From Ahlam 'Adiya 's Nadia Anzaha to Ahlam fil Bawaba 's Hagg Lutfi, characters in this year's Ramadan TV dramas continue to provide the mixed messages for which the month is famous, writes Tarek Atia Would it be an exaggeration to say that, in many a household during the holy month of Ramadan, a wide variety of new acquaintances are made? These cathode ray friends become an integral part of family life, occupying post- iftar hours in seemingly endless conversations about million dollars deals gone wrong, schemes of arranged marriages, the virtues of potato chips and soda pop and melodramatic lamentations over days of more positive social values. This year everyone's favourite new friend is Nadia Anzaha (literally stuck-up Nadia), the character played by superstar Youssra in Ahlam 'Adiya (Ordinary Dreams, directed by Magdi Abou Emeira, script by Mohamed Ashraf), a nightly drama that's anything but ordinary. Nadia plays a super-thief trying but failing to get out of the game. It's a major character shift for Youssra, who usually plays the perfect little Miss. She still has to be perfect, though this time her hoodlum character is the perfect crook -- a criminal with a conscience who's never been caught by the police. Her sidekicks on the show have also imprinted themselves on the national conscience. Khanzeera (literally Piglet), played by Khaled Saleh, is -- strangely enough -- endearing himself to the nation with his overdone portrayal of a baltagui (tough guy) who whips his two pick-pocket wives into shape every night, and whose dress sense is seemingly based on cheesy crooner Shaaban "my outfit matches the couch" Abdel-Rehim. (Ironically, we actually get to see a lot more of Saleh than we need to, since Ahlam 'Adiya is peppered with continuous commercial breaks that also feature the portly, mealy-mouthed actor in an inane mini-drama meant to sell more Pepsi.) The other characters in Ahlam 'Adiya are an equally repulsive gang of miscreants, except for the big businessman played by the talented Khaled Zaki. Going against the grain, Zaki's character is meant to be both a millionaire and a corruption-fighting good guy and all the indications are that he and a reformed Nadia will eventually meet and fall in love. An unlikely love story also holds sway in the Yehia El-Fakharani vehicle Al-Marsa wal Bahhar (The Sailor and the Harbour, directed by Ahmed Saqr, script by Mohamed Galal Abdel-Qawi). Told over the course of Egypt's troubled mid-20th century struggle to emerge from the yoke of occupation, the romantic plot is between the boatman's son Faris and the French ship owner's daughter Magdolene. While this Romeo and Juliet-style plot has thus far failed to impress, the show's momentum has been carried by El-Fakharani's inimitably effusive small screen prowess. Like Youssra, El-Fakharani has become a Ramadan staple, in the manner of lanterns and yameesh -- according to weekly independent paper Al-Fagr, which says he represents the "triumph of good versus evil". Even El-Fakharani's character's name -- Faris (Knight) -- is symbolic. And the signs are all there that, by the month's end, the unrequited Faris -- who has rebelled and run away -- will eventually head back home to realise that original values are the best. He may even choose his homely cousin (who represents the traditional) over the glamorous Magdolene (who represents the West). Happy endings and stark, black- and-white characters are also offered in Ahlam fil Bawaba (Dreams at the Gate, directed by Haitham Haqqi, script by Ossama Anwar Okasha). Veteran actress Samira Ahmed's character Ahlam is a stubborn, Mansoura-based, old school lawyer trying hard to cope with society's changing values. Her grown up children want to be part of the more flashy lifestyle represented by their father, Ahlam's ex Dr Ezzeddin, played by a cigar smoking, sleazy white suit wearing Ezzat Abu Oaf who, of course, resides in a massive palace surrounded by glorious swimming pools and gardens. The doctor made his fortune via a successful private sector hospital he owns, and the kids want their mother to get with the modern lifestyle programme. When Ahlam finally does move to Cairo, though, it is to investigate the unfair goings-on at the historic Bab Zeweila residence she co-owns with her evil, constantly stoned cousin Hagg Lutfi -- played by an indomitable Youssef Shaaban. Shaaban's despicable character is a lot of fun to watch; not least because of the offhandedly-cruel way he treats his army of manservants and personal assistants, constantly referring to them as "donkeys", as he strives to kick out all the traditional merchants from their stores and replace the historic building with a glass and mirror high-rise. As always, it's this sort of interplay between rich and poor, and old and new, that makes or breaks the Ramadan TV mood. For the past ten years at least the plots of these series, and the commercials they are meant to showcase, have all been about the pluses and minuses of Egypt's continuing foray into the excitingly disgusting world of mega- consumerism, and how that world has effectively changed traditional values. In Ahlam fil Bawaba a daughter tries to prevent her mother from taking food down to the sick young woman who lives in the basement of their building -- just because she works as a maid. "What will the neighbours say?" the stressed young girl screams at her do-gooder mom. Eventually she comes round and realises her mistake. The messages are often quite mixed. In Ahlam 'Adiya, when one of the crooks pickpockets a wallet, he makes sure, after taking the money, to send the ID cards back to the wallet's owner by mail: "We have mercy too," he says to his partner in crime, by way of explanation. The plot lines and juxtaposition between the good and bad characters are hardly subtle. All the "good" characters -- Khalid Zaki's businessman, Samira Ahmed's Ahlam -- either represent, or lament, rapidly disappearing traditional values while all the "bad" characters -- Khanzeera and Hagg Lutfi -- make abundantly clear how messed up and greedy the brave new consumerist world is. These messages -- however simplistic, superficial and confused -- are all undercut, however, by the commercials that dot the dramas. Over the course of Ahlam 'Adiya 's nightly 55 minutes a total of some 42 ads are shown. Via the ads viewers are given a crash course in being a model consumer citizen, from picking up a free English lesson via oft-repeated words like "IQ", "organic", and "bucket", to having the concept of "drop the old in favour of the new" constantly hammered home. Over and over the advertisements advocate that slick packaging and mass production is superior to more traditional ways of shopping. Packaged ghee, we are told, tastes just as good as " zibda fallahi " (literally farmer's butter). Watch out when buying traditional dairy products from the milkman, or the grocer's cheese counter, we are warned, because these old-school goods are potentially bacteria-ridden. "Who knows where that cheese comes from?" one of the commercial characters tells her friend. But when it comes to real life choices -- whether or not to go with old or new ghee, traditional or modern consumer values -- do viewers, rich and poor, old and young, really have a choice?
