6 — Wednesday, September 14, 2022
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Within the first two minutes
of “Mo,” our titular character has
hopped from Spanish to English
to Arabic in the span of one scene.
Such is the pace of the show, and
the life of Mo Najjar — loosely
based on star Mohammed Amer
(“Ramy”) himself — who seems
to be constantly experiencing one
life speed bump after the next.
After performing stand-up for over
two decades, with many a Netflix
comedy special of his own, Amer’s
“Mo” is a refreshing addition to the
“stand-up comedian to self-titled
comedy series” pipeline, which
hasn’t really been all that fresh
since the days of sitcom classics
like “Seinfeld” or “Everybody
Loves Raymond.” Co-created by
Ramy Youssef (“Ramy”), that other
Arab comedian your white friends
might have heard of, “Mo” tackles
the complexities of navigating life
in America as a Muslim, an Arab
and a refugee with an insightful
story and plenty of self-deprecating
laughs to go around.
Centered around its self-titled
protagonist, Mo is a Palestinian
refugee living in Houston, Texas,
who’s
currently
juggling
two
cultures, three languages and a
side hustle as he and his family
seek asylum and citizenship in
America.
Even on the relatively small
spectrum
of
Arab-American
representation
in
mainstream
Western media, “Mo” could not be
more different from its privileged,
millennial
cousin
“Ramy”
—
which makes sense, as it is wholly
unrealistic for a single show, or
even two shows, to be in any way
representative of the experiences
of Arab and Muslim Americans as a
whole. And yet, the niche of Arabic
culture that much of the show’s
best comedic material resides in is
so incredibly nice to see on screen,
because aside from a small ring of
films and shows, it hasn’t really
been done before. For once, Arabs
aren’t the butt of the joke: Instead,
the way that the world blatantly
misperceives and disregards us is.
In fact, what I enjoy most about
“Mo” is that the show never fails
to make an Arab viewer feel like
they’re somehow in on the joke, not
bothering to stop and explain to a
presumably non-Arab audience.
It’s all in the details, like how
Mo constantly carries around a
pocket-sized bottle of authentic
Middle Eastern olive oil the way
some people do Tabasco sauce.
Or how he takes off his shoes
when he enters someone’s home
or a place of worship. Or the way
people presume he’s Mexican, or
that the “Palestine” he’s referring
to is the city in Texas a few hours
away, which Mo quips is “a real
branding problem.” In one scene,
he gets visibly upset upon seeing
“chocolate dessert hummus,” an
abomination that takes cultural
appropriation
to
unforeseen
heights and has plagued American
grocery stores everywhere (Trader
Joe’s, you will pay for your crimes).
It’s the way that on numerous
occasions, his mom (Farah Bsieso,
“Daughters of Abdul-Rahman”)
becomes every Arab mom I know
and randomly starts speaking in
Arabic when she’s around white
people and doesn’t want them to
understand. And although the
subtitles translate all of the Arabic
dialogue into English, there’s an
inherent cultural context that
makes the tone of an exasperated
“astaghfirullah” or a perfectly
timed “3anjad?” all the more
hilarious.
As a comedy, “Mo” could
have very well quit while it was
ahead, with the well-constructed
dialogue and self-aware jokes,
but its story strives to go deeper
than that. It tackles some serious
subject matters, most of which are
fairly taboo topics within the Arab
community, or any community,
such as addiction, trauma, mental
health and therapy. The layers
of guilt surrounding his father’s
death, as well as the Najjar family’s
disheartening journey to receiving
asylum, take a heavy toll on an
otherwise brightly easygoing, “life
of the party” Mo. These emotional
undercurrents shine through in
episode three, when he discovers
some unsettling information about
his father, as well as in episode
five, in which Mo rekindles a taut
relationship with his estranged
sister Nadia (Cherien Dabis, “May
in the Summer”). His family and
friends try to keep him grounded
and afloat, yet there remains that
pesky
awareness
tugging
the
threads of his life loose, always
looking over his shoulder for the
day when it’ll all fall apart.
