I wish I had Rami Malek as a role model growing up – I was stuck with the Mummy
I couldn’t imagine myself outside of cartoonish stereotypes like Apu from the Simpsons and Sacha Baron Cohen’s Borat
When Rami Malek speaks Arabic, he searches frantically for words. He speaks like an eight-year-old trying to repair the root of a dying tree. He speaks like a cellphone losing signal in a long tunnel. He speaks like me.
I started watching Mr Robot by mistake. Back in 2017, it was an obscure niche show on a network no one had ever heard of. It was weird and punk and anti-capitalist before TikTok had turned all the Zoomers into Marxists. It seemed too good to be true; a high-budget production in the aftermath of the Arab spring and Occupy Wall Street, proselytising about toxic consumerism and toxic masculinity, preaching to a choir of disillusioned millennials whose future was stolen by their property investor parents who pulled up the ladder before any of them had a chance to dream. It was a show about loneliness and mental illness and drug dependency, years before the glossy hedonism of Euphoria, but retaining a beating sincerity that was intoxicating and wounded.
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