A Conversation With ‘Simón’ Director Diego Vicentini
Still from Simón. Courtesy of Diego Vincentini.
There’s thorough documentation about the plight of Venezuelans, whether in the United States or under the effects of their government. There’s no shortage of reports on government-sponsored violence, visa restrictions, and the sheer number of refugees and migrants (7.7 million, according to the UN Refugee Agency). But these reportings sometimes flatten our stories and are not enough to ground our perception of what has taken place—to move us from knowing to empathizing. With Diego Vincentini’s Simón, a 2023 film that shows a more multifaceted exploration of the struggles of Venezuela’s youth as the protagonist, who seeks asylum in the United States, feels caught between staying in the U.S. and returning home.
More importantly, we see a film that resonates with audiences worldwide. Tickets for the film’s release sold out many days in advance in Buenos Aires, Madrid, New York, and Santiago de Chile.
I recently chatted with Vincentini to learn more about the politics in cinema, creating a film in the U.S. as a Latinx artist, and the challenges our people face back home via censorship.
Intervenxions edited this interview for concision and clarity.
When I see Simón, I think of Costa-Gavras's political thrillers like Z and Missing. And while some, like Slavoj Žižek, argue that all films carry ideological messages, it seems to me that actively political filmmakers like Costa-Gavras are rare today. Do you think it is a filmmaker’s duty to actively portray and denounce political issues in their movies?
There are various streams of thought on this. Some say all movies are political because they reflect the world at a certain time and place, with customs and behaviors. Since movies involve humans or even anthropomorphized animals behaving in certain ways, they’re inherently political. Even if you aim to make a movie nonpolitical, that itself is a political statement. There is a difference, though, between a movie that specifically addresses a political movement or era and one that doesn’t. Movies like Z were films I watched to see their approach.
It gets tricky because once you tackle a subject, you risk it becoming propaganda, un panfleto. The stronger you feel, the more ingrained the "good guys and bad guys" viewpoint becomes. Modern filmmaking is more ambiguous than 1950s films, where roles were clear. Now, it’s “everybody's good and bad,” making it harder to tell clear-cut stories about crimes against humanity, while still being nuanced.
So while making Simón, I chose universally basic, noncontroversial issues, like torture or lack of food, to avoid sidetracking the conversation. The goal was empathy and awareness for Venezuelans. If it became a debate about, let’s say, the pitfalls of socialism in Venezuela, half the audience would get defensive. The balancing act was difficult.
What I think is important here is the human suffering, especially the fact that 25% of our country's population has felt the need to leave, reflecting something really terrible going on. This statistic alone doesn’t need much nuance, and you can’t give that in a movie. You have 90 minutes to entertain and keep the audience interested. I wanted to provide an easy window to understand the level of human suffering while keeping certain nuances for the Venezuelan audience. So you have the scenes like with the Colonel, where he says, “This isn't a dictatorship, it's a business;” that speaks to us on a different level because we know what's behind that dialogue
As a filmmaker, I feel whatever I create needs to matter and potentially impact people. That’s how I felt with Simón: We need more empathy and understanding, for Venezuelans to feel validated and represented. It’s been wonderful seeing that happen.
Still from Simón. Courtesy of Diego Vincentini.
Now that you mention the scene with the Colonel (played by Franklin Virgüez), it reminds me when he also asks rhetorically: “¿Tú crees que si sacan al monigote ese de Miraflores, algo va cambiar?” Were these comments mainly intended to portray the cynicism behind those who govern Venezuela? Do you share some of these views?
In writing the movie, I needed to create something challenging. I wanted to display the mechanisms of fear induction that the dictatorship executes to instill fear and hopelessness. They try to break Simón's spirit—he's been tortured and hung but refuses to sign his will. It’s a psychological battle to break him, but nothing they do will work. The aim is to expose the mechanisms they fear most: The people's will to fight, which ultimately topples these regimes.
The movie should reflect the harsh truth about how difficult this is while encouraging viewers to keep fighting. Some may feel devastated, while others may feel motivated. It's essential to portray the reality of the situation honestly—people will die and be tortured. The problem isn't just one head of state; it's a pervasive system. Fixing one thing doesn’t solve everything, but it is a necessary first step toward improving the system and achieving true democracy.
Diego Vincentini. Courtesy of Diego Vincentini.
