I was delighted to see that Alfonso Cuarón’s coming of age film Y tu mamá también, which had been waiting eagerly in my Letterboxd watchlist for months, is finally on Netflix! The film follows best friends Julio and Tenoch, teenage boys filled with both laughter and angst, who embark on a road trip with an attractive 20-something woman, Luisa.

Y tu mamá también is a beautiful film, visually and emotionally. Wide shots captured the sprawling fields of green and colorful towns backdropping the trio’s drive, the yellow beaches and blue waters where they swam freely, the dimly lit motel rooms and restaurants that hosted their lively discussions, arguments, tears, and dancing.

Shaky, hand-held camera shots created a sense of intimacy: a viewer is a quiet follower drinking in the landscape and racing alongside them through pools, intruding unnoticed on their private phone calls and transgressions. Scenes were shot from slightly afar, not entirely up close: the audience is with them but not necessarily one of them.

The long shots or slow cut editing had a similar immersive effect. The lack of cuts allowed for some time to drink in the scene and engage emotionally, going through the motions with the character and reflecting on past interactions.

What disrupted this captivation was an interesting audio choice–before every voiceover (those occurring fairly frequently throughout the film, to provide context or insight) were a few seconds of silence. Each time the audio cut out, I pulled back, thinking I was having audio issues. Eventually, I adjusted, learning to expect this silence. Nonetheless, I am a bit puzzled by this choice as it initially prompted my disengagement with the film.

I’m not alone in this experience! The top-liked Letterboxd review of Y tu mamá también reads, “It’s stupid how many times I thought something was wrong when the sound stopped for the narrator to speak.”

I did, however, enjoy the voiceovers themselves. Another Letterboxd reviewer wrote, “Every time I meet someone new, I want everything to go silent and a voice-over tell[s] me about his or her past.” The narrator shares information that the characters already possess yet do not explicitly state, eliminating the need for clumsy covert exposition to be embedded in scenes while also pulling the audience into the story further (but not rendering us omniscient).

At the very end, I sat with the dull ache Julio was evidently also feeling after hearing the shocking news Tenoch delivered so coolly. Emotion was never overstated in this film, and exposition was natural, never dramatized–painfully realistic, and deeply impactful.