¿Y Cómo Es Él?

If you grew up in a household where Spanish radio was the default background noise, you know the song. José Luis Perales’ "¿Y Cómo Es Él?" is the ultimate anthem for the heartbroken—a haunting, polite, yet devastating interrogation of a man asking about the "other guy" who stole his wife's heart. It’s a song about the curiosity of the cuckold. When Ariel Winograd’s film of the same name arrived in 2022, it took that lyrical DNA and grafted it onto a road trip movie that is far more existential than its "odd-couple" marketing suggested.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while eating a slightly-too-old piece of string cheese, and that's actually the perfect metaphor for the film: a bit processed, familiar, but possessing a sharp tang that catches you off guard.

The Anatomy of a Nervous Breakdown

The setup is classic farce, but the execution leans into a quiet, simmering drama of the ego. Mauricio Ochmann plays Tomás, a man so "beta" he practically fades into his beige office walls. When he discovers his wife, Marcia (Zuria Vega), is having an affair, he doesn't go for the gun. He goes for the destination: Puerto Vallarta. His goal? To confront Jero (Omar Chaparro), the taxi driver who has dismantled his domestic bliss.

What follows is a brilliant, albeit uncomfortable, subversion of the buddy-comedy trope. Through a series of contrivances, Tomás ends up hiring Jero to drive him across the country. He is paying for the privilege of sitting three feet away from the man who is sleeping with his wife. This isn't just a plot point; it’s a philosophical inquiry. Why do we seek out the people who hurt us? Is there a secret hope that by standing next to them, we can absorb the qualities that made them "better" than us in our partner's eyes? Ochmann plays this beautifully, vibrating with a repressed rage that feels like a tea kettle about to whistle through its own spout.

A Tale of Two Masculinities

The film lives or dies on the chemistry between Mauricio Ochmann and Omar Chaparro, and surprisingly, it’s the drama that carries the weight. Chaparro is a massive star in Mexico, usually known for high-octane physical comedy, but here he’s tasked with playing "The Other Man" as a genuinely likable, albeit oblivious, human being. Jero isn't a villain; he’s a man who lives in the moment, a direct contrast to Tomás, who lives entirely in his own head.

As they traverse the sun-drenched roads of Mexico, the film asks a difficult question: Who is the more "authentic" man? Is it the one who provides stability but forgets to provide passion, or the one who provides passion but lacks a moral compass? This is where Winograd’s direction shines. He doesn't let either man off the hook. There’s a specific scene in a roadside bar where the masks begin to slip, and the dialogue shifts from comedic bickering to a raw discussion about what it means to be "enough." It’s in these moments that the movie transcends its "remake" status (it’s based on the 2006 South Korean film Driving with My Wife's Lover).

The supporting cast, including Consuelo Duval and Miguel Rodarte, add some much-needed texture to the journey, though they often feel like pit stops rather than integral parts of the engine. However, Zuria Vega manages to make Marcia more than just a catalyst; even in limited screen time, she conveys the loneliness that leads to betrayal without making it feel like a cheap excuse.

Why Did This One Get Lost?

Despite the star power of its leads and the backing of Eugenio Derbez as a producer, ¿Y Cómo Es Él? hasn't quite claimed the legacy it deserves. Released in the shaky wake of the pandemic, it suffered from a common modern ailment: the theatrical-to-streaming blur. Pantelion Films caters heavily to a specific demographic, and in the crowded landscape of 2022, a character-driven dramedy about middle-aged heartbreak often gets pushed aside by the latest superhero spectacle or a louder, crasser comedy.

There’s also the "remake" stigma. In the current era of franchise dominance, audiences can be cynical about recycled plots. But Winograd—an Argentine director with a gift for making commercial cinema feel personal—gives the film a visual polish that elevates it. The cinematography by Federico Cantini captures a Mexico that feels both vast and claustrophobic, mirroring Tomás’s internal state.

One of the more interesting "behind the curtain" details is that the script by Paul Fruchbom had to bridge the gap between South Korean sensibilities and Mexican cultural machismo. In the original Korean film, the tone is much bleaker, almost voyeuristic. The Mexican version softens the edges with humor, but the underlying sadness still leaks through the cracks like oil from a busted engine.

Ultimately, ¿Y Cómo Es Él? is a film about the realization that our enemies are often just as broken as we are. It’s a drama disguised as a comedy, and while it occasionally leans too hard on road-trip clichés to get from Point A to Point B, the central performances earn your time. It’s a thoughtful exploration of the male ego in an era where that ego is constantly being dismantled. If you’re looking for something that pairs well with a quiet night and a bit of introspection—and maybe a piece of string cheese—this forgotten road trip is worth the mileage.