In the flashback sequences, the character portrayed by Antonio Resines, a right‑leaning Cantabrian businessman named Jose Maria, has just died as the film Eight Moroccan Surnames opens. The funeral attendees stress how much he helped shape the Spanish brand. They come across as racist, sexist, and openly homophobic, even though there is no gay person they can target. They live in a small town named Pelayos on the Cantabrian coast and display the Spanish flag on phone cases, wristwatch chains, belt buckles, and keychains.
Real voters from Vox and some from the PP would not feel out of place in this community, especially when one character, Guillermo Lopez de Castro, is asked if he is Basque after saying he hails from northern Spain. He responds with a boast, claiming he is from the good North. Guillermo makes it his mission to coach wealthy people in golf and to win back his ex-girlfriend Begoña, the daughter of the deceased businessman who left the family in turmoil. The family cannery is in precarious condition.
Thus begins Eight Moroccan Surnames, the third entry in a popular Spanish comedy series that started with Eight Basque Surnames in 2014 and followed with Eight Catalan Surnames a year later. The title itself serves mainly as a commercial hook, since this third film bears little relation to the preceding ones other than the production companies involved Telecinco, Mogambo, and La Zonafilms.
Earlier entries were directed by Emilio Martinez Lázaro with scripts by Borja Cobeaga and Diego San José. The same ensemble of actors—Dani Rovira, Clara Lago, Carmen Machi, Karra Elejalde, and Berto Romero in the second film—appears in the first two. In this installment, a new cast path is taken and the Catalan boyfriend no longer anchors the story.
Directors and writers shift with Álvaro Fernández Armero at the helm and Daniel Castro providing the screenplay. Unlike some previous collaborations known for a sharper edge, this film leans into a different comedic rhythm, with a tone aligned with other projects by the same creative teams. The cohesion of the franchise is challenged by a shift away from shared characters and locales, though the filmmakers retain a recognizable sense of humor.
new fronts
The absence of the original cast is notable as the story, setting, and situations diverge. The humor centers on class and cultural tensions rather than regional rivalries. The Diaz Aguirre family in Pelayos holds social influence, and the daughter Begoña constantly jumbles names among cannery workers, signaling a disconnect between family priorities and the needs of their workforce. The mother, Carmen, contemplates a path that would separate her from her homeland, hinting at a larger theme about belonging and mobility. The film uses these contrasts to explore cultural distance in light, often affectionate ways, leaning into a light satire of social norms rather than malice.
The plot accelerates when Begoña, Carmen, and the restless Guillermo are obliged to travel to Essaouira, Morocco. They accompany the late Jose Maria’s rescued vessel, El Sardinete, and uncover a hidden facet of the family’s life, including a daughter with a Moroccan partner, Hamida. The revelation prompts a shift in perspective as the family grapples with secrets and the implications for their public image.
From there the film touches on topics such as racism, immigration, and cultural identity through a series of moments that mix predictable and improvisational humor. The wedding scene stands out as a high point, featuring Guillermo in a djellaba and a ceremonial garment that prompts questions about tradition and modernity. The moment underscores a clash between conservative sensibilities and the warmth of cross-cultural connection, while a secondary character Hamza Zaidi, a 26-year-old writer with a famous viral phrase, adds a contemporary flavor to the interactions.