What Netflix did next: casual racism & horny puppets
- Text by Megan Nolan
- Photography by Netflix / The Red Sea Diving Resort

The Red Sea Diving Resort
The second big star-flecked Netflix Original to star a motley crew of heroic Mossad agents, The Red Sea Diving Resort is many times worse than the unconvincing but passable Operation Finale which told the story of Adolf Eichmann’s capture in Brazil. That film was bloated and self-regarding, but this one is overtly racist and a jarring tonal misfire.
It’s based on the true story of oppressed Ethiopian Jews languishing in refugee camps in Sudan, who were smuggled out to Israel by way of a daring plot involving a fake resort. Chris Evans plays Ari Levinson, a loose-cannon Mossad agent who concocts the plan and pulls together some doubting colleagues to make it happen. Ben Kingsley is their boss back at the office, mainly appearing for a few seconds at a time to nod approval at a new mission or to shout at the team either with congratulations or remonstration.
It’s a convenient paycheck for Kingsley – but you have to wonder what Chris Evans is doing here. A more obvious White Saviour narrative you really could not find. His crisp American pin-up handsomeness doesn’t help, those flinty blue eyes surveying the nameless, faceless Africans he has rescued with fond satisfaction. I think it would be difficult to make any sort of mass-marketed film out of this true story without veering into dodgy territory, but they appear not to have even considered how to avoid the ugly erasure of the actual people at the heart of the story.
Michael K. Williams is wasted in his role as Kabede, based on a real man who risked his life repeatedly to solicit the help of Israel for his fellow refugees. He speaks in halting English, and is given no traits other than desperation and victimhood. None of the Ethiopians are; they are all reduced to huddling masses who serve only to highlight the bravery of the Mossad agents.
Already irredeemable, the film is also deeply strange, as though made by two different directors who were never introduced. In order to make the plan convincing, the Israelis have to turn the resort into an actual functioning holiday spot for Westerners, so we have incredibly distasteful scene cuts from one film which wants to be Ocean’s 11 set in Sudan, and another which wants to be Argo or Munich. At one point a “Club Tropicana”-style scene with a jaunty ’80s soundtrack cuts without warning or pace to a scene of Ethiopians being lined up and shot. It is difficult to overstate how uncomfortable it is to watch – and not in a good way.
HOW MANY POPCORNS OUT OF TEN? 🍿❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌
WORTH A WATCH WHEN SOBER? No.
WORTH A WATCH WHEN HUNGOVER/ DRUNK? Genuinely can’t imagine many things more torturous than trying to watch this while drunk.
The Happytime Murders
This is the worst film I have watched in my time as a Netflix correspondent, and it is also the only one which I haven’t been able to sit through all of. Forgive me – I fast-forwarded 30 minutes in the middle. I couldn’t stand to get through even a slim 90 minutes of this. If there was some gigantic reveal in the centre of this film which makes sense of its existence, I am sincerely sorry, but otherwise, I don’t think anyone could be paid a sum which would make watching this film worthwhile.
Did I think this 2018 film, lately acquired by Netflix, would be good? No. Did I think it would provide me with a few guilty chuckles? Also no. Because it’s an adult comedy starring puppets. That is the level of “you don’t have to be crazy to work here but it helps” wacky that is intrinsically bad. I hate children’s formats used to produce adult entertainment, because they only ever have one joke, the joke being: Look at the kiddy’s toy saying something rude.
My expectations were already subterranean but somehow this was much, much worse than I anticipated. Set in an LA where puppets co-exist with humans, a serial killer is targeting former cast members of a sit-com. Bill Baretta voices the hard-bitten puppet cop Phil Philips and Melissa McCarthy is painfully muted as his human partner. Maya Rudolph is bafflingly charming as his assistant. Don’t bother Maya, it only highlights how utterly squalid and depressing your surroundings are.
As ever, the only joke is that puppets – the things that kids like, remember? – are disgusting, foul-mouthed, vulgarly sexual, have bodily excretions. That’s it. That’s the movie.
HOW MANY POPCORNS OUT OF TEN? ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌
WORTH A WATCH WHEN SOBER? No.
WORTH A WATCH WHEN HUNGOVER/ DRUNK? I can imagine some Lads getting home after the pub and putting this on. Please don’t.
Follow Megan Nolan on Twitter.
Enjoyed this article? Like Huck on Facebook or follow us on Twitter.
Latest on Huck

Clubbing is good for your health, according to neuroscientists
We Become One — A new documentary explores the positive effects that dance music and shared musical experiences can have on the human brain.
Written by: Zahra Onsori

In England’s rural north, skateboarding is femme
Zine scene — A new project from visual artist Juliet Klottrup, ‘Skate Like a Lass’, spotlights the FLINTA+ collectives who are redefining what it means to be a skater.
Written by: Zahra Onsori

Donald Trump says that “everything is computer” – does he have a point?
Huck’s March dispatch — As AI creeps increasingly into our daily lives and our attention spans are lost to social media content, newsletter columnist Emma Garland unpicks the US President’s eyebrow-raising turn of phrase at a White House car show.
Written by: Emma Garland

How the ’70s radicalised the landscape of photography
The ’70s Lens — Half a century ago, visionary photographers including Nan Goldin, Joel Meyerowitz and Larry Sultan pushed the envelope of what was possible in image-making, blurring the boundaries between high and low art. A new exhibition revisits the era.
Written by: Miss Rosen

The inner-city riding club serving Newcastle’s youth
Stepney Western — Harry Lawson’s new experimental documentary sets up a Western film in the English North East, by focusing on a stables that also functions as a charity for disadvantaged young people.
Written by: Isaac Muk

The British intimacy of ‘the afters’
Not Going Home — In 1998, photographer Mischa Haller travelled to nightclubs just as their doors were shutting and dancers streamed out onto the streets, capturing the country’s partying youth in the early morning haze.
Written by: Ella Glossop