The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, December 2, 2019 — 5A

Big industry is broken. We all know that, and anyone that doesn’t 
is either a brainwashed minion for “the man” or not on social media, 
because exposing big industry is all anyone ever does these days. 
Although this trend is justified, it has begun to grow repetitive in the 
echo chamber that is social media. The four-episode Netflix series 
“Broken” takes on the exact same role as these anti-industry social 
media accounts, but more in the form of an educational packet rather 
than a documentary film. Upon first watch, there isn’t anything 
particularly revolutionary about it — it’s a classic documentary you 
might watch in high school when there’s a substitute teacher in class, 
or if you need something to 
fall asleep to.
The topics are interesting 
and relevant enough, but 
the show doesn’t try to 
make itself stand out as an 
investigative documentary. 
Instead, it rides the coattails 
of 
these 
relevant 
topics 
to relay information that 
could likely be found on 
the 
internet 
with 
some 
light digging. The first season focuses on counterfeit cosmetics, 
big vape, poorly constructed dressers and single-use plastics. 
The documentary never dives into deeper, darker parts of these 
industries, shying away from exposing them at their gritty core and 
the parts that consumers never could have imagined.
The documentary genre is one that’s difficult for filmmakers to 
navigate. Its intent is to inform, but it still has to tackle the same task 
of keeping the audience engaged and presenting their information 
in a stylistic way. “Broken” seems to avoid taking advantage of 
what new style and film technology has to offer and instead takes 
a traditional route, using dark filters and blue shading to indicate 
when something is supposed to be scary. My initial hopes for 
this documentary were reasonably high — after watching nature 
documentaries like “Blue Planet” and “Our Planet,” and touching 
into investigative documentaries, the genre that once was associated 
with boredom had slowly started to redeem itself. “Broken” is a 
reminder that the documentaries that stand out are just that — silver 
linings in a genre that remains mainly stagnant, struggling to find 
a balance between information and entertainment.
Like most informative materials these days, “Broken” also 
falls into the trap of being too preachy. While well-intentioned, 
it seems impossible to avoid feeling like you’re being lectured by 
some member of woke culture at every turn, and this intensified as 
I watched the counterfeit cosmetics episode of the documentary. 
After being presented with all this information about counterfeit 
cosmetics, how and by whom they’re produced, the episode 
concludes by repeatedly emphasizing that “the hands are in the 
consumer” and nobody else to fix this problem. This led me to 
wonder whether we really need a documentary like this right now. 
Exposure to the world’s larger-than-life and incredibly nuanced 
issues makes it easy for one to spiral into a fit of existential dread, 
and it doesn’t feel like another one of these woke culture preach 
sessions is really going to inspire the average consumer to change 
their habits more than they probably have already tried to for other 
pressing issues, such as climate change. It’s worth a try, perhaps, 
but again, “Broken” didn’t do enough to suddenly be “the one” that 
revolutionizes consumer behavior. There’s already so much shame 
against the consumer, can’t we hold producers just as responsible? 
It’s a chicken or the egg question, and this documentary fails to 
answer it to any level of satisfaction.

A ‘Broken’ industry

TV REVIEW

SOPHIA YOON
Daily Arts Writer

Prior to this week, I had no idea who Omar Souleyman was. 
I found his name scrolling through Metacritic and thought it 
sounded like one out of my high school yearbooks or my mom’s 
soap operas (I’m Arab). I didn’t assume many Arab musicians 
were very popular in the West, much less Arabic music. But 
that’s specifically the case for Souleyman. Starting as a Syrian 
wedding performer in 1994, he has since amassed well over 
500 albums over the course of his career. These records are a 
mix of live and studio recordings that gained traction across 
Northeastern Syria, and his stylings draw from a popular 
village folk music of the Levant called dabke, with a slight 
EDM-techno bend. He became a global force following his 2007 
release Highway to Hissake (Folk and Pop Sounds of Syria) under 
American record label Sublime Frequencies. His reach has only 
expanded from there as he made waves at the 2011 Glastonbury 
Music Festival and collaborated with western artists from 
Bjork to Gorillaz. He has now returned to the scene with the 
release of Shlon.
To preface, I will not carry this review on as Pitchfork so 
pretentiously did with their review of 2017’s To Syria, With 

Love, and credit his success as the result of any westernization 
of his work. Nor will I so much as suggest that “his ignorance 
of dabke is a prerequisite for his success,” as DJ Rupture did in 
his 2016 novel “Uproot.” Just 
as American and European 
artists found their fascination 
in 
the 
Japanese 
invention 
of synth-pop, the same goes 
for 
Arabs 
in 
the 
Middle 
East. Rather, I will consider 
Souleyman’s work as I would 
any other work of dabke.
Just as much as it is a genre 
of music, dabke is a form 
of dance. The two work to 
reinforce one another, almost 
inextricable in their pairing; 
there is no point to dabke music if you can’t dance to it. This 
idea radiates throughout Shlon. Clocking in with six songs in 
35 minutes, the album shouldn’t feel as long as it does. The 
effect is a result of placing the music and instruments at the 
very center of a song. The album embodies the standard maqam 
Bayati form with elaborate, layered introductions that can last 
over a minute long. The oud, mijwiz, tablah, daff and arghul 
all cascade melodiously over the ambient 
synths that linger beneath, receding ever 
so seamlessly in succession between one 
another. This is alongside the contributions 
of other Syrian contemporaries, namely 
Hassan Alo on keyboard and Azad Salih on 
saz.
Shlon takes these ritual elements of dabke 
up a notch by way of unbridled delight and 
ecstasy. Its title translates literally to “what 
color,” or more colloquially as “how,” as the 
overarching theme of the album is love and 
how it works. Souleyman takes dabke and 
warps it into his own brand, every song 
loud, energetic and punchy. It never feels 
contrived or aggressive, and Souleyman 
leaves 
ample 
room 
for 
more 
sparse 
moments. Most notably there is “Mawwal,” 
with its subtle, all-encompassing synth 
glowing throughout the entire track. Oud 
and mijwiz alternate with one flowing 
into the other to sustain the song’s energy 
throughout Souleyman’s singing until a daf 
solo that ends the song on a comforting note. 
Alternatively, its successor “Abou Zilif” 
radiates pure jubilance and enthusiasm, a 
pounding tablah and sharp arghul notes 
animating every moment. 
Souleyman 
croons 
short, 
flowery 
proclamations of love throughout every 

