexperience.

Good friends in real life, Diego Luna and Gael Garciá Bernal turn in impressively natural, spontaneous performances, which they reprised seven years later as sibling rivals in “Rudo y Cursi”. They are perfectly at ease with each other, as they are with the film’s dramatic complexities and sexual content, chatting away with complete frankness in Mexico City slang. In the role of Julio, Garciá Bernal, who first came to attention in the powerful “Amores Perros”, balances frenetic liveliness, a wicked sense of humour (with a huge grin that seems to leap off the screen) and periods of quite contemplation, and it’s no surprise that he went on to become a major international actor, starring in “The Motorcycle Diaries”, “Babel” and “The Science of Sleep”. As Julio’s jealous friend, Diego Luna is less manic, but just as intense and dynamic, though he is also capable of demonstrating real vulnerability during his first intimate moments with Luisa in a roadside motel.

"Don't fancy yours much"

As they go through all the pleasure and pain of late adolescence, the actors are good enough to make us exasperated with their behaviour, while never once risking the loss of our affection. Annoying and endearing at the same time, it’s as if we see them through Luisa’s eyes with her incredulous delight. However, from the beginning, we suspect that their exuberant over-confidence is setting them up for a fall and this comes to pass, though not before their wildest appetites have been satisfied, albeit leaving a bitter aftertaste.

The film is set in 1999 against the backdrop of the political and economic realities of Mexico, significantly the year before the Institutional Revolutionary Party's uncontested reign came to an end, when it lost its first election in 71 years. We are shown a hard-edged, gritty portrait of contemporary Mexico, which is far removed from the image painted in travel brochures. Instead the country is presented as a place of road blocks, arrests, student demonstrations and casual corruption. It’s an unobtrusive, but pointed social commentary on the vast disparities that exist in Mexico: the old and new world; urban and rural standards of living; and the profound class differences.

"Life's a beach"

In just one of a series of nods to the French New Wave (La Nouvelle Vague) filmmakers, Cuarón employs a narrative device that places what we are seeing in the context of the characters’ background or what’s happening generally in Mexico. Every so often, he cuts the soundtrack, so that a detached, omniscient narrator can inform us about the dubious state of democracy in the country or point out a specific item of interest, like the corpse of a construction worker hit by a car while crossing the road, as a pedestrian crossing would have been inconvenient for the building site. This is a very useful contrivance that enriches the story, as it explains the significance of the moment or location that could easily be overlooked while following the compelling action and superb dialogue, including private reflections and ethical dilemmas.

Indeed, the film is just as much about the changes taking place in Mexico as in the boys’ lives, though they remain blissfully unaware of their surroundings. The very fact that the political observations are made by an outside voice indicates how disassociated the boys are from these events. It is not clear whether this is due to irresponsible, ignorant behaviour or whether it is a form of self-protection, but they barely notice the country’s woes and poverty as they remain sealed in their self-absorbed, privileged environment. Meanwhile, we certainly do notice the parallel world of fatal accidents, drug busts, poverty in shanty towns, families evicted by property developers and, most memorably, a road block of flowers where villagers request (extort) a donation for their queen – a young girl in bridal white, representing the Virgin Mary.

"Stuck in the middle with you"

Magnetic as the boys’ acting is, the real stand-out performance comes from the ravishing Maribel Verdú, who provides the movie with its maturity as Luisa, only ten years older than Tenoch and Julio, but so more experienced and much wiser. Her character is in sharp contrast to the boys, refined where they are fumbling, watchful where they are eager and puppyish. She may play the standard fantasy role of the older, sexy woman, but she also acts as a maternal guardian to the boys, a figure that is lacking in their lives. When exasperated with their puerile behaviour, she exclaims: “Play with babies and you’ll end up washing diapers!”

The over-sexed adolescents may feel that they are taking Luisa for a ride (in every sense), but it soon becomes clear that she’s the one in control with a personal agenda of her own. They may make all the noise, but she calls the shots. When the seduction finally takes place, she is the one that initiates the sex, but she’s not the typical movie temptress giving the boys a fun experience, rather she’s a wounded woman with a lot of her own baggage, some of which is not revealed until the very end.

"She wears it well"

Not only is she stunningly beautiful, but she’s also emotionally raw, fiercely proud and extraordinarily vital. This is a complex, empathetic character, who at times may be sad and uncertain, but also shows courage in her willingness to be alive to her feelings. Mourning her failed marriage, she is seeking to liberate herself rather than tease the boys. Her search for happiness has much more desperation than the boys’ innocent lust.

