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This is at least the case for Carlos, a child of a broken home. Played by Xabiani Ponce De León with a tranquil sort of purity (that unhurriedly evolves into self-assured coolness in due course), Carlos is different from the circle of toxic males all too common in his environs. With his expressive stance, innocent eyes and stylishly layered haircut, he tries to subsist nonetheless, mixing up in macho fights, renting out porn magazines with his best friend Gera (Jose Antonio Toledano) and drifting through life as a misfit with unconventional desires and wide-ranging erotic curiosities. But it’s not until Gera’s rebellious sister Rita (Ximena Romo)—whom Carlos predictably has a crush on—as well as Rita’s boyfriend Tito (Americo Hollander) get mixed up with the technologically-gifted Carlos that the doors of a brave new world are kicked open for the thus-far unfulfilled pair of teenagers. What are they to do, if not let themselves loose through its liberating rhythms and get into some trouble?

To the punch-drunk Carlos’ initial bewilderment, anything goes in this punk, pansexual underground scene of non-conformist acceptance. Headquartered at an uber-cool nightclub called Azteca, the landscape is filled with adventurous LGBTQ youth spearheading a counterculture movement of insurgence. Lead by the audacious Nico (Mauro Sanchez Navarro), the dance and performance art space flows with unrest, boundary-pushing sex and of course, music in its every vividly colored corner. “It’s an everything club,” is how one character describes Azteca; and that hearty dose of everything (some of it, admittedly pretentious) welcomes Carlos with open arms. Meanwhile in the background, Sama subtly and respectfully nods to the impending AIDS crisis, as well as reproduces the era’s mainstream deficiencies around poisonous masculinity. Needless to say, there is no room for straight male entitlement in Carlos’ newfound clan—the collective even protests football (as in, soccer) in one scene, on the grounds that it’s a catalyst of homophobia.

Sama daringly charts Carlos’ journey in vibrant detail, accentuating his ever more performative commitment to his advantageously ambiguous identity, sexual and otherwise. Often in heavy body and face make-up and protesting the establishment on the streets alongside Rita, Carlos gradually pitches himself at the center of an overindulgent yet cathartic subculture, while his druggy mother Carolina (the Oscar-nominated Marina de Tavira of “Roma,” regrettably underutilized) continues to be a hazy presence in his life. Given the filmmaker is really recounting his own experiences of the era—he even grants himself the role of a kindly uncle named Esteban—it’s forgivable that Sama almost falls prey to the trappings of a cautionary rise and fall story with “Berlin.” But he bounces back, especially when “Berlin” inevitably takes apart the loose ends of a juvenile male friendship put to test, bringing to mind Alfonso Cuarón’s "Y Tu Mamá También."

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