Every single morning, I wake 

up to the buzz of my phone alarm. 
Immediately, I check to see a 
myriad of notifications popped 
up on my screen and spend at 
least ten minutes looking through 
each one before I wash up and 
get ready for class. Throughout 
the day, I find myself constantly 
clicking and thumbing through 
Twitter, 
Facebook, 
Snapchat 

and Instagram. Occasionally, I’ll 
stop to look at a striking image or 
funny meme, but more often than 
not, I mindlessly like statuses and 
pictures when scrolling down my 
seemingly endless online feed. My 
browser windows are frequently 
filled to the brim with a ridiculous 
number of tabs. Some contain 
pop culture articles from The 
Guardian, Pitchfork and AV Club, 
while others are just YouTube 
videos of movie trailers and clips of 
old Spongebob episodes.

Through social media, I’m 

constantly connected to current 
events and an online community 
made up of friends and strangers. 

Yet lately, I’ve been feeling a sense 
of disconnect, dread and angst 
from spending such a lengthy 
amount of time on it every day.

For a while, I’ve been thinking 

to myself: How have I become 
so conditioned to compulsively 
check social media? And how I 
can stop? I’ve known for a long 
time that I’ve been obsessed with 
using technology. More recently, 
I’ve been coming to terms with 
the fact that I am psychologically 
and sometimes even emotionally 
dependent on the Internet. It 
distorts the way I perceive myself 
and 
others. 
It 
deprives 
and 

simultaneously 
stimulates 
my 

energy. And, it dilutes my attention 
span when I procrastinate. But for 
some reason, I can’t stop using it.

You’re probably asking yourself 

why I’m talking about this kind 
of issue when the notion of 
social media as “addicting” has 
been scrutinized and discussed 
heavily by psychologists, bloggers 
and skeptics. It’s no secret that 
consuming social media in excess 

has adverse ramifications and I 
don’t intend to lecture people with 
a critical analysis of its damaging 
effects. A show like Netflix’s 
dystopian anthology satire “Black 
Mirror” has already proven that 
its presence in our society is much 
more insidious than we may think. 
And the solution to this problem 
pretty much speaks for itself: just 
stop using social media. But how 
can I, what with having to use my 

computer every single day and 
not feel some sort of inclination 
towards checking my Facebook or 
looking through Instagram on my 
phone when I have “down time”?

There are far more complex 

implications of what it means 

to be “addicted” to social media 
than having it labeled simply as a 
mental health issue, or really as an 
issue at all. It goes deeper than just 
checking on what our friends are 
up to or building this virtual façade 
of our lifestyle for others to see. As 
a generation built on the Internet, 
we have been psychologically 
primed to crave a validation that 
often feels more tangible and 
comfortable online than in real 
life.

There’s an episode from HBO’s 

fantastic, 
underrated 
stoner 

comedy “High Maintenance” that 
addresses such a psychological 
complex. In the episode, a tech-
savvy 20-something named Anja 
(Ismenia Mendes, “The Devil 
You Know”) spends her days 
updating and constructing a self-
deprecating persona on her online 
accounts. 
Later 
on, 
however, 

Anja suffers the consequences 
of her social media obsession 
when she uploads a photo of 
the 
show’s 
nameless 
weed-

dealing protagonist (Ben Sinclair, 

“Sisters”) 
to 
her 
Instagram 

without permission. Towards the 
end of her segment, a dejected Anja 
sits in her bed, alternating between 
a book and her phone, and then she 
just weeps, feeling the hollowness 
of her real life and the life she’s 
made for herself online. 

What the episode, aptly titled 

“Selfie,” reveals is a sobering truth 
about the overwhelming nature of 
being totally lost in the real world 
and finding solace in a place that 
capitalizes on this aimlessness. 
The episode itself might not be 
as nuanced as it should be; the 
commentary on social media is a 
bit didactic and Anja is depicted 
as a somewhat negative stereotype 
of 
a 
social 
media-obsessed 

millennial. 
Nevertheless, 
her 

co-dependent relationship with 
social media rings true to a lot of 
the despair and emotional stress 
that many young people, including 
myself, experience on a day-to-day 
basis. We become dependent on 
social media precisely because it 
gives us a false, romanticized sense 

of comfort, anonymity and power. 
 
 
 
 

So how exactly do we self-

regulate and moderate ourselves 
in using the Internet? Should 
we just continue to be active on 
our social media accounts and 
other realms of the Internet? 
Or should we delete everything, 
go rogue and live under a rock 
like Patrick Star for a while? 
The truth is that being active 
on social media is inevitable, 
especially if you’re a college 
student who writes specifically 
about such a topic every other 
week. I’ll probably still get 
distracted from social media 
when I’m doing my homework 
— hell, I’ve checked Facebook at 
least seven times while writing 
this article. But as addicting as 
it may be, I’m determined to log 
out and close my tabs every now 
and then, and just let the world 
exist around me. After all, life is 
much more enriching in the time 
we spend with others in person 
than with those we connect with 
online.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, March 29, 2017 — 5A

Even big fans of arthouse 
will find ‘Kuro’ boring

COURTESY OF KURO

Critiquing 
art 
films 
is 

as arduous a task as sitting 
through 
them. 
Of 
course, 

saying this is close-minded, 
anti-intellectual and an easy 
way to get kicked off Daily Arts. 
For me, a decently “cultured” 
moviegoer, there’s often no 
reward for sitting through 
one 
of 
these 

movies. 
Instead, 

I feel stupid for 
not understanding 
what the hell just 
happened on screen 
— a true low blow 
for my fragile ego.

