Netflix’s MerPeople is a documentary series that couldn’t have arrived at a better time. The last month has seen conservative outcry over the upcoming The Little Mermaid live-action movie, which sees Black actor Halle Bailey as Ariel, as well as viral claims spread by a pro-Trump prophet who alleges that mermaids and related iconography are part of a scheme led by high-technological underwater creatures wanting to attack land dwellers. For whatever reason, mermaids are So Hot Right Now. Unfortunately, despite the often lighthearted interpretation of mermaid culture and the extreme curiosity piqued by the branding of the series – I mean, “MerPeople,” c’mon, I’m immediately sold – this new show is more stinky fish tail, than hunky human torso.
Directed by Oscar winner Cynthia Wade, the docuseries follows a group of underwater performers through their daily lives and key special events, such as auditions to perform with the popular Circus Siren Pod and The King and Queen of the Seas pageant in The Bahamas. The series is told in four parts and premieres May 23 on Netflix.
Through roughly three hours of content, MerPeople introduces viewers to a variety of different people in the mermaid community, such as Morgana Alba, the founder of Circus Siren Pod, Chè Monique, founder of Society of Fat Mermaids, and various others, from industry workers to influencers to hobbyists. There are a lot of different people and not enough time, and simply, not enough direction to this series. The Netflix show can’t decide between being a Dance Moms-esque reality series or a documentary about the inner workings of this culture. At its fingertips (fintips?), the docuseries has several colorful personalities representing a subversive community that seems contradictory to what we know about life and the ways our bodies move. But by the end of the series, you won’t feel as though you know the subjects or the mermaid community any more than you did going in… In fact, you may feel as though you understand less.
The docuseries leaves its viewers with a major disconnect between themselves and the interview subjects, and by extension the mermaid community. To put it in meme-speak, it never answers the pressing question: Why shouldn’t I bully these people? (Beyond the fact that bullying is just bad.) The show’s storytelling lacks details and connections as we jump from one monumental moment to the next. It’s not the fault of the subjects, who clearly have an array of experience to pull from. It’s a major letdown from Wade, despite her previous acclaim in the genre, with titles such as Shelter Dogs, Freeheld and Mondays at Racine under her belt.
The lazy direction not only feeds into the lack of empathy for the subjects, but also sparks questions about its poor depiction of mental health. One of the subjects, Tristan McDonald, was offered a job at Mertailor in the documentary. McDonald is a former Disney performer who was fired after he developed an addiction to stimulants. In the second episode, he is shown telling his mom about his new job and reflecting on how he got to this moment. McDonald calls himself a “liability” before launching into his introduction to mermaid culture, which came during the throes of his addiction. “Life got really hard. Someone sent me a mermaid tail and I noticed that the days that I swam were either days I didn’t use or didn’t have a craving,” he says. We’re getting somewhere, right? Give me some heart! But then the scene cuts and jumps to the Circus Siren Pod founder talking about the everlasting draw to mermaids (which she hardly elaborates on) and shifts the narrative to how the changing times are altering what mermaids look like.
Similar instances happen again and again, to the point where I was throwing my hands up into the air repeatedly, yelling “WTF?” at my television screen. Another scene shows a subject from South Carolina named Blix who claims that he “100% believes” that he’s a descendant of a mermaid because of a family fable about his grandfather saving a mermaid and in return being blessed by the creature. The subject later recalls being neglected at his home and in his community as a child because he is gay. He says he has always found comfort in watching mermaid videos. Towards the end of the documentary, he’s couch surfing with friends because his Christian mother won’t let him move back into her house when he found himself in a rough patch. And that seems to be all we find out about Blix. No resolution, just presentation.
The various – and oftentimes conflicting – narratives are mismatched in such a way that the story doesn’t feel cohesive. The one exception is the Circus Siren Pod segment, which follows along as the troupe goes from auditions to rehearsals to performances. Along the way, Alba makes a delicious villainess with her sassy remarks and acknowledgment of her troupe being “elite” compared to others. “I’ve always railed against the concept of being elite but it seems to have happened anyway, whether I like it or not,” she says in her intro. Okay, Abby Lee Miller, pop off!
Othe than that, the portions of MerPeople which shine the most aren’t the emotional bits or the nonsensical origin stories, but rather the insanely competitive nature of these professional mermaid performers and the dangers they face while performing — such as hypothermia and struggling to breathe underwater. Unfortunately, these gripping scenes are few and far between, while segments like when the troupe gathers to talk about sexual assault in the mermaid community last less than five minutes. One subject says they call these men “merverts” and others make jokes about how the offenders undervalue the cost of their tails. Sure, making light of these serious topics may be a coping mechanism for victims; but it should’ve been a sign to the filmmaker to either dig deeper, or cut the scene.
MerPeople advertises having a whale of a tale to tell but instead offers sardines. “Anybody can be a mermaid, you just have to believe,” says a voice in the show’s trailer — and unfortunately, that’s proven to be true, based on the show’s scant interest in the subjects. Literally, anybody can be a mermaid – just put on a tail, I guess.