One of the more harrowing sequences you’ll see on TV this year involves a first date between a man dressed as a mummy and a woman cosplaying as a sprite. The series is Netflix’s Sexy Beasts, an endurance test for even the most dedicated viewer of reality TV dating shows. But despite their deranged canoodling, my attention immediately flocks to Mateo, the non-costumed man rowing said mummy and sprite through Cambridge as cameras roll. His presence is what really underlines the show’s utter chaos.
The London-set series defies explanation, but roughly, each episode goes like this: Conventionally attractive singles agree to go on a date dressed as prosthetically enhanced creatures. One costumed contestant courts three others in search of their “sexy beast.”
While the ostensible message is that love is more than skin-deep, the show lacks any stakes. No matter how contrived the conversation, dates always end with some lukewarm bubbly and the participants insisting, after less than an hour together, that “this could be love.” Once unmasked, the deepest question producers seem to prompt contestants to answer is whether or not their date is their typical physical type. Nine times out of ten, it’s a yes.
And after two (yes, two!) seasons of Sexy Beasts, it’s easy to be lulled into an alternate reality. Somewhere between episodes two and four, the conceit of a rabbit and goblin sipping craft cocktails together no longer lands as a shock to the system. That is, until someone who isn’t wearing an elaborate costume appears, jolting even the most passive viewer back into the show’s eerie reality.
At times, the show’s NCPs (Non-Costumed Persons) are merely bystanders—bartenders and patrons who may or may not be on the Netflix payroll. They seem totally unfazed with the ornate creatures mingling in their midst, featured only as blurry seat fillers in the back of frame. Other NCPs, like Mateo, factor into the blind dates. Either way, they serve as witnesses to the madness, proof that Sexy Beasts is an actual TV show—not a 30 Rock parody. They also deliver some of the series’ most comedic moments.
A few key NCPs populate the first season of Sexy Beasts. In the show’s second episode, a contestant stutters when asked by his date if he’d still be attracted to her, should she ever “gain 300 pounds.” It prompts Nick, the ice-sculpting instructor to give an alarmed look at the camera, punctuating the uncomfortable moment in all its glory. We’re also introduced to Fred, a person whose facial expressions indicate deep analysis about what led to him watching adults dressed as a leopard and beaver practice at a shooting range. And who could forget Alex—a model who posed nude for two masked contestants during a painting class held in a barn?
But however deep my fascination with these brave soldiers may run, it’s only in season two of Sexy Beasts that NCPs have gotten their due. Episode three introduces us to Rob, a guide treating Devon the tiger and Sam the ogre to a double-decker tour. His stellar bowler hat is given a shout-out via voiceover by Catastrophe’s Rob Delaney, who provides the show’s wry narration. In the same episode, there’s Jean-Christophe Novelli, a renowned French chef who is the closest this show may get to a celebrity guest star. Novelli dutifully wishes the best for Devon and her other suitor, Nigel (made up as a warthog), despite their subpar apple-tart-making skills.
The season’s true breakout, however, is Judith Blacklock, founder of Judith Blacklock Flower School. Sporting a statement necklace made of…colorful pencil ends (?!), she appears unbothered teaching flower arranging to a dragon and shark. Blacklock’s shop looks straight out of a ’90s rom-com, and her judgments of the couple’s bouquets are generous. She even earns a shout-out later in the episode from Mick the dragon, who jokes, “I know who I’m gonna choose. Curveball: It’s Judith.”
If Netflix bestows a third season of Sexy Beasts upon us, the streamer would be wise to expand the roles of these non-costumed players. The show’s watered-down format gets injected with the most comedy and humanity when the beasts encounter everyday people. Sometimes they ask with their eyes, “Where am I?” At others, they are charmingly sympathetic to the singles as they navigate an awkward dating scenario. Whether it’s a rooster ramming his beak into a wine glass as a concerned sommelier looks on or yoga class participants forced to do child’s pose next to zoo animals, Sexy Beasts reaches its peak level of camp when regular humans get involved.
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