When 
jaded 
by 
the 

traditional 
narrative 

structures and easy-to-follow 
plots 
in 
most 
Hollywood 

pictures, these experimental 
films feel like a different art 
form altogether. And, they are 
indeed. There are almost no 
similarities between the two 
styles, except for the fact that 
both are, in fact, movies. Art 
house cinema isn’t necessarily 
boring; 
it 
just 
requires 
a 

generous amount of patience.

The 
Ann 
Arbor 
Film 

Festival is a perfect way to get 
acquainted with this style of 
filmmaking. One of this year’s 
entries is “Kuro,” a Japanese 
movie by Joji Koyama and 
Tujiko Noriko. “Kuro” tells the 
story of Romi, a woman living 
in Paris who cares for her 
paraplegic boyfriend Milou. 
Like many other art films, 
“Kuro” 
includes 
practically 

no dialogue in favor of voice-
over narration. Romi, played 
by Noriko, retells the story 
of their love and its many 
complications. Their tale is 
tragic, yet inspired. Although 
it’s 
difficult 
to 
follow 
at 

moments, some of the stories 
told 
by 
Romi 
are 
heart-

shattering and true testaments 
of the human will.

“Kuro” 
attempts 
to 
tell 

two 
stories: 
one 
through 

the narration, and the other 
through the various shots of 

Romi caring for Milou. A lot 
of the plot is unclear, but it’s 
unfair to critique an art film 
as if it were a more traditional 
major motion picture. The 
deeper 
meaning 
that 
film 

snobs love to ruminate over is 
equally ambiguous, which will 
leave 
these 
aforementioned 

viewers puzzled for weeks. I’ve 
given up trying to understand 
the meaning behind “Kuro,” 
perhaps because I’m a bit 

impatient 
with 
such 

challenging 
stories. 
Nonetheless, 
the movie risks 
being a bit too 
“out-there” for 

even the biggest fans of art 
film.

“Kuro” ’s constant narration 

is complimented by stunning 
shots that forgo any camera 
motion, 
diving 
into 
the 

stillness of the characters’ 
lives. An art film without 
quality cinematography (or, 
any film for that matter) is like 
an Italian pizza pie without 
some succulent cheese; it’s 
never going to be anything 
but 
substandard. 
Still, 
the 

camerawork is one of the only 
engulfing aspects of the movie. 
After a while, the pretty shots 
become background to the 
other lackluster parts of the 
movie.

Directors of experimental 

films like “Kuro” lack anything 
close to the budgets of even the 
most “indie” of indie movies. 
With this comes very little 
financial incentive and little 
payoff for those involved. The 
filmmakers, therefore, must be 
deeply passionate about their 
work in order for the movies 
to stand a chance. Koyama 
and Noriko put forth every 
ounce of passion on the screen. 
However, the result requires 
an ample amount of patience 
and an open-mind.

Although 
I’m 
not 
the 

biggest fan of this genre, 
I’m a firm believer that art 
films challenge the norm and 
influence big-name directors 

to 
also 
push 
cinematic 

boundaries. Without people 
doing the weirdest, strangest 
stuff, the movie industry as a 
whole is more likely to remain 
in a creative lull. “Kuro’s” 
overlapping 
“plots” 
and 

meditative 
cinematography, 

two of the movie’s most special 
qualities, still don’t feel overly 
inventive. Regardless, “Kuro” 
questions 
the 
expectations 

of how a movie should be and 

ultimately defies them.

I’ve always wanted to try 

to understand experimental 
movies and dig into their deeper 
meaning. 
But 
sometimes, 

this is futile, for there’s no 
intellectual concept to grasp at 
all. In many ways, movies are 
purely the most basic form of 
escapism. Watching a movie is 
an experience meant to break 
up the occasional mundanity of 
everyday living. Unfortunately, 
“Kuro” only adds to it. 

WILL STEWART

Daily Arts Writer

ANN ARBOR FILM FESTIVAL

SAM 

ROSENBERG

SOCIAL MEDIA COLUMN

Wired & Weary: Dependence on social media

DakhaBrakha’s unique 
take on Ukranian folk

COURTESY OF DAKHABRAKHA

Distinctive, 
bright, 

unconventional 
and 

passionate, 
Ukrainian 
folk 

band DakhaBrakha is set to 
bring their unique talents to 
Ann Arbor this Wednesday, 
March 29 at the Michigan 
Theater.

