Grandpa scurrying in front of the television at 9pm, mummy hastening up the handi for dinner so she can catch Behlul on TV, or the girl next door rushing back inside from the balcony on the sound of the now-familiar tune of ‘Ishq-e-Memnu’ – how many of us can relate to this phenomenon at our homes?
It is true that roads used to get deserted at the prime time back in the days when classic serials such as ‘Tanhaiyan’, ‘Dhoop Kinaray’ or ‘Aangan Terha’ used to be aired. But bagging the trophy for vacating the streets this time in 2012 are none other than the (in)famous Turkish drama serials, or ‘Ishq-e-Memnu’ in particular.
Somehow, the aesthetically-appealing protagonists of the Turkish shows, all with their glamorous wardrobes, lavish lifestyles and, in cases of females, risqué attire, did not go well with the indigenous TV actors. It went to as far as protests outside the Karachi Press Club and Governor’s House by leading actors, producers, directors and writers of the industry.
That the viewers are king is what these Turkish soaps have strongly etched in the minds of the local entertainment industry. As much as it is bitter to confess, local dramas have done a few themes to death, making these shows plain boring, for lack of a better phrase.
It’s a helpless girl, poor or rich, who has suffered at the hands of either a tyrant or heartless or insensitive male; or it’s a rich brat who falls in love with a naive, often fatherless, girl. The most creative the local dramas have gotten is the one-man-two-women theme mixed with a pinch of divorce, extramarital affairs, effects on children and the society’s cutting remarks here and there. All are, much to anyone’s dismay, grim, sad and sorry tales that make Sohni Mahiwal’s unhappy ending seem like not such a bad deal.
No wonder the audience was yearning for something more exciting and different, and ‘Ishq-e-Memnu’ filled that void. TV ratings, advertisement revenues, and appreciation flowed in where there was quality and entertainment in the true sense of the word. And you can’t blame TV channels for wanting to buy what the viewers and advertisers like.
“Pakistani consumers are very aspirational…so you’ve got to show something that leaves an impression in the consumers’ minds,” remarked the head of a multinational firm in the country. While the executive made this statement in context of the products marketed and manufactured by his company, it’s something that is applicable to the entertainment industry as well.
No one wants to see the sorry tale of how plain Jane’s sorry life became sorrier. They wish to see glammed up lifestyles and good-looking men and women, something rarely found in one’s neighborhood streets.
The fundamentalists may have some weight in their argument about Pakistan’s cultural values being sabotaged by the open display of cleavages, bare legs and questionable relationships. However, aren’t local storylines of extramarital affairs and easy divorces similarly culturally-inept? Or just the garb of Shalwar Kameez and wheatish complexions mellow out what halter necks and backless gowns cannot?
Maybe it’s the larger-than-life mansions that viewers secretly wish for, maybe it’s the shockingly bold storyline, or perhaps it’s the good-looking cast with not just looks but attitudes to match those looks; or perhaps it is the comprehensive screen plays and production values adhered to in each second of programming; there are lessons that local drama serials can take home from their Turkish counterparts.
Protectionism is always anti-competition. To the broad-minded, this should more be an opportunity to learn and improve than to mope about how livelihoods are being threatened because someone else could come up with something the audience enjoyed.
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