‘Road trip movie’ is a three-letter fright. Many of us have been burned by these movies of freedom and captions that read ‘that memorable summer before adulthood.’ Ms. Spears gave an ode to excrement with “Crossroads” and Tom Cruise got his start in the plain awful “Losin’ It.” But, there are a few flicks out there that promise the road, and they give every granule of it. “Easy Rider” is a testament to what other road movies should abide by. There was a loss of innocence but in every scene, the movie matured along with the characters.

Thirty-two years later, another road trip movie has come along that stands up to “Easy Rider’s” caliber. Born of Mexican filmmaker, Alfonso Cuaron, “Y Tu Mama Tambien” (translation: And Your Mama Too”) is a road trip movie at heart, but it has more layers than a well trained double agent. Like “Easy Rider,” “Y Tu” gives us rich characters while simultaneously giving us a political and social message. But, “Y Tu” also delves into the swamp of other road trip movies by showing lots of sloppy sex and enough language to offend a sailor. The difference is that is “Y Tu” handles these scenes without making it look like Spring Break Follies. As the scenes progress, the viewer and the characters learn that sex is a cherished and fragile thing.

The movie begins with (drum rolls please) sex. Tenoch’s (Diego Luna) and Julio’s (Gael Garcia Bernal) girlfriends are getting ready to leave for Italy for the summer. Both have one last romp before departing and it’s a painful thing to watch (a two minute hormonal frenzy).

Tenoch and Julio are not the brightest specimens on the planet. Freshmen in college, both spend their days masturbating (the pool scene will be forever entrenched in the mind) smoking dope, and talking about sex (“left wing girls are really hot”). Tenoch is a wealthy brat whose father is a Harvard-educated politician once accused of selling tainted food to the poor. He was going to call his son Hernan (apparently after the world’s first real developer, the conqueror Cortés) but instead chose an Aztec name because it seemed fashionable. Julio is further down in the middle class. He is from a single mother home and his sister spends her time at protest. This relationship (despite the difference in incomes) is the first indication that “Y Tu” wants to work on different levels.

Julio’s and Tenoch’s siren is Luisa (Maribel Verdu) a twenty-something Spaniard who is married to Tenoch’s obnoxious cousin. Luisa is a younger man’s wet dream—sexy, intelligent, and a touch of badness underneath the gloss. The duo meets Luisa at a wedding and they immediately invite her to a mythical swimming hole called Heaven’s Mouth. Luisa declines (older woman—two teens ah, the scandal) and the twosome forget about her as quickly as their erections dissipate.

Luisa soon finds out that her husband has been screwing around on her with a harem of women. Enraged, Luisa calls the boys back to see if the road trip is still on. Before you can say, ménage a trios, the three are headed on an excursion through southern Mexico.

This is where the movie wields its power, and the imagery and narration is something that will haunt my psyche for a long time. Anyone who has visited Mexico (outside the tourist traps) — the dusty roads, the wizened and wise road vendors, blue beaches, hidden bars, and army blockades — will be overcome with nostalgia. Director Cuaron’s genius lies in these moments. The viewer sees two Mexicos, one is of the three characters that have never worried monetarily, and the second is the destitute poverty and paranoia that many in Mexico live in.

Even more captivating is the narrator, who doesn’t judge, but just relays the facts reminiscent of a soothsayer. One voice-over talks of an old man who is hit by a truck (the trio’s car passes the accident) because there was nowhere to cross the road for a mile. Another tells the future of a fisherman that the trio meets. He will have to leave his home because developers have decided to put up a resort on one of the last untouched beaches. Unable to fish anywhere else (sanctions by rich companies), the fisherman must forget his life’s love and become a janitor. It’s these little stories that give us an indication of what it’s like to live in Mexico if you’re not affluent.

The centerpiece is Luisa. She wields her sexual being with an intelligent might. She teaches the boys that loving a woman is a mature thing, and drooling over every piece of skirt is certain doom. The last hour delves into eroticism, but not in the way that many Hollywood movies would like. It’s gorgeous and tender and it handles an otherwise crude moment with a ballerina’s step. It’s the antithesis of how many societies view a voluptuous woman, and the message that “Y Tu” sends is revolutionary.

Cuaron, who has become known in Hollywood for his movies, “The Little Princess” and “Great Expectations,” went back to his native Mexico to make this film Why? One, because the MPAA would have had a field day with it in the U.S. two, because he could not have made a film so frank and honest about sex in the U.S.; and three, because Mexico is the perfect terrain for three characters so full of being (which echoes what Luisa says about Mexico—“I just love it here, it’s so full of life”).

“Y Tu” is a chameleon, appearing as a comedy, drama, tragedy, and political essay. None of the themes are heavy-handed. The viewer is put in the car with these people and taken on a journey that tells a lifetime in an hour and a half. It’s why we go see movies. We want to get in that vehicle and believe what we’re experiencing. But, if there are beer bongs and bikinis hiding in the back seat, pray there’s a rest stop coming soon.