comedian Mo Amer’s Netflix show funny & moving look at life as a Palestinian immigrant in the US

The first season of Mo, comedian Mo Amer’s Netflix show, was a funny, moving look at life as a Palestinian immigrant in the US – then 7 October turned everything on its head. He talks about ceasefire hopes and why he can’t stop crying

Moments before I’m due to talk to Mo Amer, a notification pings on my phone. After 15 months of unthinkable violence, Israel and Hamas have agreed on terms for a ceasefire. As his Zoom window clicks online, I’m parsing the news for details. As a man who has found himself becoming one of the most prominent Palestinian voices on Earth, so is he.

“I just got a flurry of text messages about it as I came to my computer,” he says, holding his phone to the screen. “It’s literally teed up and ready to go.” Presumably, I say, the gut reaction to the news is a good one.

“Look, as a Palestinian man, we’re very suspicious of deals like this,” he replies in his thick Houston drawl (a US citizen for 16 years, the city has been his home since he was nine). “I’m very hopeful that it is honest and real and sincere, and that it will lead to real positive change. I just have a lot of scepticism. Whenever people are willing to literally say: ‘Cease fire, it’s over, no more,’ that’s always a positive thing. The worry I have is just like, it’s been going on for quite some time. I’ve seen this so many times. I just really want for it all to truly end and for Palestinians to have a real future there.”

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Field of dreams … Mo Amer in season two of Mo. Photograph: Eddy Chen/Netflix

The news can’t help but colour the interview, because it is to promote the second season of Mo, the wonderful Peabody-winning Netflix comedy show he co-created, co-writes, directs and stars in. A semi-autobiographical retelling of his life as a refugee in the US – he and his family fled Kuwait during the Gulf war, and spent 20 years hustling for cash while they waited to be granted citizenship – season one saw Mo working as security in strip clubs and selling knock-off goods from cars, while trying to inch his family’s asylum case forward within an unintelligible system. It manages the rare trick of being just as funny as it is heartfelt. More than anything, you can feel the humanity pour out of every frame.00:03:1Read More

“It makes me feel good when you say that,” Amer replies. “Really, it’s a show about doing your best to not allow people to break your spirit, your mental state, your heart. So it speaks to the resiliency of humanity and maintaining your spirituality, even though it chips away at you. It’s this constant battle within yourself. It’s not just what this Palestinian family on television is going through but really it’s a metaphor for everyone that’s trying to hold on.”

The perfect demonstration of this comes early in the new season when, after some misadventures crossing the Mexican border without the proper documentation, Amer’s character briefly finds himself being held in an immigrant detention centre. In a lesser show, the officer who gruffly processes his case would have been depicted as a two-dimensional monster. Mo, however, takes a moment or two to show that he is trying to hold on just as much as everyone else.

“He has to be at the centre every day,” he says of the character. “It’s his job, bro. He gets to go home at the end of the day, but he has to wake up every morning and go back into that cage. He’s in a prison himself as well. So I was like: ‘I want to see what this guy is like.’”

We’re talking two weeks before Mo’s return. A big, emotional man, Amer has largely kept out of the spotlight since season one, and the few interviews he has done have been characterised by a ready teariness. In November, during a conversation with the LA Times – about Gaza and the personal nature of his work – he broke down mid-answer. This doesn’t happen with us, but he’s keen to point out that this is down to diligence on his part.

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Houston, we have a problem … Mo Amer and Teresa Ruiz in Mo. Photograph: Eddy Chen/Netflix

“I need to home in on my emotionalities,” he says at one point, visibly moved that I’ve complimented his show. “But man, every time I tap into it, just for like a quick second, it’s just overwhelming in a very beautiful way.”

Mo’s second season is more expansive than the first, which revolved round his attempts to get citizenship. As well as the Mexican jaunt, the finale also sees Amer’s character return to Palestine, a reflection of the journey Amer himself took in 2009 once he was finally allowed to travel there, to visit family members he hadn’t been able to see for two decades. The episode is so well made that I was convinced it was shot in Palestine, but Amer is quick to put me right.