I’d also like to know about your cinematic influences: What films inspired you to make this movie? Are there any Venezuelan ones?
There was a specific approach to Venezuelan cinema. I left a decade and a half ago and wasn't interested in movies until college, where I studied philosophy and finance. It was a literary approach that made me fall in love with film. On my journey, I discovered great directors like Stanley Kubrick, Darren Aronofsky, and Christopher Nolan. When I decided to make Simón, I realized I knew little about Venezuelan cinema, having seen only two films growing up. I watched Hermano by Marcel Rasquín and thought, “This is my favorite Venezuelan movie.” I wondered if I needed to study Venezuelan cinematic history but decided to approach it from a fresh perspective—without emulating other Venezuelan movies.
I've lived half my life outside Venezuela, giving me a unique outlook. I felt that American influences in style and structure would help us connect to the story in a deeper way. Melissa's character reflects this: She's like, “Oh my god, this is terrible.” And you're like, “Oh, fuck yeah, it is.”
I've never seen a movie in English talking about us. I've never seen a movie or something that's in English, talking about us. So it was important for me to make it feel like an American movie; I think that was going to be more impactful for Venezuelans. And I also wanted to include psychological thriller aspects that I love from Aronofsky and Black Swan, blending real subject matter with stylistic elements.
It’s important to note that you filmed Simón in the U.S.—it is, spatially, a U.S. Latinx movie. How do you think this film plays a role in the wider context of U.S. Latinx cinema?
That was also a consideration: Yes, there are 8 million Spanish speakers in the U.S., the largest minority group. Yet there’s a dominance of Mexico as the Latino reference for Americans. I feel hopeful that movies like this serve as another lens into the Latin American perspective; it’s not just Mexico or other countries like Argentina with dominant film industries.
Melissa's character was a vehicle for Americans to see what it's like to interact with Latin culture. People have called us to thank us for the fact that it got on Netflix, showing there’s a market interested in the events of Simón. The movie played in 19 countries, had a good box office, and broke the top 10 worldwide. Those metrics help demonstrate that this already happened with a Venezuelan movie, and it’s been beautiful to see that come to fruition.
“I feel hopeful that movies like this serve as another lens into the Latin American perspective; it’s not just Mexico or other countries like Argentina with dominant film industries.”
Netflix has provided Simón—thus, Venezuelan cinema—the opportunity to be seen all over the world. But, as we know, Netflix has also faced criticism over lack of transparency and unfair pay structures. What are your thoughts on this and other streaming services—on streaming in general as a vehicle for cinema?
I know saying this is such a cliché, but the film industry really is a constantly evolving beast. Netflix, HBO, and Amazon have become their own studios; they produce their own context and know their own metrics. It’s much more efficient for them to produce their own stuff; it’s much more difficult for indie filmmakers.
With Simón, we are in such an insane minority with everything that’s happened. There are stories of filmmakers that give you hope, but I didn’t think it would happen to us. We were treated in a way we didn’t expect. We made the film on our terms. I wrote the movie I wanted to write, and nobody told me how to do anything differently. Now millions have seen it, and it was in the top six in the world for a week.
We did it ourselves, convincing theaters in Chile to play our movie. Then once we got one, Peru caught wind of it. It has become much more democratic. Our success was because of our Instagram promotion. Simón is on Netflix in the U.S.A., Latin America, and Spain, and we have a transactional video on demand on our website. There is much more supply of movies now, leading to more competition. But in the end, the good outweighs the bad. Film is tied to business; it’s the most expensive art form, and it needs to be commercially successful to justify the investment. If there’s no market for indie films, that’s a question to address: Why aren’t people watching more of this?
Still from Simón. Courtesy of Diego Vincentini.
There’s a review of Simón on Mentekupa that, while applauding the technique and the style of the movie, asks in a critical manner if “¿el drama de Simón es el drama de todos o el de quien representa, concretamente, un muchacho con visa americana, que estudia en la universidad y puede pagarse un pasaje directo a Miami?” How relatable do you think the events of the movie are for Venezuelans in general?
That's, I think, more a question for everybody who watches and experiences it. If somebody was like, “I didn't relate to this at all,” that’s a valid response. With movies, you try to be as specific as possible to then be as universal as possible. What’s part of the movie is this deep pain and guilt over having left the country, seeing it get worse, and feeling like you're not doing enough. That extends to anyone who feels afraid to speak out.
