Los Espookys Is An Espooky Good Time

(Beware of Spoilers!) Image 1 The highly anticipated second season of Los Espookys premiered in September, three years after its 2019 premiere, after its production was curtailed by the pandemic. The series, the first of its kind for HBO, was a standout from the jump. Primarily filmed in Spanish, the series was unlike anything ever produced by the television network. With the help of creative minds Fred Armisen, Ana Fabrega, Julio Torres, and heavyweight television producer Lorne Michaels, the show was guaranteed to be anything but milquetoast. The series follows a quartet of oddballs that decide to start Los Espookys, a business where they stage horror fantasies for those in need of a little surrealistic help. The first episode picks up right where it left off in Season 1, with our gang, the egotistic Andrés, the optimistic Renaldo, the practical Úrsula and the endearing Tati being hired to complete yet another espooky job. This time, they are hired by Oliver Twix, a peculiar sexton at a nearby cemetery who enlists the group to convince the families of the deceased that their loved ones are happy in the afterlife after Mr. Twix fails to bury them in the correct plots. The ruse is successful and the families, convinced of their family members’ desire to be buried in the incorrect graves, leave satisfied. Image 2 Throughout the season, Karina, the Puerto Rican beauty queen, haunts Renaldo despite not actually being dead, but the absurdity does not end there. In fact, the show treats the absurd like the mundane. A baby shower for a canceled adoption in a trendy nightclub, a water demon finding her purpose through an internship, and a one-sided friendship with The Moon—portrayed by Oscar-nominated Mexican actress Yalitza Aparicio—are some of the macabre machinations the audience is asked to accept at face value. The speed with which the show jumps from one nonsensical plot point to the next leaves no room for explanations or apologies. Los Espookys is unabashedly written for Latino audiences, and it is precisely this self-awareness that makes this show particularly spectacular. Each episode is packed with pan-Hispanic Iconographies: beauty pageants, the Real Academia Española, an Herbalife spoof named “Hierbalite,” and many other icons that help solidify the Latinidad of these characters and the world they inhabit. The showrunner’s decision to have an HBO show be presented primarily in Spanish forces the audience to consume the content in a way that the rest of the world is forced to consume American content: through subtitles. This risky stylistic choice is proven successful by how genuine, and familiar the interactions between the characters feel: Tío Tico primarily speaks to Renaldo in English, who consistently responds in Spanish, and when Tati is asked if she speaks English or Spanish, she matter-of-factly responds that she speaks “un poco de ninguno” [a little of neither]. Last season, in true telenovela fashion, Tati ended up being the one who married cookie heir Juan Carlos and not his actual fiancé, chocolate heir Andrés. This season, the pair are shown to have entered into an unexpected arrangement that is accentuated by Tati’s misguided attempts at traditional wifehood. Despite the union being far from idyllic, Tati expresses her desire to have the perfect marriage with Juan Carlos, communicating to her sister that “a nadie le gustan los hombres, pero todas necesitan un marido” [no one likes men, but everyone needs a husband]. The show’s central lavender marriage is not the only multi-faceted expression of sexual orientation. The show unapologetically showcases a spectrum of queerness among its characters. Renaldo puts drying off the dog and understanding his sexuality on the same to-do list, effectively relegating it to a trivial task to be completed at a later time. Andrés makes his queerness a part of his personality. From his mannerisms to how he dresses and represents himself, there is no denying his identity. Úrsula, on the other hand, conveys a much more subdued homosexuality, never quite expressing it outright. The show is not afraid of being ironic, and the character’s individual sexualities are not the only reference to queerness. In a scene, Úrsula is lured to be hypnotized after reading a sign with possibly every single queer buzzword: “Free radical queer vegan tarot book swap”. The joke here clearly being a poignant criticism of how companies use queerbaiting as an effective marketing strategy. Another groundbreaking depiction in the show is Tati's likely neurodivergence. Hilarious high jinks ensue when Tati decides to "write" Don Quixote, after stumbling upon an audiobook of the work, despite her simply transcribing the piece. Eventually, Tati abandons this new gig but not before her books become widely successful, which leads to schools purchasing “Tati's versions” instead of the originals. Her thought process is visually represented in two acute scenes. In the first one, Tati is depicted literally plugging in two cords to fully understand the authors’ frustrations with her becoming a "bestselling author” while not actually producing any original work. In another scene, Tati is shown desperately trying to communicate with multiple Tati's that are tucked away and sleeping in individual beds, clearly unavailable. Image 3 This season, Los Espookys continues its tradition of intertwining Latino content with eerie and fantastical storylines that are not afraid to tackle controversial topics. We are reintroduced to Melanie Gibbons, a U.S. ambassador who spends her days ordering her interns to return her online shopping rejects and plotting how to become the next ambassador to Miami. The interactions in Melanie’s all-pink government office provide non-PC satirical gold. Among the most memorable moments is Melanie stating to “never trust a white Latina” after firing a white-passing intern and the interns commenting that there is no need to create content in Spanish because “if it's in English, it's for everybody.” The writers directly reference the ignorance of white politicians concerning Latino issues. This point reaches its zenith when Melanie discovers that there is no embassy in Miami, as it is, to her dismay, already a part of the U.S. The social commentary continues in the way the show pokes fun at the populist strategies of many Latin American politicians in the way Mayor Teresa Lobos plans to win the election by giving mini pizzas and sushi to her supporters. To drive the current president out of office, Úrsula convinces the gang to design yet another ruse, this time a simulated eclipse. The storyline speaks to the universal conundrum of choosing the lesser of two evils. If Los Espookys is what Latino storytelling looks like, it is proving to be better than any other show currently on television. This opinion is not unique, as both seasons now hold a perfect 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, a feat in itself. While it is not uncommon for shows to drop the ball in subsequent seasons—an espooky prospect—the show manages to maintain its irreverent humor while remaining fresh and relevant. The second season of Los Espookys ends with a cliffhanger that is just as absurd and effective as last season's: What's in Tati's purse? Let’s just hope we don’t have to wait another three years to find out. Season 1 and 2 of Los Espookys are now streaming on HBO.