5 min read
The dictionary defines the word picaresque as "relating to an episodic style of fiction dealing with the adventures of a rough and dishonest but appealing hero."
That couldn't be a more apt description of Mo season two, the semi-autobiographical comedy series from comedian, writer, director, and star Mohammed Amer, who embodies a blustering yet lovable picaro fit for our increasingly dark and chaotic times.
Co-created with Ramy Youssef, of Emmy-winning Ramy fame, Mo is another authentic and comedic portrait of Arab-American life.
But season two has turned out to be a powerful vehicle for Mohammed to reveal that his dramatic chops match his wit.
He pours both humour and heartache into his stateless Palestinian character, striving to reunite with loved ones, as his concept of masculinity and identity is dismantled and rebuilt along the way.
Season one introduced Amer's eponymous lead, Mohammed Najjar, as a rough-around-the-edges yet affable guy trying to make good on the American Dream™ while awaiting his asylum application to be approved – 22 years after arriving in Texas from Kuwait with his Palestinian family.
However, his propensity for cutting corners, lying, and hustling lands him in trouble too often, which is why the first season ended with Mo stranded across the border in Mexico.
His haphazard mission to get back some olive trees – to help his mother Yusra's (Farah Bsieso) homemade olive oil business – goes awry when he encounters a people-smuggling coyote gang.
Season two kicks off six months later, with Mo struggling to secure his right to return – not just to his home in Houston, but to his homeland of Palestine.
He encounters plenty of obstacles across eight enjoyably paced episodes. From US embassy stooges to border control officers, both in the US and Israel, as well as a deeply unsympathetic judge, there are so many ways in which Mo's dignity and autonomy are taken away from him.
Mohammed refuses to sugarcoat the casual and overt racism Palestinians, Arabs, and immigrants frequently face, especially in the first two episodes, showing just how robust and emotionally penetrating the storytelling is.
In the season opener, an amusing montage showcases his jack-of-all-trades survival instincts. In Mexico, he has found work as a lucha libre wrestler, falafel taco vendor, and even a maracas player in a mariachi band.
Mexican life is depicted with radiant colour, but Mo can only see grey after several failed attempts to get home through a legal route.
His Mexican-American ex-girlfriend Maria (Teresa Ruiz) won't take his calls anymore, plus his asylum hearing with his mother and brother Sameer (Omar Elba) is days away and he's desperate to get back.
A chance meeting with the US ambassador's Mexican wife could be his ticket, albeit a kinky one when he is awkwardly propositioned.
Unfortunately, that avenue is closed off after Mo gets into a semantics argument over the ambassador's use of ‘conflict’ about Israel's occupation of Palestine.
It's an argument hugely reminiscent of the cringe-inducing confrontations Larry David's TV alter ego gets into in Curb Your Enthusiasm.
Mo can be kind, funny, and quite often right in frustrating situations and political debates, but his aggressive lack of filter and inability to get a handle on his emotions makes every uncomfortable situation even worse.
And like Larry, Mo's self-centredness almost always proves to be his biggest obstacle; not just to himself but to the people around him too.
Once back in Houston, Mo is confronted with the fact that life has gone on without him, putting another dent in his sense of self and manhood.
His friends have settled down while his romantic future with Maria hangs in the balance.
Tired of his immaturity, Maria has moved on with Guy, a charismatic Israeli-American chef (played suavely by Jewish actor Simon Rex), which, of course, provides plenty of jokes and jabs centred on Israel and Palestinian relations.
The fraught love triangle culminates with Mo storming Guy's popular restaurant and ranting about Israelis' appropriation of Arab cuisine.
I mean, he's right, but it frantically escalates, goes viral, and throws a spanner in the works for the future of the family business, forcing Mo to truly grapple with his toxic behaviour.
As his mother kindly tells him, after he apologises but complains about the prospect of working at his old phone shop job: "I can do a lot of things I don't want – it's normal."
This is certainly the Mo show, but it doesn't shortchange its supporting cast with small but stand-out performances from Farah, Moayad Alnefaie as Mo's hilariously patriotic best friend Hameed, whose hyperbolic declarations of love are so hilariously Arab, and Omar.
Sameer's neurodivergence is unpacked so elegantly, and Yusra's overprotectiveness is handled so gently, that it opens a beautiful dialogue about motherhood too.
Farah bridges the gap between Palestinian culture and American life and gracefully cuts through aggressive stereotypes associated with immigrant Arab women, giving a deft voice to the pain of separation from the place Yusra grew up.
The finale takes place there, in Palestine, where the Najjars reunite with their family in an, at times, harrowing but mostly heartwarming homecoming.
It also answers the mystery embedded in the magical realist elements underscoring Mo's journey.
The season is littered with feverish dream sequences that pay homage to telenovelas, lucha libre, the film Shawshank Redemption, and even hints of Sufi mysticism.
But Mo's crisis has never been about his faith, only about himself, and these subconscious sojourns put him on the path to enlightenment.
To help him cut through the fog of self-doubt, and see beyond his insecurities, antiquated ideas of masculinity, and especially anger at a world that refuses to see his humanity.
This is said to be the final season, with the last episode, significantly, ending on 6 October 2023. It's a shame considering how many storylines end mid-sentence, but maybe that's the point.
The future is uncertain for Arabs and marginalised communities in the US, with another Trump presidency; it's uncertain for Palestinians returning to their decimated homes in Gaza as the threatening shadow of their occupiers still looms large.
But as we watch the resilience and strength of Gazans rebuilding their homes, painting over the destruction, and embracing their loved ones again, hope is the key.
Mo ending with a smile, not a shout, is certain of that.
[Cover photo: Eddy Chen/Netflix]
Hanna Flint is a British-Tunisian critic, broadcaster and author of Strong Female Character: What Movies Teach Us. Her reviews, interviews and features have appeared in GQ, the Guardian, Elle, Town & Country, Mashable, Radio Times, MTV, Time Out, The New Arab, Empire, BBC Culture and elsewhere
Follow her on Instagram: @hannainesflint
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