In its second half, the show
tends to fall a bit flat narratively
as it unnecessarily raises the
stakes. With the constant threat
of
deportation
looming
over
him, Mo’s life already feels like
an overworked pressure-cooker,
always on the verge of exploding,
which makes the inclusion of
action-packed,
high-intensity
scenes,
like
Mo
accidentally
crossing the border to Mexico
or
getting
stuck
transporting
a bag filled with drugs, all the
more superfluous. It’s a little
disappointing to watch the show
sporadically rely on these cheaply
exciting blips to up the ante of the
plot. It only further destabilizes
the tenuous ground Mo walks on
and threatens to overtake the more
intimate moments throughout the
season.
Narratively,
“Mo”
is
not
without its faults, and it’s by no
means
the
most
well-written
comedy series I have ever seen.
But it works, in its own way,
on a profoundly emotional and
genuinely comedic level to portray
the complexities of one person’s
semi-autobiographical story and
in the process, the far too common
experiences of displacement of
millions of refugees.
When I first found YouTube
video essayist Super Eyepatch
Wolf in the winter of 2020, I
teared up a little at the first
video I viewed, watched a few
more that aligned with my
interests and then moved on
to other YouTubers. However,
they just didn’t seem to have the
same spark as this first video
essayist, and so I returned and
watched every piece of content
he put out, staying updated for
more. Then again, as I went back
through every single one of his
videos in research for this piece,
I realized that one of my favorite
content creators had cursed me.
So please, put on an ambient
track, prepare yourself for us
getting personal and listen to
what Super Eyepatch Wolf did to
my writing.
John Walsh, the man behind
Super Eyepatch Wolf, is not a
furry — though he doesn’t resent
the question or the community
— he just thinks D-Dog from
“Metal Gear Solid V” is badass.
Walsh commonly writes about
his deepest interests: anime,
manga, video games, horror,
genuinely epic (in the Greek
literature sense) events from
the world of martial arts and
breakdowns of what modern
society and the internet have
done to media mammoths such
as “The Simpsons,” “Sonic the
Hedgehog”
and
“Garfield.”
These topics are sorted into a
wide variety of series (though not
so much in his playlists, which is
why I’m linking mostly example
videos) on his channel: his most
common being “Why You Should
Read/Watch/Play:(insert media
here),” “My Favorite Things
(insert season/year here)” and
“What The Internet Did/The
Bizarre Modern Reality” — the
aforementioned breakdowns of
those titans of art.
He has two very central
interests, the first being the
impact of formative media — art
that influences one’s identity.
The second is the power of
long-term storytelling, like the
decades put into professional
wrestling, “One Piece” or the
forever-unfinished
“Berserk.”
His videos are edited with
the perfect blend of smooth
narration
and
occasional
comedic breaks, with the perfect
sound setting to enhance each
part, voicing his thoughts in
a light Irish accent that gives
his work the ethos of a nature
documentary narrator as he
does incredibly deep dives into
so many subjects. However, as
deep as Walsh’s rabbit holes go,
he always finds some meaning
in the madness. He imparts
it to the viewer before telling
them to take care of themselves
and that he’ll see them next
time. These seem like simple
structures to follow, but several
details make Walsh stand out
to me: his innovations, skillful
editing, emotional resonance,
examinations of authorial intent
and intense attention to his
subjects.
