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Netflix’s Mo: The Unofficial American’s Hilarious Palestinian-Refugee Struggles

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Residing in Houston, Mo Najjar showcases his strong attachment to the city through his wardrobe filled with Astros memorabilia. The affection for his hometown is evident. Following a swift maturation after his father’s demise, he has been shouldering responsibilities as the head of the household for his caring mother, Yusra (Farah Bsieso), and his brother with autism, Sameer (Omar Elba). However, he struggles to maintain employment. Struck by gunfire in a mass shooting but lacking insurance, he receives stitches from a tattoo artist (Michael Y. Kim); the incident leads him to become dependent on lean. His girlfriend, Maria (Teresa Ruiz), is eager for an engagement, although Yusra disapproves of their interfaith relationship. As his friends Nick (Tobe Nwigwe) and Hameed (Moayad Alnefaie) advance in life, Mo finds himself stuck in a survival state.

In many respects, Mo is much like a typical millennial American, navigating economic difficulties spanning two decades and striving for stability. However, it’s important to note that Mo isn’t actually an American – he’s a Palestinian refugee who was born in Kuwait and grew up in Texas, living under the prolonged uncertainty of a complex asylum case that has lasted over 20 years. The Netflix dramedy “Mo,” co-created by and starring Mo Amer, explores the conflict between Mo the ordinary individual and Mo the resilient survivor, a man with considerable charm and skills, yet legally barred from building a legitimate career. The second season of the show, which was recently released and unfortunately marks its end, escalates the challenges in Mo’s life, delving into darker themes while still maintaining the absurd humor and moments of beauty that enrich Amer’s uniquely American, Palestinian-refugee narrative.

At the conclusion of Mo’s first season in 2022, an attempt to retrieve stolen olive trees from his workplace ended disastrously, with him and Nick trapped in the back of a truck en route to the border in Mexico. While Nick’s American passport facilitated his swift return home, Mo’s uncertain immigration status not only delayed his journey back to Houston but potentially threatened his asylum application. As the new season unfolds, set mere months after the previous finale, Mo remains in Mexico City, struggling to survive by running a falafel taco stand during the day and performing as a luchador at night. His relationship with Maria has grown strained, although he still maintains ties with her two Mexican aunts who assisted him in settling there. Moreover, he is on the verge of missing a crucial hearing that could secure the Najjars’ permanent residency status in the U.S.

Mo’s journey across the border brings together a wild crime comedy – featuring a comical incident with a passionate diplomat’s wife – and a creative way to share his less-told immigrant experience, linking it to the struggles of undocumented individuals crossing from Mexico. After landing in immigration detention, Mo’s exposure to human suffering is interpreted through the lens of prison drama depicted in “The Shawshank Redemption.” Co-creator Amer, along with Ramy Youssef, provides a glimpse into this harsh environment to emphasize its senseless brutality, but avoids prolonging the depressing tone for too long. Whether he’s joking around with old friends or complaining about the foul smell of an overcrowded detention center, Mo’s humor and resourcefulness keep the show’s mood consistent.

In the second half of the season, the funniest and articulate episodes occur when the main cast reunites. By this point, Maria is dating a fashionable Israeli chef (Simon Rex), whose restaurant exploits Mediterranean cuisine – Mo’s worst nightmare. Meanwhile, he becomes entangled in a relationship with Hameed’s seemingly perfect sister-in-law, Austin (Johanna Braddy), a Texas blonde eager to secure her new boyfriend. The series combines the broad humor of romantic rivalry and the somber humor of immigration-related bureaucracy with moments of camaraderie and spirituality. Food, especially Palestinian cuisine, serves as a healing force for the Najjars; the scenes focusing on aromatic rice dishes and bowls of homemade hummus make this clear. Yusra transforms her love for making olive oil into a business. In the last two heartwarming episodes, the Najjars and their friends gather for grand feasts; Thanksgiving features barbecued turkey, Middle Eastern dishes, and Maria’s tamales, enjoyed during lively discussions at an outdoor banquet table on the olive farm.

I, Mo, find myself forming unlikely alliances with diverse individuals throughout my journey. One such ally is Buddy, an older white man with a trucker hat and Southern drawl who warmly embraces my entire family after we strike a deal to use his farm for our oil bottling business in Season 1.

In the same season, I part ways with the Najjars’ distracted Palestinian immigration lawyer and bring on Lizzie Horowitz, a diligent Jewish attorney. Another Jew, Aba, frequents the local hookah lounge, engaging in thoughtful discussions about geopolitics and cultural customs with his Muslim friends.

As I navigate through life, I often reflect on humanity’s flaws. “We just suck as a human race,” I might say when confronted with instances of misunderstanding or prejudice. However, my perspective on human nature is not as pessimistic as that statement implies. Though race, religion, and ethnicity may differentiate us, they do not dictate our inherent goodness or badness. The true defining factor is how we treat one another. We are all people, sharing similarities in our collective essence while each of us remains a unique individual.

The show “Mo” doesn’t shy away from the political context of the Najjars’ exile. Instead, Mo and his family continuously deal with the repercussions of occupation, as well as facing prejudices against Palestinians and Muslims. Yusra is constantly disheartened by distressing news from her homeland. However, Season 2 concludes before the Hamas massacre on Oct. 7, 2023, and the subsequent 15-month Israeli assault that devastated Gaza. This was not a cowardly choice but a commitment to preserving the show’s unique perspective. When the writers attempted to tackle the war, Amer explained to Vulture that “Every scene became quite preachy, and this wasn’t the show.” Sanctimony would have clashed with “Mo”‘s self-effacing humor and everyday narrative. Despite making us laugh, the series also stirs our empathy for Palestinians, refugees, immigrants, and others frequently overlooked or dehumanized. Through Amer’s lens, we recognize that these communities are an integral part of America, and excluding them would create rips in our societal tapestry.

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2025-02-04 01:06

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