How Love, Victor Helped Michael Cimino Find His Political Voice

Any time Michael Cimino first saw Love, Simon — Greg Berlanti’s sleeper hit from 2018 about a closeted high schooler (Nick Robinson) coming out to himself, then his classmates, by way of a grand ferris wheel kiss — he was struck hard. He had recently graduated from high school and moved to Los Angeles from Las Vegas, where he was place on Earth and grew up, in pursuit of big-screen goals; and he noticed himself, like several Hollywood dreamers before him, “so broke. So, we went to be able to see it on a Tuesday, as soon as it was a $5 movie night,” he tells MTV News. “I literally walked out of the theater, and I was with some of my best companions, and I was like, ‘I cannot wait to be in an assignment like that.’”


It could be each year up until the emerging actor, whose résumé up to that point had been dotted by periodic TV cameos plus a stint as Flounder in a middle school production of The Little Mermaid, landed a studio gig because the bushy-browed, boy-next-door love interest Bob Palmer in Annabelle Comes Home, the seventh installment of the Conjuring horror franchise. Plus it could be another year, still, before the debut of his first leading role, in an assignment strikingly similar to Love, Simon — its spin-off, no much less, the Hulu series Love, Victor, set inside the same universe although with a cast of young, fresh faces.


Right now 20, right now vegan, Cimino stars because the title character, Victor Salazar. A transfer student to Creekwood High, where Simon’s legend perseveres even right after he’s moved on to college, Victor is initially excited about the possibility to open up about his sexuality in what seems like a diverse, accepting environment. Although that hard-wrought process is halted whenever he unwittingly attracts the coolest girl in school (Rachel Naomi Hilson’s Mia), then made even more complex by a blossoming crush for his completely coiffed, openly gay coffee-shop co-worker, Benji (George Sear). The conflict between Victor’s hope to live his truth and his painful, internalized homophobia is further heightened by a fear of rejection from his loving although religious, Colombian-American family.


Cimino, who describes his own family member as “stereotypically Puerto Rican,” can relate to Victor’s struggle. “Family is everything in our culture,” he explains. “And I think that's very, very prevalent in the Latinx community. And that's why, for some Latinx kids, it's a little more tough to come out, because they're scared to lose their families.” Though he is straight, Cimino has been a lifelong ally to the LGBTQ+ community, and he has become especially sympathetic to the individual hardships it faces since learning of a close cousin’s tough coming-out experience.


“I remember him telling me that, whenever he first came out, how hard it was for him, and why he felt a lot of people viewed him differently,” he says. “He was scared.” Today, that cousin often visits Cimino in California, and once the trailer for Love, Victor was released, they watched it with each other. “I was, obviously, freaking out, because I didn't visualize the trailer before it came out,” Cimino says. “He was sitting next to me, and I was also busy freaking out to learn that he was crying.”


That emotional moment confirmed for Cimino that his choice to portray Victor was the correct one. Though the character falters against microaggressions from his classmates and also his family member (in one scene his father pokes fun at a well-dressed man at their family member church), the story is ultimately a profile in courage. And for Cimino, a good part isn't one that will necessarily advance his career (though, having grown up around his family’s vehicle dealership, he dreams of an action role à la Fast and Furious), however one that will inspire positive change. “Anytime I look at a role, I get excited as soon as it seems like it's something that could really make a difference in someone's life,” he says. “It just was such an enormous honor to resemble that struggle on-screen.”


For his part, he is also working to prepare that change on a personalized level, marching with Black Lives Matter protesters in Los Angeles and leveraging his platform to uplift activists’ voices; he also voted for the opening time, right after some firm encouragement his Love, Victor-costar Ana Ortiz, who plays Victor’s mom. “She was like, ‘Go and make a difference. Go and stick up for the things that you believe in, whether that be the environment, whether that be Black Lives Matter. Go out there, protest, make a difference,’” he recalls of a moment on set with Ortiz. “I was going to vote, nevertheless I didn't really feel like it made a difference, and she really made me. That was a big turning point for me.”


And while Love, Simon has become canon in the quickly-expanding genre of LGBTQ+ romantic comedies, Simon Spier’s story was far from representative of the wide spectrum of queer experiences and struggles. It premiered, rather obliviously, at a time any time horrific stories of anti-gay purges in Chechnya pierced headlines internationally. In addition, its protagonist was a white kid, living in a prosperous suburb with liberal parents; the greatest obstacle in his self-acceptance was himself.


Love, Victor, while largely a feel-good coming-of-age story, responds to that privileged narrative, which glosses over the continuous violence of homophobia and bigotry, in ways both subtle and overt. Most directly, the show echos Love, Simon’s message-writing framing, through which Simon develops a relationship with another closeted kid at school, by putting Victor in close conversation with his predecessor by way of the social media. Nevertheless rather than a flirtatious back-and-forth, Victor is simply outraged that Simon’s story would be so simple, so easy; that it can just be. “Dear Simon,” Victor writes in a beginning scene. “I just hope to mention — screw you!”


So, while seeing Love, Simon for the initial time was an inspiring moment for Cimino, he is pleased that he is allotted more time, through a series rather than a feature film, to add to the conversation, to let the familial dynamics breathe, and to bring further depth to queer and Latinx stories. “Honestly, it feels good to be able to see my family member being represented on-screen. We love to eat good food and talk about fantastic family member stories and be loud,” he says. “I hope that a lot of other Puerto Rican kids, and also a lot of other Latinx kids, visualize that.”