Necaxa Review: Following a Formula, Forgetting the Heart

The celebrity-owned sports team docuseries has become a genre unto itself, a reliable formula for underdog stories. The latest entry, Necaxa, follows actress and producer Eva Longoria’s investment in a historic Mexican soccer club from Aguascalientes.

The stated mission is a noble one: to awaken a sleeping giant, reconnect a team with its city, and restore Club Necaxa to its former glory. Longoria serves as the narrative guide, her personal story of reconnecting with her Mexican heritage woven into the team’s fate.

The series is executive produced by Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney, whose presence signals a clear lineage to a successful predecessor. Much of the story unfolds in Spanish, a choice that grounds the series in its setting and reflects Longoria’s own linguistic path. The pieces are all there for a familiar and satisfying sports narrative.

The Specter of Ownership

A central question hangs over Necaxa: what, precisely, is the celebrity’s role? For Eva Longoria, the personal stakes are clear and represent the show’s most developed idea. She speaks candidly about feeling “ni de aquí, ni de allá” (“neither from here nor from there”), a Mexican American navigating a culture she is still learning.

The series opens with her telling a story not about Mexican football, but about her Texan father, a diehard fan of the Dallas Cowboys. This framing is a deliberate choice, an immediate signal that the show is conscious of its American audience, presuming they need a familiar access point to understand a foreign sport and culture.

Longoria’s self-consciousness about her Spanish and her earnest desire to connect with her roots provide a relatable and humanizing anchor. She is a thoughtful and charming guide through her own experience.

The series, however, struggles to define her professional agency beyond this personal quest. It never clarifies if she is a hands-on executive with decision-making power, an inspirational mascot, or an investor whose primary function is to be the face of this television project. This ambiguity creates a persistent narrative vacuum. When she appears on video calls with the coaching staff or the director of sporting operations, the interactions feel disconnected from the team’s actual functions.

We are left to wonder if her presence is a contractual obligation for the cameras or a genuine strategic meeting. Because her authority remains undefined, her character cannot drive the main plot. She becomes an observer of the team’s struggles, a concerned spectator rather than an active participant in its revival. Her story is about finding her place within the culture of Necaxa, but the show fails to grant her a functional place within the club itself.

This ambiguity is amplified by the inclusion of Reynolds and McElhenney. They appear in sterile, exposition-heavy talking-head segments that feel tonally and geographically removed from the rest of the show. Filmed in what looks like a generic conference room, they offer broad platitudes about sports, perseverance, and the nature of fandom.

Their commentary lacks specific insight into Club Necaxa’s unique challenges, players, or history. The show fails to clarify the nature of their own financial stake in the team, which makes their presence feel more like a branding exercise than an organic part of the story.

Their inclusion seems less about illuminating the situation at Necaxa and more about borrowing credibility from their previous success, a decision that ultimately detracts from the main narrative. The dynamic between them, with McElhenney attempting to speak Spanish while Reynolds does not, only highlights their detachment from the subject. It’s an awkward and distracting element that suggests the production lacked confidence in its primary story.

An Echo Without a Foundation

Effective sports stories are built on a solid foundation of character, stakes, and escalating drama. Successful entries in this genre often dedicate an entire first season to establishing that base, patiently introducing the key figures, the town’s unique culture, and the rules of the game. Necaxa attempts to skip this foundational work.

It launches directly into a complex, multi-threaded narrative that combines celebrity stories, community profiles, and on-field action, emulating the sophisticated structure of a more mature series without having earned it. The result is a show that feels ambitious but hollow, a collection of interesting parts that never cohere into a satisfying whole.

This structural impatience is evident from the first episode, which gets weighed down by dry, didactic exposition. The tone often veers into that of promotional material, spending an inordinate amount of time with the team’s head of press. It tells the audience about the team’s potential and its branding challenges instead of showing the human drama through compelling action.

