Turkish drama wins loyal Arab fans |
Arabs stretch censor limits for Turk soap operas
What am I doing watching this fatuous TV soap series? I ask myself the question even as I rush home to turn to MBC 4the Arab drama channel at 8 every evening. The Turkish drama Il-Ahshouq Al-Mamnouh – Forbidden Love – has gripped me. The series runs most nights, dubbed into Arabic and broadcast across the Arab-speaking world. I am frankly embarrassed at my attachment to the characters and the story.
I never followed romantic dramas in the US. I don’t even own a TV there. Here in Damascus, a TV with hundreds of satellite channels comes with the furniture of any apartment. Like a few other foreigners in Syria, I zeroed in on ‘Forbidden Love’ as an Arabic learning source. Dubbed in clear Syrian colloquial, it seemed perfect for my language needs. And not very deep, in the tradition of most romance dramas.
After four episodes, I was tuning into ‘Forbidden Love’ for another reason. I had been gripped by the story. And, dare I admit, I find myself enchanted by the characters as much as the glorious nightscapes of Istanbul.
Although Arab viewers have appreciated Turkish drama through a series of soap operas since 2006, Turkish productions had no reputation in the US. Admittedly without a recommendation and being unfamiliar with the actors, I had no advice by which to judge the program. Thus my curiosity about my fixation with the story.
The plot of ‘Forbidden Love’ is simple yet insanely complicated. An Istanbul family lives in splendor in a mansion by the sea. Samer is the attractive young wife of Adnan. Two children, Mourad 12 and Nihal 17, are from his earlier marriage. Adnan also has 24-year old Mohannad living with them. (He took Mohanned in as a child when the boy’s father, Adnan’s friend, died.) Also in the house is a family of servants with varying loyalties to their patrons, and Samer’s mother Feroz. Madmoiselle, the children’s governess, is a frequent visitor to the troubled house and is important as the moral voice of the viewer.
I tuned into the drama after Samer and Mohanned had begun their secret affair. It’s less a steamy relationship - although quite evident to viewers, and apparently to Samer’s mischievous mother, Feroz, than a focus of intrigue and tension. This affair is complicated by the infatuation of Nihal with her adopted older brother, and the jealousy of Bashir, a servant, who himself is smitten by Nihal.
Surely the affair will be exposed. It is an impossible situation, especially since Mohanned, a rather spoiled fellow, refuses to run away with his lover, or end the tryst. Moral responsibility is not an issue for the couple or for Samer’s mother who knows of the affair; the plot stays within the limits of eastern culture. Everything, while known, is discreet.
Daily drinking habits of the family are also within permitted grounds. And the gossip and the pre-occupations of the rich with trivia add to the decadent image of the family and their upper class culture. Some women viewing the program with me were clearly impressed with the beauty of the sets, the clothes and Istanbul city.
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Dr Barbara Nimri Aziz is an anthropologist, writer and media critic. Following a successful research career in India, Tibet and Nepal, she shifted her attention to the Arab World. She has published widely based on her journalistic work in Algeria, Iraq, Lebanon, the Occupied Palestinian lands, and Syria. Aziz’ fourth and most recent book Swimming Up The Tigris: Real Life Encounters with Iraq, was published in 2007 by University Press of Florida.
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