Simón (2023)
Venezuela's ongoing political crisis, the long shadow cast by the Chavista and then Maduro governments, has produced a wave of diaspora voices across literature, journalism, and film. Simón (2023) sits squarely within that current. Based on real events, it follows a young Venezuelan activist who has made it to Miami but cannot simply settle into the relative comfort of exile. The pull of the struggle back home, and the weight of having left at all, becomes the film's central preoccupation. It is the kind of story that travels across borders because the dilemma at its heart, whether to stay somewhere safe or return to somewhere dangerous and arguably meaningful, is one that generations of exiles from any number of countries have faced in silence. For a film like Josep, dealing with the trauma of the Spanish Civil War's refugees, the distance of history softens the urgency somewhat. Simón has no such cushion. The events it draws from are recent enough to still be unresolved.
The film is a co-production between the United States and Venezuela, made under the banner of Black Hole Enterprises and directed by Diego Vincentini, a Venezuelan filmmaker whose work has grown steadily in ambition and political directness. Vincentini is not a name that will ring many bells for casual British or Irish audiences, but within Venezuelan film circles and among the country's diaspora, he represents something of a serious artistic commitment to documenting a society under strain. At 99 minutes, Simón is lean in its construction, and it was made without the sort of budget that would give it easy access to mainstream distribution. What it has instead is a focus and a sense of purpose that bigger productions sometimes trade away for spectacle. The film went on to dominate Venezuela's national awards, and its absence from the country's official Oscar submission generated no small amount of controversy, though the political sensitivities around what Venezuela would and would not choose to represent internationally are, to put it mildly, complicated.
The cast is largely composed of Venezuelan actors, some based in the United States, some not. Christian McGaffney carries the film as Simón, a performer who brings a quality of restraint to the role that could easily have been played at a higher, more demonstrative register. Roberto Jaramillo, playing Cucho, provides the kind of grounded supporting presence that anchor films like this when the central character risks being too inward-looking. Jana Nawartschi and Luis Silva round out a cast that feels chosen for texture rather than star power. Franklin Vírgüez, a well-known face in Venezuelan television and film, adds a layer of cultural authenticity that productions in this space can sometimes lack when they are assembled far from their subject matter. There is a certain kind of political drama, polished but unremarkable, where the performances service the message. This does not appear to be one of those films. The work on screen, from what the production materials and award recognitions suggest, is personal, considered, and rooted in lived experience rather than research alone. For a comparable study in how performance can carry the moral and psychological weight of a conflict film, the quieter moments in Murphy's War offer an interesting, if very different, point of comparison.
Simón (2023), directed by Diego Vincentini, is a gripping Venezuelan political thriller rooted in true events that follows a young activist torn between two impossible choices: return to Venezuela to continue resisting an authoritarian regime, or seek asylum in the United States and live in safety, but with the guilt of exile. The film's central dilemma is both deeply personal and urgently political, grounding its high-stakes narrative in the very human cost of ideological conviction. What begins as a tense character study gradually unfolds into something more complex, using Simon's internal conflict to explore broader questions about sacrifice, identity, and the price of freedom.
The film's strengths are considerable. Christian McGaffney delivers a nuanced, emotionally raw performance as Simón, capturing the character's exhaustion, fear, and resolve with remarkable subtlety, while Roberto Jaramillo provides formidable support as his musclebound friend Cucho. The cinematography is striking (using light, shadow, and composition to mirror Simón's psychological state) and the soundtrack amplifies tension without overwhelming. And then there's the twist: genuinely unexpected and thematically resonant, it reframes everything that came before without feeling like a cheap trick. It's no surprise the film dominated Venezuela's national awards; the craft on display is undeniable, and the controversy over its omission from the country's Oscar submission feels entirely justified.
If the film stumbles, it's in its pacing. At times, the narrative feels slightly uneven, with certain sequences lingering longer than necessary while others rush past pivotal moments. That said, the flashbacks (used to reveal Simon's past and the roots of his activism) are expertly integrated, adding emotional depth without disrupting momentum. They're a reminder that the film's greatest asset is its commitment to character over plot.
Simon is a really good film: politically urgent, emotionally compelling, and technically impressive. It doesn't quite achieve greatness due to minor pacing issues, but its powerful performances, smart structure, and unforgettable twist make it essential viewing for anyone interested in contemporary political cinema. A courageous, quietly devastating portrait of a man caught between conscience and survival.
Simón is the sort of film that reminds you why independent, politically engaged cinema continues to matter even when it struggles to find its audience. It arrives in the company of other recent works grappling with questions of conscience under authoritarian pressure, and it holds its own on craft alone. The minor structural hesitations Macca identifies are fairly common to first or second features working in a realist mode with limited resources, and they do not undercut the overall impression. This is a film that earns its emotional weight honestly, without manipulation or sentimentality, which is rarer than it should be. If you have found yourself drawn to films that sit at the intersection of the personal and the political, whether that is something as stripped back as Pickpocket or the documentary urgency of Salaam Cinema, Simón is well worth your time. Some films are made because someone needed to make them. You can feel that here.
Rating: ★★★½ | Year: 2023 | Watched: 2026-06-01
Trailer
▶ Watch the official trailer for Simón (2023) on YouTube
Where to watch (UK)
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Buy: Amazon Video
Physical: Amazon UK · Zavvi
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