“My intent was to absolutely go back and film in Burin, the village we’re from. But because it’s so dangerous and just not the right time, and settler violence and whatnot, it was impossible to do. Really, really impossible. And I would never in a million years put anyone in danger. Lives are at stake. So we never had the ability to actually go there. But I was able to send in crews at different times. We were able to get locals on the ground to physically get the exteriors we needed. But even then I said: ‘Listen, if you even feel a hint of uncertainty, don’t do it. You have to be really careful and really thoughtful about how you do it, and make sure that everything is safe.’ That was our number one priority.”

The other thing that differentiates season two of Mo is its timing. The first season was released in 2022, when a show about a Palestinian family was if not benign, then far less politically loaded. It was in many ways a timeless immigrant story. However, this new series was actively being written as 7 October – and Israel’s subsequent invasion – played out. This left Amer with a dilemma. The conflict recontextualised everything about the show, transforming the simple fact that he is of Palestinian origin into a hot-button issue. How much, if at all, should the new episodes reflect the violence of the times during which it was made?

“I don’t know if you noticed this, but we ended the show on October 6th,” he says. He’s right. The final scene of the final episode cuts to a computer that shows it’s taking place a day before, as he puts it, “all hell broke loose”.

“If we had set the season in a post-7 October era, it would have overtaken the entire show,” he says. “The entire thing would have been lost. So it was really, really important for me to not fall into that trap. I believe very strongly with everything in my heart that it would have been a massive mistake.” Even so, aspects of the show do feel defined by the conflict; the Palestinian episode ticks by, fuelled by the oppressing sense of heightened tension. “We did the best that we could,” Amer says of the decision. “And I can definitely tell you that I put everything into it. My bones still hurt from it.”

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‘We did the best that we could’ … Amer with Stayve ‘Slim Thug’ Thomas in Mo. Photograph: Eddy Chen/Netflix

Another result of the timing is that for better or worse, people now look to Amer to be the mouthpiece of all Palestinians. That must be overwhelming. “It’s wildly overwhelming,” he replies. “I don’t want to say it’s unfair, because my position puts me in a place where I’m expected to respond. But whenever you do actually try to articulate a particular thought, whether it’s about what’s going on right now or the overall situation, you’re never going to make anyone happy. Also things are ever unfolding. So you can say something now, then two weeks later those words can make you look like a fool. It’s difficult, but it’s always been my practice to articulate said message through my heart. I take it all very seriously.”

This is billed as Mo’s final season. Although in person he seems to have softened this to a position of never say never, he does seem keen to get back to out-and-out comedy again. Next month, he embarks on a US standup tour, with British dates promised down the line. Once again, he sees this tour as an opportunity to lighten up a little bit. His first special, The Vagabond, saw him tell all his refugee stories. His second, Mohammed in Texas, was a love letter to the city that raised him. Of his new set, he says: “It’s constantly revealing itself, but it’s like stepping out. I don’t need to talk about where I came from by now. It’s more of a traditional standup set, diving into some deeper subjects in a very comedic way.”

That must be liberating, I say, after spending so many years literally re-enacting the most personal moments of your life story. “It’s been draining,” he nods. “It’s really taxing, man. Mentally, emotionally, it’s been a lot. It’s just so personal. You’re recreating memories, like my grandmother showing me hummus etiquette. It’s like a warped dream. I got to see, like, a little version of me with my grandmother, and she’s talking, and her accent sounds like my grandma. It just really blew me away. It’s so hard, you know, but also it’s beautiful. You’re immortalising them. You’re keeping them alive in a beautiful way.”

He takes a breath, returns to the moment. “I’m out, man,” he laughs. “I can’t handle all this emotion, bro.”

‘We did the best that we could’ … Amer with Stayve ‘Slim Thug’ Thomas in Mo.

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