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