The series’ editing choices actively work against building momentum or suspense. There is a recurring and quickly frustrating motif used to depict on-field action, a narrative crutch that becomes predictable almost immediately. The camera follows a promising offensive play, the music swells, and the frame freezes on the hopeful faces of fans and Longoria.

Then, inevitably, the ball sails wide of the goal or is stopped by the keeper, all rendered in dramatic slow motion. Used once, this might create a moment of sharp tension. Used in nearly every match sequence, it telegraphs failure and drains the games of any suspense. The viewer learns to anticipate the disappointment, which is a fatal flaw in a story supposedly about a potential comeback. This creative choice, combined with the team’s actual record of losses, prevents the show from building any sense of forward progress.

The storytelling is further hampered by a critical failure to explain the stakes. The show does a poor job of clarifying the Liga MX league structure, with its dual-tournament system of Apertura and Clausura. For an audience unfamiliar with Mexican football, this is a significant barrier.

Without a clear understanding of what the team is fighting for, what constitutes a successful season, or the consequences of failure, the matches lose their context and their drama. The audience is left watching a series of disconnected games, unable to invest in the team’s overarching seasonal journey. This omission is a fundamental storytelling misstep, leaving the on-field action to feel strangely weightless.

A Disconnected Community

The heart of any great sports story is the bond between a team, its players, and its people. Necaxa struggles to forge this essential connection for the viewer. The show’s portrayal of its setting feels immediately inauthentic. It describes Aguascalientes as a “deeply religious little town,” a characterization at odds with the visual evidence of a large, modern, and complex city.

This small but telling inaccuracy suggests a superficial engagement with the community the show purports to celebrate. The series also falters in its selection of community profiles, which feel uneven and at times contrived. The story of a longtime burrito vendor who supports his family by selling food on game days is a highlight, a simple and grounded portrait of how the team is woven into the local economy. Other profiles are less successful. The arc of a self-described “anti-fan” who converts to a true believer after attending a single game feels slight and unbelievable.

Another storyline, which focuses on a young vlogger on the autism spectrum, feels like a calculated attempt to replicate an emotional beat from another show. It lacks the organic development that would make it impactful, feeling more like a producer’s idea of a good story than a story that emerged naturally from the community.

A significant narrative problem is the depiction of the Necaxa fanbase as largely apathetic and resigned to failure. While this may be an accurate reflection of the club’s situation, the show fails to find the core of passionate supporters that must exist somewhere. An underdog story requires someone to be rooting for the underdog. By presenting the fanbase as disengaged, the show saps the central conflict of its emotional energy.

This sense of disconnection extends to the players themselves. The individuals who are profiled are likable, but the series fails to make them consistently central to the narrative. Their personal stories do not always connect with the on-field action, leaving them as peripheral figures in their own drama.

The considerable screen time dedicated to the celebrity investors and their ambiguous roles could have been more effectively used to build deep, empathetic connections with the athletes whose careers and livelihoods are actually on the line. The show’s structure prioritizes the celebrity frame over the sports story, and the result is a generic underdog tale. We are told repeatedly that this is a team worth rooting for, but the series rarely gives us a compelling reason to do so.

Necaxa is a docuseries that delves into the world of Club Necaxa, one of Mexico’s oldest and most renowned football clubs. The series follows the team’s journey as they strive to reclaim their place among Mexico’s top teams after experiencing a period of instability including relocations and frequent reinvention. 

Full Credits

Producers: Hyphenate Media Group, More Better Productions, Maximum Effort, 3 Arts Entertainment

Executive Producers: Eva Longoria, Cris Abrego, Rachelle Mendez, Nicholas Frenkel, Jackie Cohn, George Dewey, Rob Mac, Ryan Reynolds, Alex Fumero, Diana E. Gonzales, Kevin Hill

Cast: Eva Longoria, Rob Mac, Ryan Reynolds, Kevin Rosero, Alexis Peña, Diber Cambindo, José Paradela