Importantly, Luisa also sees through the façade of the boy’s camaraderie. She’s the catalyst for their deteriorating rapport, as their friendly rivalry for her favours escalate into open jealousy. This triggers a rift that makes them realise that their friendship is based on very little. They might talk a lot, but they really spend their time posturing rather than conversing. Actually, it was a heavily flawed relationship from the start, due to their class differences. Tenoch is the son of a wealthy, corrupt politician, who is an associate of the president; while Julio’s single mother is a secretary and his sister a political activist. In truth, it was never really “Me and Julio down by the Schoolyard”, but the road trip will make or break their friendship, as they are forced to reveal previously guarded secrets and hidden sides of their personalities.

"Hi, I'm your pool boy"

Whatever divides this trio, what they share is equally important and some of their happiest moments come as they drive through the glorious Mexican countryside, exquisitely shot by Cuarón’s long-time collaborator, the gifted cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. Although many road movies can feel like a highly contrived excuse for a series of embarrassing escapades, this is more like Wim Wenders’ “Paris, Texas”, where you feel that the characters do not quite belong. In this case, the journey exposes the emptiness of the boys’ lives. The days on the road are sweaty with possibilities, creating an atmosphere that something will happen, and eventually Luisa sleeps with first Tenoch, then Julio. However, be careful what you wish for, as you might just get it, and the boys get about as many life experiences as they can handle. First, in a fit of envy and resentment, the boys admit that they have both slept with the other’s girlfriend:

Tenoch: Fuck you, asshole! You fucked up our friendship! You fucked up my trust! You fucked my girl! You fucked me up! When I brought your fucking comics from Lake Tahoe and the fucking dress for Ana, that whore!

Julio: Tenoch, dude, I'm sorry man. It was an accident, really.

Tenoch: An accident? You poke some girl's eye by accident, asshole! You don't fuck her! You don't fuck her!

Julio: Right … right.

Then, Luisa’s shrewd bedroom strategy makes Tenoch and Julio confront their homoerotic attraction to each other and they end up kissing during a threesome. They begin the trip with a hollow sense of indestructibility, but by the end they face confusion and insecurities.

"Mexican stand-off"

This is certainly not a film that is coy about acts of love, beginning with an unflinching sex scene that sets the tone for what follows. Unabashedly erotic, in no way does the sex feel offensive or gratuitous. At all times, it feels very human and serves to illuminate the characters. The teenagers’ sexuality is treated with the respect it deserves, as a natural part of life, instead of a smutty joke like the standard American teen “comedy” – “Mexican Pie”, this isn’t. The glamorous older woman teaches the boys that girls are not conquests, prizes or targets, but the other half of a precarious unity. She also does not spare them when discussing their sexual technique, advising them that the greatest pleasure comes from pleasing your partner:

Who cares who you two fucked, when you come that fast.

Luisa: You have to make the clitoris your best friend.

Tenoch: What kind of friend is always hiding?

In fact, it could be argued that the film is more about the consequences of sex (insecurity, regret, guilt, mistrust) than the sex itself with echoes of the poignant ending of Flaubert’s “Sentimental Education”. Even though the setting is indisputably Mexican, there is a distinctly French feel to this film with that country’s lengthy history of movies featuring young men lusting after a more worldly older woman, like Francois Truffaut’s “Jules et Jim” in the 60s and Bertrand Blier’s “Les Valseuses” in the 70s.

Behind the outrageous humour, there is a more serious message. What starts out as a simple, funny tale about teenagers grows into a thoughtful character study. The boys develop a shared manifesto of ridiculous rules, but the last one is quite profound: “The truth is totally amazing, but also unattainable”. On the other hand, as the real world looms ever closer, the travelers do ultimately find their mythical beach – even though it only ever existed in their imagination. Even as the film comments on the fragility of life, it seems to encourage you to follow your dreams.

Cuarón leaves it open as to whether Tenoch and Julio will cherish the memory of their adventure with Luisa or whether it will haunt them as a symbol of their lost freedom. That is how it should be, as “Y Tu Mamá También” is a film that manages to combine the heady enjoyment of youth, while never losing sight of the darker side of life. Although the characters may be foolish at times, the film is a clever and affecting take on society in Mexico, though the issues could apply anywhere. As a rites of passage movie, it invites the glib tagline, “After that summer, nothing would ever be the same again”, but it’s genuinely full of surprises. Not only that, but this exhilirating journey of discovery will leave you with a real sense of joy in being alive.