track over subtle handclaps that beg us to clap and groove 
along. These lyrics comprise a love poem written by Moussa Al 
Mardood in one sitting during a recording session. Souleyman’s 
gruff, full recitation of the 
poem pairs well with the 
complex mesh of synth and 
the 
fast-paced 
dabke 
and 
baladi on each track. This 
only makes sense with dabke’s 
true niche at weddings and 
other 
celebrations 
of 
love. 
Unfortunately, these lyrics do 
not translate well into English: 
“There are no eyebrows like 
hers / They are drawn like 
swords” can only really keep 
its true glamour in Arabic. 
Omar Souleyman strikes gold in combining the atmosphere 
and energy of an Arab wedding with the radiance of synthpop. 
By playing at the strengths of both genres, he balances them 
over one another to give each a chance to shine. Every moment 
of Shlon sparkles in awe and anticipation with a celebration and 
party in mind. This extends to rank Souleyman not only as a 
dynamic wedding singer, but a deft producer who can wield two 
worlds of music at once.

Omar Souleyman shows us ‘Shlon,’ or how, to have fun

ALBUM REVIEW

DIANA YASSIN
Daily Arts Writer

YOUTUBE

Disney had dipped its toes in the theme of girl-power 
before, with classics featuring strong leading ladies like 
“Mulan,” “Tangled” and “The Princess and the Frog,” but it 
wasn’t until the premiere of “Frozen” that the phenomenon of 
female empowerment in animated cinema was truly born. The 
release of “Frozen” sparked the demand for pale-blue, Elsa-
esque dresses and auburn, Anna-style braids and a record of 
“Let It Go” on a never-ending loop. A revolutionary tale, any 
“Frozen” sequel was destined to fall short of the original. 
Despite its memorable, Broadway-quality voiced characters 
and inventive plotline, “Frozen 2” still feels repetitive and 
doesn’t quite live up to its 
iconic predecessor. 
Picking 
up 
where 
“Frozen” left off, “Frozen 
2” begins in the kingdom 
of Arendelle, where Elsa’s 
(Idina 
Menzel, 
“Rent”) 
powers have been embraced 
by the people, Anna (Kristen 
Bell, “Veronica Mars”) and 
Kristoff (Jonathan Groff, 
“Mindhunter”) are happily 
coupled 
and 
sidekicks 
Olaf (Josh Gad, “Pixels”) 
and Sven the reindeer are 
perfectly content. At first, 
it seems that happily ever 
after has finally arrived. 
But 
when 
Elsa 
starts 
hearing mysterious voices 
calling to her in the night, 
it soon becomes clear that 
something isn’t right, and 
Arendelle is in jeopardy. 
To save the Kingdom from 
impending 
doom, 
Anna, 
Elsa, Kristoff, Olaf and Sven 
must journey to the enchanted forest, unveiling new truths 
about their pasts and setting the course for their futures with 
every step. 
Central to the success of “Frozen” were Anna and Elsa’s 
contrasting personalities and familial tension. Anna was the 

fun-loving, optimistic and wide-eyed little sister who just 
wanted love and adoration from her elder sister, whereas Elsa 
was the troubled, more-seasoned one perpetually trapped in a 
hero’s journey archetype. While the clash between the sisters 
was acceptable in “Frozen,” their constant bickering about 
protecting one another from danger and overall misalignment 
is tiring in “Frozen 2.” Each sister is always trying to protect 
the other, justifying irrationality with love. Though at first 
touching, the back and forth “I love you more” narrative 
quickly wears down and ultimately weakens the pacing of the 
film.
Aside from the characters, what “Frozen” was known and 
loved for was its unforgettable music. Much like the other 
elements of the film, “Frozen 2” dropped the ball on the 
music, failing to distinguish any one song as a hit. Despite 

Menzel and Bell’s outstanding vocals, the majority of numbers 
throughout the film are, to our disappointment, relatively 
unmemorable. Only time will tell whether any of the songs 
will stick, but it doesn’t look like any tunes will be deposing 
“Let It Go” from its musical throne.
In truth, there wasn’t anything 
wrong 
with 
“Frozen 
2.” 
But 
it 
didn’t wow, and that’s a standard 
all Disney sequels are (with good 
reason) expected to meet. More than 
anything, “Frozen 2” proves that 
it takes more than a new plotline 
and a fresh set of songs to craft an 
innovative sequel. While ages 10 and 
under will likely still appreciate the 
charm of Disney’s new release, older 
audiences will grimace at the lack of 
character evolution and catchy lyrics 
that it offers.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see:
‘Frozen 2’ is nothing like its mother

FILM REVIEW

SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer

Omar Souleyman strikes 
gold in combining the 
atmosphere and energy 
of an Arab wedding with 
the radiance of synthpop. 
By playing at the 
strengths of both genres, 
he balances them over 
one another to give each a 
chance to shine.

Frozen 2

Walt Disney Pictures

Ann Arbor 20 + IMAX

Shlon

Omar Souleyman

Mad Decent

Broken

Season 1

Netflix

Streaming Now

WALT DISNEY STUDIOS MOTION PICTURES

