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.
When I needed to consult with friends to check on how well I was following the plot in Arabic, I realized how many Syrians tune into ‘Forbidden Love’. Men too know the story. Although, they assure me, they do not watch it. Women who are following ‘Forbidden Love’ compare it with ‘Noor’, a previous popular Turkish series.
My friend Nisreen, who started with ‘Noor’ two years ago in America, follows every episode of ‘Forbidden Love’ these days.
She says, “This is the last. I think I’ve had enough of these.” Although Nisreen has high regard for Syrian drama, she thinks that these Turkish actors might be better. My own feeling that the Turkish acting is really good was echoed by Simone, a Syrian visiting from Europe. She watched one episode with me and went away impressed, although she was annoyed at how the directors ‘tease’ the audience. She admits the writing is clever.
Two other foreign students of Arabic began watching Turkish drama for the same reason I did - to help their language skills. Mariam is more attached to a Turkish series that follows ‘Forbidden Love’ nightly; it’s less simplistic, she says. Rose liked the idea of these soaps but became bored with the story: “Too many commercials and too little happening in each episode.”
The acting is good; may be the key to the series’ success. The plot, while annoying and sometimes illogical, does create suspense. So does the music, which is subtle but well-integrated and effective.
True, these Turkish TV productions are light entertainment. They lack the more socially conscious messages embedded in the Syrian dramas. Compared to Syrian stories, they offer no feeling of the rural life. (Although some independent Turkish films also dubbed into Arabic and shown here do tackle serious social issues, class disparities and genuine Turkish culture).
Nisreen believes that the people are more interested in the Turkish story lines because their relationships have a higher sexual tension in comparison to the subdued Syrian soaps. Syrian productions like ‘Sabayah’ are now trying to catch up, she says. “The relationships portrayed in ‘Noor’ and ‘Forbidden Love’ are “very current – East-meets-West kind, because you never know which way these writers are going to steer their characters”.
We all know that fantasy has its place in our culture. Science fiction and the hugely popular animated films and Harry Potter series all are fantasy. So, perhaps exaggerated image of modernity portrayed through this decadent Istanbul life may be what so appeals to Arab viewers these days, for a change. “People do love drama”, observes Nisreen, “anyway you cut it.”
Finally, the cinematography and sound quality should not go unmentioned. These Turkish productions are of a very high standard. Lighting, sound, cuts, editing, are really well done. Although these may go unnoticed, they doubtless contribute to the success of the series. Anyway, I am going to watch this one to the end. After that, I don’t know.
On the larger canvas, underlying Syrian nostalgia for Turkey probably plays a part in the popularity of these soap operas. During the time of Hafiz al-Assad, Syria and Turkey did not enjoy good relations. Although at a personal level the two peoples felt mutual sympathy towards one another.
Ironically, Turkish drama has reached this peak partly owing to its dubbing in refined and sweet Syrian accent of Arabic language. Although Syrians have been viewing Mexican and American series with Arabic translation for some time, why none of these match the Turkish stories in popularity is hard to say.
Turks and Arabs share enduring ties through faith, history and ethnic bonds, despite passing through periods of strain and hostility. For the many Syrians with Turkish ethnic roots, ties are indissoluble and these films reinforce that.
Not only are Arabs seeing their cousins on the screen but also stunning visuals of the Bosphorus, Istanbul, Izmir and Mersin regions, which may add a sense of ownership with Turkish serials. That is not possible with American, Mexcian or British productions.
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