Bill Smith, founder of Riot 

Artists 
and 
DakhaBrakha’s 

North 
American 
agent, 

discovered the quartet at a 
concert in Greece about five 
years ago.

“Everybody in the audience 

was mesmerized,” Smith said.

Formed in 2004 at the 

Kyiv Center of Contemporary 
Art in Ukraine by Vladislav 
Troitskyi, 
an 
avant-garde 

theater director, DakhaBrakha 
combines the simple tenacity 
of their voices with hints of 
varied artistic influences to 
create an original performance 
experience.

In 
spite 
of 
the 
group’s 

limited English, their artistry 
transcends typical language 
barriers. They’re influenced 
by sounds from around the 
world, at once both familiar 
and 
authentically 
foreign. 

Their name stems from old 
Ukrainian, meaning “give / 
take,” and that’s exactly what 
their music does.

“I would rely on what they 

call an ‘ethno-chaos,’” Smith 
said. “It is quite a mixture 
of genres. It’s based on long-
forgotten Ukrainian folk songs 
that they have revived … they 
have re-arranged them with a 
multitude of other influences, 
whether it’s rap, jazz (or) 
classical, 
while 
retaining 

the 
basic 
folkloric 
music. 

It’s clearly recognizable, but 
they changed it in a way that 
absolutely inspires the public.”

A small and powerful force, 

DakhaBrakha 
consists 
of 

musicians Marko Halanevych 
(vocals, 
darbuka, 
tabla, 

didjeridoo, 
accordion, 

trombone), Iryna Kovalenko 
(vocals, djembe, bass drums, 
accordion, percussion, bugay, 
zgaleyka, 
piano), 
Olena 

Tsybulska (vocals, bass drums, 
percussion, garmoshka) and 
Nina Garenetska (vocals, cello, 
bass drum).

“They 
start 
off 
very 

dramatically, and the tempo 
changes throughout,” Smith 
said. “I can’t say that I have a 
favorite part of their concerts 

because it’s all so well put-
together … so many presenters 
have told me that they’re 
the highlight of their entire 
season, and a few of them have 
said (they’re) the highlight of 
their careers.”

Their music has a quiet, 

incomparable force to it; it’s 
inherently captivating.

“It’s 
fundamentally 

Ukrainian, Eastern European 
folkloric 
music. 
It’s 
so 

accessible 
that 
people 
in 

Mexico 
described 
a 
show 

there as a ‘rave.’ Other people 
see it differently,” Smith said. 
“It takes maybe five or ten 
minutes into the concert for 
the public to grasp it if they’ve 
never seen the group, and then 
they simply embrace it and go 
wild. It’s amazing how they 
stir the public.”

Somewhat 
ethereal 
in 

nature, 
their 
vocals 
are 

accompanied 
by 
layers 
of 

beads and tall, woolen hats, 
allowing DakhaBrakha to craft 
a visually stunning concert 
that’s difficult to look away 
from.

Some of their pieces are 

slower, 
sharply 
contrasting 

with the intensity of others 
and lending a depth to their 
performances. One of their 
more popular tracks, “Baby,” 
from 
their 
2014 
album 

Light, 
sits 
comfortably 
at 

about 
seven 
minutes 
long. 

Seemingly narrating a story 
through unfiltered emotion, 
it’s hopeful when it needs to 
be and dangerous when it so 
desires.

The 
song 
embodies 

the 
evolutionary 
feel 
of 

DakhaBrakha’s 
music: 
The 

band is able to communicate 
a 
story 
that 
reaches 
all 

audiences 
no 
matter 
the 

langauge differences. Riding 
on 
the 
strength 
of 
their 

sound, the group uses their 
performances to universally 
attach themselves to those 
around — watching, listening, 
feeling.

Strange, 
thoughtful 
and, 

at 
times, 
other-worldly, 

DakhaBrakha’s performance is 
sure to be memorable. With an 
artistic vision as idiosyncratic 
as theirs and gripping vocals 
to match, it’s best to approach 
the night with open hearts 
and minds. Resting atop the 
foundation of pure love imbued 
in 
DakhaBrakha’s 
concerts, 

this Ukrainian quartet is set to 
share their joy with Ann Arbor 
this Wednesday.

ARYA NAIDU
Daily Arts Writer

UMS presents 
“DakhaBrakha”

Michigan Theater

Wednesday March 

29 @ 7:30 PM

$12 - $20 Students, 

$24 - $52 Adults

COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW

“Kuro”

55th Annual Ann 
Arbor Film Festival

Michigan Theater

When jaded by 
the traditional 

narrative 

structures and 
easy-to-follow 
plots in most 
Hollywood 

pictures, these 
experimental 
films feel like a 

different art form 

altogether

In spite of 
the group’s 

limited English, 

their artistry 

transcends typical 
language barriers