In
contrast
to
the
edgy
YouTube alt-right pipeline (and
adjacent) content I think I and
a lot of other teenagers on the
Internet
were
unfortunately
exposed to, Walsh is a breath of
fresh air, especially in the anime
community. He has discussed at
length how he wants his channel
to be a safe space from the
bigotry that pervades so much
of the Internet and is conscious
of his identity as a cis white
man in that role. In addition,
he does the work to contribute
to other creators’ videos on
progressive discourse, such as
F.D Signifier’s “Dissecting the
Manosphere.” However, perhaps
the most iconic and indicative
example was when Walsh found
out part of his video was stolen
by far-right Christian extremists
and monetized without credit
as part of a documentary on
why anime is Satanic. He didn’t
take much action against his
work being stolen, but upon
finding
out
the
group
was
extremely
homophobic
and
transphobic,
live-streamed
the entire documentary as a
charity event to raise money for
LGBTQ+ organizations. Walsh’s
emotional intelligence is also
illustrated by his analyses of
the authors of the art his essays
are on — whether it’s webcomic
artist
ONE’s
determination
reflected
in
the
eponymous
hero of “One Punch Man,” the
evolution of Hirohiko Araki
and his characters in the “Jojo’s
Bizarre Adventure” series, or
Yoshihiro Togashi’s frustrations
with being a mangaka funneled
into “Yu Yu Hakusho.” That
being said, let’s take a closer look
at Walsh himself.
Except, I don’t think I should.
In watching so many of Walsh’s
videos and podcast appearances
that his lovely Irish accent now
voices my inner monologue, I
stumbled upon him explaining
that the concept of him being
picked apart by strangers on the
internet is terrifying to him, as it
should be to anyone. I don’t think
I can — and I won’t — say anything
about Walsh that he doesn’t
already know about himself.
Iconic manga authors might
never see Walsh’s videos, but a
creator that engages with the
interpretations of his identity on
the internet might see this piece.
He’s a figure now so prolific that
his channel was analyzed for
a Rutgers graduate thesis. It’s
worth focusing on how Walsh
handles this inevitable scrutiny
of being on the internet — in his
years of being a YouTuber, he
has compartmentalized who he
is, what work he has to put into
the channel and what that work
means to people. Rather than
losing himself to a persona and
burning out long-term like so
many other YouTubers do, he
modifies the amount of hours he
works per week to keep the life of
John Walsh and Super Eyepatch
Wolf separate. It’s something to
be commended, especially in his
transparency of how YouTube
fame actually makes him feel.
So, to talk about this channel’s
impact on me, I’ll talk about
more Wolf than Walsh.
I discovered Super Eyepatch
Wolf’s channel at a dark time
in my life — both literal and
figurative. It was a winter night
in my room, only illuminated
by the glow of my monitor and
my lamp. It was another night
I spent killing time playing
video games and simultaneously
watching videos in an attempt
to overstimulate myself out of
the emptiness quarantine filled
me with. I found a dissection
of the frenetic fandom growth
of one of my favorite games —
“Undertale.” After its 40-minute
runtime, I found myself sobbing,
something
that
I
absolutely
wasn’t expecting from a random
video essayist. I found myself
having similar reactions to new
videos and rewatches, including
his explanations on professional
wrestling heels, his beloved but
admittedly very-weird manga
“Gantz” and a deep dive into
the
Lovecraftian
horror
of
“Garfield” fan-creations.
In this intersection of nerd
culture and academic analysis, I
never expected to feel any kind
of emotion from it. However,
this resonance comes from a
fundamental truth that Super
Eyepatch
Wolf
weaves
into
all of his videos — that every
piece of art is ultimately the
communication of emotion from
the creator to the interpreter,
which Wolf then filters through
his lens and experience to
transform a view on the piece
to make us empathize both with
the author and essayist. He gets
very personal in a lot of videos,
but it’s never just some random
placement of pathos. Rather,
what he references is meant
to enhance the analysis of the
art and to empathize with the
authors
that
impacted
him:
interjecting his own experiences
with self-identity in the context
of “Undertale” and its creator
Toby Fox, his existential crises
when viewing “Garfield” as a
cultural behemoth that has long
eclipsed his creator Jim Davis
and the infinite struggle for
finding happiness in the forever-
unfinished
manga
“Berserk”
by the late Kentaro Miura. For
one of the first times in my life,
I found myself able to feel so
strongly about something not
exceptionally sad that I would
weep. I found myself inspired to
do the same.
