Film Review: Love, Simon

By all accounts, Love, Simon is a fairly standard coming-of-age film, as most tend to be. However, that isn’t inherently a bad thing. One of the many joys of a teen movie like this is the relative comfort, nostalgia, and retrospect in seeing young characters try to find their place in the world. But within these broad structures that we’re all familiar with provides ample room to allow the specificity of a different perspective to flourish, and that is definitely the case with Love, Simon, which is about the closeted title character (played by Nick Robinson) bonding with a mysterious pen pal (or…e-mail pal?) who is another boy in his school hiding his sexuality from everyone.

The film is adapted from the Becky Albertalli novel by Isaac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger, and it is directed by Greg Berlanti. It’s a film about characters who are very much of this time, but the film is rooted in the works of John Hughes, with its empathetic approach to the journey our lead takes, its eclectic and often melancholic soundtrack, larger-than-life supporting characters, and snarky sense of humor. The film has a very soft look, and a warm color palette, matching its inviting and pleasant vibe, and before you even know it, you really find yourself rooting for Simon, lulled into a place of comfort right before the film breaks your heart.

Not everyone is likely to understand the nuances involved in coming out as gay, but Love, Simon is able to dramatize it in a way that is accessible without sacrificing emotional honesty. It’s a film that holds its hand out to you, and tells you that everything will be OK, and you are strong. Love, Simon could perhaps be criticized for avoiding some of the more harsher realities of being LGBTQ in America. Even I can’t help but think this film’s version of Georgia was a tad…sanitized (there’s literally a scene where Simon turns to a seemingly non-binary, gay black kid and says something like “it all seemed so easy for you.” I guess it’s also worth noting that the white, middle class POV is also something it inherits from those John Hughes movies, but hey, baby steps. Either way, that’s not the kind of film this is, nor does it aspire to be, and I think we could use less of films about LGBTQ stories that wallow in tragedy. This is a film that is unquestionable in its support for our lead, and that kind of support being as prominent as it is might be the kind of thing that can save lives.

Now, all the care in the world wouldn’t be able to save the film if the actors were not up to snuff. If anything, they elevate even the more typical and by-the-numbers moments through their authentic and effortlessly likable performances. Even if the film didn’t rest on Nick Robinson’s shoulders, he is still surrounded by a cast of promising young talent like Katherine Langford, Alexandra Shipp, and Jorge Lendeborg Jr, among several others. Though, it’s not just the kids who excel, as Josh Duhamel and Jennifer Garner are also wonderful as Simon’s parents within their limited screen time. Each actor is able to hone in on the smaller, introspective moments and bring them to life in ways that are emotionally powerful. There isn’t a weak link in the cast and it’s exciting to see where the younger performers go from here.

In the opening monologue by Simon, he talks about how he’s just a normal kid just like everyone else, listing off the banal details of his family and friends, before saying the one thing that separates him from everybody is that he’s hiding the fact that he’s gay. It’s actually a brilliant way to open the film because it’s essentially the mission statement. Love, Simon is just a normal coming-of-age film, like all the others. It centers on a young individual trying to navigate the awkward period of his life while maintaining the relationship between his family and friends, it’s got a colorful cast of characters, it features seemingly world ending – but in reality, very mundane – school drama, it’s got parties, teenage hijinks, that mysterious thing called love. Just like all the classics.