Mo season two is the best possible riposte to Donald Trump’s worldview

When Palestinian-American comedian Mo Amer debuted his Netflix series, Mo, in August 2022, its semi-fictionalised depiction of an asylum seeker from the Middle East living in perpetual dread of US immigration officials (the infamous “ICE”) in Texas was undeniably newsworthy – but did not feel entirely ripped from the headlines.

Three years on, all has changed – both in terms of the global profile of Palestine and of the treatment of migrants in Donald Trump’s America. Mo’s second and final season was filmed before Trump recaptured the White House and immediately declared war on the undocumented. Yet the series intersects chillingly with the Maga movement’s nightmarish new normal and the unleashing of a wave of ICE raids that have left migrants in a state of ever-deepening despair.

Immigrant trauma, the long shadow of conflict in the Middle East… clearly these are not the typical raw materials of a charming sitcom. But what’s most impressive about Amer’s provocative yet sweet comedy is that it holds a mirror up to 21st-century America while delivering belly laughs at a regular clip. Making full use of the lead’s teddy bear persona, this immensely likeable chuckle-fest proves humour can bring warmth and empathy to even the bleakest scenarios.

Amer – whose family fled Kuwait during the Gulf war to resettle in Texas – has serious points to get across about the plight of immigrants threatened with immediate deportation in America. He also touches on the experiences of the Palestine diaspora in the US: their frustration at watching from afar the suffering of their homeland. However, it does so with huge generosity of spirit amplified by Amer’s agreeably befuddled central performance. If Mo is a reluctant outsider adrift in an increasingly hostile country, he is, above all, a confused everyman muddling through for all he is worth.

He is a dude-next-door with dude-next-door problems. Chief among them are a confusing relationship with his on/off girlfriend (Teresa Ruiz), an overbearing mother (Farah Bsieso) and the abandonment he feels when best friend Nick (Tobe Nwigwe) announces he’s becoming a father.

Here are universal dilemmas to which everyone can relate. That remains the case even as the story turns wacky – for instance, when our hero is forced to become a part-time wrestler to pay the rent. Mo’s foray into the ring is part of his desperate attempt to make a living after he accidentally ended up marooned in Mexico City at the end of series one. A complicated plan to boost his family’s fledgling olive oil business had seen him accidentally kidnapped by Mexican olive tree poachers and brought south of the border. Now, he is a stateless refugee trapped in the wrong country. To that end, season two opens with him scraping a living selling tacos and donning the comic book mask of a lucha libre wrestler.

Mo is one of those comedies where the humour does not flow from a firecracker script. There is little in the way of set-up-and-delivery zingers or quotable lines. Its appeal lies in how it evokes the small absurdities of everyday life. For instance, a run-in with the wife of the American ambassador to Mexico leads to a Curb Your Enthusiasm style row between Mo and the diplomat over whether Palestine and Israel are locked in a “conflict” or an “occupation” (Mo feels strongly that it is the latter). Finally back in Houston, he is upset that his ex, Maria, has rebounded with a smug Israeli chef named Guy. A running gag about a guy named “Guy” may not scream comedy gold, but Amer makes it work.

Much like the show’s gentle giant lead, Mo’s eight episodes amble by without any great urgency before culminating in a beautifully bittersweet payoff. Yet in bringing to life the day-to-day struggles of a man who has been seeking refugee status for more than 20 years, it gives us a powerful ground-level view of how immigrants are treated in America.

The series also captures the pain of a Palestinian community separated from their homeland (Mo is forever despairing about not being able to return to Palestine to visit family). Endearing, tender-hearted and quietly bingeable, this is the best possible riposte to Donald Trump’s worldview. It’s a comedy that reminds us that – whether we’re a jilted boyfriend, a worried parent or a stressed border guard – the one thing we all have in common is our humanity.