Super Eyepatch Wolf’s style
is one that I realize I have
been unconsciously emulating,
and while writing this, I feel
imprisoned by my inspiration
from him. I’ve based this piece
on his video structure, I’ve
written so many video essay
drafts and can visualize the
edits I would make in my head
all in his style, and while that
structure can be comforting, it
can still feel like a confinement.
When I look at Super Eyepatch
Wolf’s catalog of videos working
off of existing art, I see that
same struggle — something he’s
even voiced explicitly. However,
I think one can find salvation
in that struggle. While Super
Eyepatch Wolf’s videos have now
become transformative to what
they analyze, it was only ever
because he wanted to innovate.
Wallah, bro, ‘Mo’ is modern-day Muslim-Arab American realness
Inspired by: Super Eyepatch Wolf
SERENA IRANI
Daily Arts Writer
SAARTHAK JOHRI
Daily Arts Writer
Design by Samuel Turner
Michigan in Color
Enemies to Lovers
I am not my ancestors’ wildest
dreams,
I am a product of conquest.
As a child, I loved reading
romance novels
that were probably too mature
for my young brain to consume
but
my
favorite
romantic
cliché was enemies to lovers.
Enemies to lovers — a popular
trope in romantic fiction
where two characters who
have a long history of conflict
with each other
clash into love in a way
that
my
twelve-year-old
mind found to be absolutely
captivating:
The dimwitted jock and the
brainy girl who spent all her time
in the library
Two feuding coworkers
The rich girl and the humble
boy who rode the bus every day
The Romeo and the Juliet
This
fascination
was
not
limited to novels or to my
childhood,
from “Pride and Prejudice” to
the movie “Clueless,”
I was hooked on the premise
of two seemingly opposite beings
colliding.
The first western power to
land on the coast of Nigeria was
the Portuguese.
At the start of the slave trade,
the Portuguese arrived at the
shores of West Africa unable to
communicate.
They spoke their language
slowly and after a while,
Nigerian
marketers
and
townspeople began to pick it up.
Then,
when
the
British
arrived,
my people began to speak an
English mixed with Portuguese
Hence the word “pidgin” was
coined from the Portuguese
word “pequeno,” meaning small.
Nigerian
Pidgin
English
became a language of resistance
and anti-colonialism
that 3.5 million Nigerians
speak daily
including my household.
Enemies to lovers.
Years later, I arrived at the
Maputo International Airport
reading in big red letters,
“Bem Vindo A Moçambique”
(Welcome to Mozambique).
My father, an immigrant to the
United States,
was now working for the
United
States’s
Center
for
Disease Control
in a country plagued by the
same colonial disease of his own
homeland.
There, in Mozambique,
it was at a college fair where
I met a recruiter from the
University of Michigan.
Enemies to lovers.
The United States has always
been affectionately labeled a
melting pot,
yet we tend to forget what is
burned at the bottom.
The residue scraped off the
bottom of the pot consists of
lost language
lost culture
families broken apart
sleepless nights
and racial prejudice.
Now the tale of the first
generation, the third culture kid,
is not a new one —
countless poems and songs
have been written about this
exact experience
yet no two are the same.
A beautiful story that still
leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
Enemies to lovers.
Captivating yet horrifying.
I think that all of this might be
why the subject of History has
always been my favorite.
From Mansa Musa to Ketanji
Brown Jackson,
history is nothing if not a
compilation of my favorite genre:
enemies to lovers.
I am not my ancestors’ wildest
dreams,
I am a product of conquest.
I write poems and I write
songs in a language that was
forced upon my people.
I am a university student in
a land which my brothers and
sisters were forced upon.
I
am
an
unexpected
consequence of the Portuguese
empire who is now studying the
Portuguese empire.
A history full of enemies to
lovers.
SARAH OGUNTOMILADE
MiC Columnist
Sarah Oguntomilade/MiC
Read more at MichiganDaily.com