Simón was a university student who was able to get on the plane, which is a privilege compared to others who have to leave walking. He also had a tourist visa; that was a conscious choice because I thought the movie would get derailed in America if he was undocumented, as that might foster a resistance for his journey and alter how empathetic you are toward him. To our surprise, the movie hit harder in Venezuela. People felt it more. One of the hardest comments was that the hardest thing about watching this movie was realizing it was still playing out here. That was the hard one to swallow.
“To our surprise, the movie hit harder in Venezuela. People felt it more. One of the hardest comments was that the hardest thing about watching this movie was realizing it was still playing out here. That was the hard one to swallow.”
Many were surprised that you could watch the movie in Venezuelan theaters—especially considering how Nicolás Maduro’s government has cracked down on thousands for protesting policies on the streets and on social media. How did you surpass censorship back home? What was the government’s response to your movie?
You have to consider the timing and the moment when it came out. This is our perspective, interpretation, and speculation because we aren't behind the curtains of the decision-makers. Part of the lack of freedom of expression, of censorship in Venezuela, isn't just an actual negated permit to be in movie theaters; it's much more pervasive, and pervasive meaning fear.
So why hasn't another Venezuelan filmmaker made a movie like this? The obvious answer is that anyone living in Venezuela is too afraid or can't think it's viable to make it. If you're Venezuelan and you start filming, you might fear being arrested, or your life would get complicated through other nefarious means. This fear has limited many stories from coming out because nobody's willing to make them.
Through the process of getting the film certified by the Centro Nacional Autónomo de Cinematografía (CNAC for short, a public institution in Venezuela that certifies, regulates, and promotes national cinema), there was friction. We sent all the documentation: Is the director Venezuelan, is the screenwriter Venezuelan, are most of the actors Venezuelan, is the crew Venezuelan? And everything was complete. The only thing was that it wasn’t shot in Venezuela, but that was optional. Then, for example, they asked for a permit for a location in Miami, which seemed very random.
They sent us a document stating something like, “Notwithstanding, we deem the content of this film to be possibly violating Article 20 of the law against hatred and peaceful cohabitation,” which is the incitement of hate through a message.
But we left the distribution of said content up to us. It was a bit of a warning since it had not been distributed. Article 20 is the mass diffusion of a message that incites hate. At that point, we still hadn't broken that law, but it was a warning.
I think there was a quiet moment in the country. Last year, nobody wanted to talk about politics. And the President of CNAC Carlos Azpúrua was a strong advocate of the regime and was very vocal about not censoring.
Then you fast forward to the Goytas, where we were nominated; Simón has been chosen for every award possible, except for the Academy Awards.
The real heroes, I think, are Cines Unidos, who were brave enough to show the film. When the movie came out, there was radio silence from the dictatorship. Then, two days before the premiere, news broke that a lawyer had introduced a citation stating we were inciting hate and this movie should be banned. It was very weird.
Then, it finally came out and started doing well. Within around three days, it was the most seen movie of the year. Still, radio silence. CNAC never posted about the movie. They don't want to give it any promotion. Maduro sort of mentioned, “Ah, there's some movie on Netflix that lies about our country.” They don’t even say the name of the movie. They didn't want to poke at it. I think they’ve learned from previous movies that they censored, and the movie just grew beyond what anybody imagined.
Still from Simón. Courtesy of Diego Vincentini.
Finally, I want to ask about the title of the movie, Simón, which evokes Simón Bolivar, Venezuela’s independence leader, who’s mentioned in virtually every speech given by Chavista officials. But I think it's clear that many people don't buy that Chavismo is right to claim Bolívar’s principles. Was it part of your intention to redeem or reclaim Bolivar with this film?
I think there are two underlying intentions about the title. One, yes, the name Simón immediately invokes, especially to Venezuelans and to some Latin Americans, the image of Simón Bolívar, The Liberator. It gives an idea of what the movie might be about: a fight for freedom, liberation. There is a sensibility of reclaiming something that seems to have been appropriated by El Chavismo. But there is also a critique of Bolívar as a messianic figure who led many toward romanticism, suggesting that change takes all of us. Simón, in the movie, is just a student rising to the challenge. This is a collective effort, not depending on one savior. If María Corina Machado is the figurehead now, great, but this movement involves everybody.
