Close your eyes and picture Afghanistan; the one that the media has been obligated to describe to us for the past eight years as we bombed the nation. It’s unbearably hot, of course, like any other Middle Eastern country. Minarets are visible on every horizon. Everyone is Muslim and Arab. What other ethnicity is there in the Islamic world anyways?

The men casually wear guns strapped to their backs, using them occasionally to demonstrate their support for the Taliban. Women are nowhere to be seen—they only sit around at home, bored and uneducated in their black burqas. And children? Do they even exist in this glee-barren land?

Though it may not be its primary purpose, Afghan Starr certainly debunks the Afghan media myth in this American-Idol-style documentary. Filmed in late fall and winter, snow blankets the streets of Kabul. The attention is on the majority—60 percent—of Afghan population under twenty-one years of age. These youth, outfitted in trendy G Star Raw puffers and embellished jeans, spend their time shooting pool, clowning each other, chilling and listening to music.

Afghan Star stresses that music and singing remain popular in Afghan culture, as they always have been. Assuming that the Taliban and Mujahadeen crushed Afghanistan’s love for music is akin to believing that religion died in the Soviet Union or that Americans don’t do drugs. Appreciation for music and talented singers is what makes the pop idol television show Afghan Star so successful. The process is analogous to American Idol: 2000 people audition around the country, the judges cringe when most open their mouths, and a handful get the golden ticket to Afghanistan’s Hollywood, Kabul.

The documentary follows the story of four young Afghans in particular as they all vie for the $1,000 prize. The two male contestants are Rafi, a 19-year-old from Mazar e Sharif, and Hameed, a 19-year-old from Kunduz. The film focuses differently on the lives of the two female contestants: Lima, a 25-year-old from Khandahar, and Setara, a 21-year-old from Herat.

The sensationalized advertisement for Afghan Star reads: “In Afghanistan, you risk your life to sing…”

Then you watch the movie, and realize that it is really only Setara, who dances and allows her headscarf to slip from her head, that is threatened.

Men interviewed in the street felt she should be killed for this behavior, and even her fellow contestants on Afghan Star thought she had crossed the line. Of course this is upsetting, and no one’s life should be threatened for dancing (or anything, for that matter). But was this really the point of Afghan Star? Was the fact that Afghans cannot dance in public what we should take away?

A Sundance Channel interview with host of Afghan Star Daoud Seddiqi and Director Havana Marking exemplifies this mistaken point. The interviewer asked what Seddiqi’s goal was with the show. He replied, “You know, at first we need peace. I want to bring peace to my country with my show, with my work, with my everything. I hope my people, after that, don’t think about war and weapons; after that, they choose a good life, and music…” The interviewer cut in, asking, “And maybe a little dancing. Just a little bit?”

What a juxtaposition of priorities. The Afghan singer wants peace for his country, while the American interviewer wants to see Afghans dance in public. Is this what we derive from a presupposed stereotype of Afghanistan? Does that lessen our guilt and justify the U.S. invasion? Does Setara need the U.S. military to save her because she cannot dance on public television?

Perhaps it is this obsession with saving the women of Afghanistan that caused Lima and Setara to become the focus for most viewers and reviewers. Afghan Star gives us a chance to move beyond criticizing the gender dynamics of Afghanistan, enabling us to de-exotify the country and better understand their culture.