Ramy Youssef: ‘Ricky Gervais talks about God so much, he might be Muslim!’
It is 8.45am in Los Angeles and Ramy Youssef is at his freshest on what will be a long day full of press interviews. “This is just one of those days of like 30 questions in a row of ‘How is real-life Ramy different from TV Ramy?’” he laughs.
Nuanced, funny and humanising, Youssef’s eponymous TV show, Ramy, gets under the skin of his internal struggles as a young, second-generation Egyptian American, as he navigates what it means to be a good person and a good Muslim. It calls to mind series such as Dave, I May Destroy You or Fleabag – shows based on flawed but likable protagonists, addressing questions of morality for a millennial audience with humour and darkness. As it’s currently tricky to stream in the UK (it is available on Amazon’s StarzPlay channel here), you may not have heard of it. But, with a Golden Globe win earlier this year and season two gueststarring Oscar winner Mahershala Ali, momentum is building round both the man and the show.
Like TV Ramy, real-life Ramy grew up in New Jersey, visiting his grandparents in New York on weekends and spending his summers in Cairo. Real Ramy was into comedy and filmmaking as a hobby, but it was Laith Nakli (who plays Uncle Naseem in Ramy) who convinced him to seriously pursue acting when they met at a comedy festival more than 10 years ago. At 20, Youssef landed a job on a Nickelodeon sitcom and moved to LA, where he managed to sell Ramy before he even had a standup special out. Beyond that, I am reluctant to ask how much further the similarities go – especially considering that some of the storylines are a bit spicy (episode one has a toe-curling scene where a girl wants Ramy to choke her during sex).
The focus of the series is not just Ramy himself. Some of the most groundbreaking episodes are when the lens moves away from him and focuses on the other members of his family. Each is viewed with affection, but none are without their own, sometimes infuriating flaws. Ramy’s father defines himself by his work and struggles when he loses his job, while his chauvinistic brother-in-law, Ramy’s uncle Naseem, is a successful businessman. Best of all is his neurotic mother (Succession’s Hiam Abbass) whose unsolicited advice and objectionable opinions are reminiscent of a classic Arab auntie. What is striking is how her character appears in the episodes away from her children, where she is revealed as more than just a mother: complex and conflicted like Ramy himself, with her own sexual desires and frustrations. “I want to look at the way that we stereotype ourselves,” Youssef says.
Many of the themes raised in the show are universal, from the differences between generations to what it means to be a man. “How has Ramy been influenced by the way he’s been treated versus the way his sister’s been treated by their mother and father?” asks Youssef. “It’s like he has been babied so much because he’s a boy that it’s prevented him from becoming a man, or even just a version of his potential.”
In an age when tribalism groups people according to politics, race and experience, it is refreshing to see such seemingly contradictory yet relatable characters existing even within a nuclear family. The struggle isn’t just about “us” and “them”. As a practising Muslim, Ramy doesn’t simply have to contend with an Islamophobic society; some of his biggest issues are coming to terms with himself and his relationship with his own faith.
“I think for every character, very much so for the Ramy character, it’s ‘me versus me’,” he explains. “Whether it be with writers who are in our room or whether it be with people who are in my life, I try to imagine: what are they hiding?”
This approach has resulted in a show so honest that it can make for uncomfortable viewing. In series two, Ramy is getting to know a Muslim woman, and tries to be honest with her about his sexual history and the fact he thinks he has been watching too much porn. She advises him to “hide his sins”, a cultural and religious value that is shared across different Muslim communities.
So how does he square that principle with making a show that lays bare the transgressions of his characters? “If anything, because this show is fiction, this is a place to explore sin,” he says. “It allows there to be a reference point to talk about things, while others can continue to hide their sin.” For Youssef, this is the role of art in the community. “What should the artist be doing exactly? Showing Islam and its perfection? No, that’s what the teachers, imams and the sheikhs are supposed to be doing. I’m not studied on Islam, so my job, if anything, is to show a nuanced story in which we can discuss things. It doesn’t feel like a contradiction at all. If anything it feels like the purpose of the show.”
Youssef has been surprised at the show’s positive reception in the Middle East. “They get that we’re skipping all the entry-level conversations and trying to get into nuances about faith and ego. There’s this desire where American audiences sometimes are like: ‘Couldn’t you just have had some wholesome conversations as opposed to getting into all the ego, sex and drugs – all this stuff you went right into that makes people feel uncomfortable?’”
Mahershala Ali’s appearance in season two, playing a wise and loving sheikh, has drawn more attention to the show. It’s clear that for Youssef this partnership was just as important on a personal level. “To me, it seems like a divine collaboration,” he says excitedly. Ali first reached out to thank Ramy for making series one. “It turned into me angling for us to meet and hang and eat,” he continues. Soon Ali was on set, praying with Ramy between scenes. “You never see a religious leader on TV that isn’t chockful of hypocrisies or corruption, and we get to have this guy who is full of love,” he says. “It’s so hard to even imagine someone else playing that role.”
Even off screen, Youssef has led with his faith. When he received his Golden Globe earlier this year for lead actor in a comedy series, he thanked God in his acceptance speech, saying “Allahu Akbar”, a phrase that in the western world is often associated with acts of terrorism, but for Muslims simply means “God is great”. He was asked in the press room later if he did so for the benefit of host Ricky Gervais – a staunch atheist – whose monologue roasting Hollywood’s hypocrisies and performative politics went viral.
“The timing of it was funny after what Ricky said, but it was really important,” Youssef says, adding that Gervais is “a really funny and a really cool dude”. He even reached out to Gervais about how the line between atheists and believers has come full circle. “I told Ricky that he talked about God so much, he might be Muslim!” he laughs.
As trust in the media and lawmakers declines, much comedy has become more political. What does Youssef make of people turning to comedians such as Trevor Noah and Hasan Minhaj for their news? “To me that’s a genre of comedy,” he says carefully. “The truth I think comedy should be providing is emotional truth.
“Emotional truths are hard to put into words,” he adds. “But you can put them into a joke. And that’s what the joke is about … I love that I can be wrong on a factual level, wrong on a political level. [But] I love that I can be right on an emotional level.” And whether it’s as real-life Ramy or as TV Ramy, that’s the thing that matters most.
Ramy season two is available to stream on Amazon Prime Video’s StarzPlay from 6 August