3 things Michelle Kim is into right now

Isegye Idol

If you thought K-pop was weird, virtual idols—humans who perform as anime-style digital characters via motion capture—will blow your mind. My favorite is a girl group called Isegye Idol, created by Woowakgood, a Korean VTuber (a streamer who likewise performs as a digital persona). Isegye Idol’s six members are anonymous, which seems to let them deploy a rare breed of honesty and humor. They play games (League of Legends, Go, Minecraft), chitchat, and perform kitschy music that’s somewhere between anime soundtrack and video-­game score. It’s very DIY—and very intimate. And the group’s wild popularity speaks to the mood of Gen Z South Koreans, famously lonely and culturally adrift—struggling to find work, giving up on dating, trying to find friendships online. Isegye Idol shows what a magical online universe people can build when reality stops working for them.

Mr. Nobody Against Putin

Pavel Talankin didn’t have the easiest life as a schoolteacher in the copper-­smelting town of Karabash, Russia; UNESCO once called it the most toxic place on Earth. But video he shot, partially in secret, makes it clear he loved it—the smokestacks, the cold, the ice mustache he’d get walking around outside, and, most of all, his bright-eyed students. That makes it all the more painful when a distant, grinding war and state propaganda change the town. An antiwar progressive with a democracy flag in his classroom, Talankin had to deal with a new patriotic curriculum, mandatory parades, visits from mercenaries—and the loss of the creative space he’d built with his students. Talankin’s footage tells his story in this Oscar-winning documentary from director David Borenstein, and what struck me most is how strange it is being an adult around kids. We shape them in profound ways we might not even recognize.

Repertoire by James Acaster

I am the kind of person who will pay $150 to watch a comedian in a smelly theater in San Francisco that charges $20 for a can of water—because I am crazy enough to hope that standup will not die. In February, I saw the British comedian James Acaster perform live … and it was a mediocre show. But Repertoire, his 2018 miniseries on Netflix, is gold. Shot shortly after Acaster went through a breakup, the four-part show features him portraying, among other characters, a cop who goes undercover as a standup comedian, forgets who he is, and gets divorced. And then things get weird. “What if every relationship you’ve ever been in,” Acaster asks, “is somebody slowly figuring out they didn’t like you as much as they hoped they would?” If the best comedy comes from paying attention to the hellhole that you’re in, I wish Acaster many more pitfalls.