In new comedy ‘Primo,’ Latino uncles are show’s true superheroes

Iinitially planned on watching Primo, Shea Serrano’s new semi-autobiographical comedy, as an avid fan of Serrano’s writing. But it ended up turning into something else entirely. That might seem slightly confusing, given I’m a half Puerto Rican guy from Washington, D.C., and Primo is a show about a Mexican American family in San Antonio, Texas, but hear me out.

The hook that reeled me in on Primo was the uncles. All five of them. Latino uncles are magic, plain and simple. If you have one, you already know. If you have more than one, then you have the stories to prove it. Latino uncles are like a combination of Rambo and La Rosa de Guadalupe and everything in between.

Latino uncles are living life lessons, protectors, comedians, chefs, offensive coordinators, givers of advice on love — do as they say, not as they do — Jedi masters of wearing a chain just right and explainers of the mystic art of cologne.

Serrano’s involvement guaranteed I would stream this show. He’s always been one of my favorite Latino writers, with his ability to swing between the worlds of sports and pop culture and write about both with sazón (seasoning). Serrano’s cool tweets and cooler books are what initially got me to the Primo title page on Amazon Freevee. (Amazon founder Jeff Bezos owns The Washington Post.) That’s when I noticed actress Christina Vidal, aka the Puerto Rican television princess from the Nickelodeon sitcom Taina, on the cast list. It was one more reason to watch. Taina was a rare opportunity to see a Puerto Rican girl my age who wasn’t one of my sisters (D.C. is not New York when it comes to Boricuas). Now it was a matter of Puerto Rican solidarity, too.

Because no Mexican drama is complete without a Puerto Rican performer. This axiom was most memorably demonstrated in Selena. You know, the 1997 movie about one of the most legendary Latina singing voices ever, which starred two actors of Puerto Rican descent — Jennifer Lopez and John Seda — as Selena and her husband, Chris Pérez. And don’t forget Bad Bunny in Narcos: Mexico. I shook my head at Hollywood and dived in.

Within one episode, I realized I was probably going to binge Primo’s entire eight-episode first season in a day. I instantly connected with Rafa (Ignacio

Diaz-Silverio), the young protagonist given a “chosen one” label for displaying early signs of college potential while in high school. Then there was Rafa’s crush, Mya (Stakiah Lynn Washington), a talented Howard University-bound military brat. Forgive me, but I get a little misty-eyed when I see young love in the form of a Latino boy and the pretty Black girl. It reminds me of my Puerto Rican father and African American mother, who became my parents when they were sophomores in high school. Now, I finally have better on-screen representation of my parents than that Hawthorne show with Marc Anthony and Jada Pinkett Smith.

While watching Primo I initially thought … this is too many uncles (or tíos, in Spanish). I can’t keep up. But I quickly realized there are never enough uncles. Primo isn’t just a show. It’s the Tío Cinematic Universe. Well, maybe TCU isn’t the best abbreviation since this show takes place in Texas. But the “tío-verse” is very real. And imagine my shock when I did the math and realized I, too, had five Latino uncles who had been guiding me my entire life: Butch. Feo. Georgie. Benji. Rick. This is my “tío-verse.”

One of the many things Primo gets right is first-generation American Latino uncles expecting their nieces and nephews to get an even bigger piece of the American Dream than they did and then beaming with pride when they see it happening. Will that pride mostly come off in the form of teasing and jokes? Sure. But you always know its genuine.

Primo was such a delight for me because of its core lesson: Uncles are superheroes.