The dinosaur and the doll

On TV and at the movies, Gihan Shahine desperately seeks true-to-life women
Faten Hamama in a scene from the serial Wagh Al-Qamar (The face of the Moon)
Can television mould the audience's thoughts, eradicating stereotypes or reinforcing biases? Even the most avid viewer would probably say yes. At least, that is how many people would describe the role of TV in Egyptian society. TV productions, however, have been described by one writer as "a dinosaur with a capital D."
What is it that is so old hat? Has the dinosaur abandoned its old habitat and adapted to modern times? Specifically, has women's rights activism made any inroads in the way women are portrayed on the small screen? To find out, the Weekly joined the rest of the nation in watching those most addictive of treats -- musalsalat or soap operas.
"Before all else, you are a wife and a mother," Helmer tells Nora in Ibsen's A Doll's House when she decides to leave him in favour of education and self-fulfilment. Today, Egyptian drama portrays women in much the same way: as wives and mothers who derive their sense of worth solely from their role within the home. How many shows have conveyed Nora's message -- "I believe that before all else I am a human being, just as much as you are, or at least that I should try to become one"?
Right: none. Perhaps that is why several women -- members of the Egyptian Writers' Union -- recently convened to discuss "images of women in TV drama" at their headquarters in Zamalek.
Women are not depicted fairly on TV or in the movies: that was the group's final verdict. Whether that "unfairness" is the result of social bias, writers' apathy or a general lack of creativity was the next item on the agenda.
For cinema critic Tareq El-Shennawi, the paucity of women's characters in film and on TV is "a reflection of age-old patriarchy."
Turn-of-the-century attempts at film-making, however, were far more adventurous on that front than most of us would think. Bahiga Hafez, Aziza Amir, Amina Mohamed and Fatma Rushdi were all cinema pioneers; but their success was soon overshadowed by male producers and directors, who came to dominate the field. Now, any mention of Egyptian cinema's early days brings to mind names like Mohamed Karim or Ahmed Badrakhan.
"In the late '40s and '50s, however, women played leading roles in films specifically made for box-office stars like Faten Hamama and Hind Rustum," El-Shennawi recounts. Those roles, however, revolved around three main stereotypes: submissive (Hamama), sexy (Rustum), and cute (Shadia).
"That changed in the '60s, however, when So'ad Hosni represented the liberalism of the times. After a brief golden age, good women's parts dwindled again, because so many films were about corruption and the Open Door policy, and men were found more suitable in that context," El-Shennawi goes on. "Only Nabila Ebeid and Nadia El-Guindi could survive in this competition for rather masculine roles."
Today, women fare little better in cinema. Mohamed Heneidi and Ahmed El-Saqqa are the biggest stars; Hanan Turk and Mona Zaki, no matter how talented they may be, never really emerge from the scenery.
"Such marginalisation of female roles has also reflected on TV drama: Yehia El-Fakharani and Mahmoud Mursi are big, but there is no one to compare them with on the women's side," El-Shennawi concluded.
But if last year's Ramadan TV blockbuster about the life of Umm Kulthoum is anything to go by, this picture may be changing. The script, by writer Mahfouz Abdel-Rahman, was hailed by critics and viewers alike; the series was popular both in its own right, and as a contribution to women's representation in drama.
Gender, Abdel-Rahman cautions, is not the issue here: the story drives home the idea that "where there is a will, there is a way," a message Umm Kulthoum's example could convey to men or women. "How could anyone know her story and not be inspired?" Abdel-Rahman asks in admiration.
No one can deny, however, that the vehicle for the lesson he successfully conveyed to the audience was a female character.
"Any writer who understands life cannot help being fair to women," Abdel-Rahman notes with a smile, confessing to a "genetically determined respect for women" and adding: "Even the most vocal of misogynists, like Tawfiq El-Hakim, could not avoid it. They depicted women at the height of their glory."
Many other writers, however, feel that women are generally given secondary parts, the main function of which is to shed light on the male characters in the story. Few writers, they argue, would bother to develop a sophisticated female character.
"After all, if that is not the case, why have writers never been interested in prominent figures like Hoda Sha'rawi or princess Fatma Ismail? Rather, they have written about [intelligence operative] Raafat El-Haggan, Taha Hussein and others," one female writer exclaimed.
Abdel-Rahman feels it all boils down to lack of imagination on the part of writers, many of whom are also reluctant to make effort in research.
So writing quality, rather than gender bias, is at stake here? When Abdel-Rahman started writing about Samira Moussa, the nuclear physicist who was allegedly assassinated in the US, many other writers, "unable to think for themselves," followed suit.
"They simply couldn't think of other women -- like Nadia Souka, whose story is more or less the same," Abdel-Rahman remarks, shaking his head in sorrow. "And the TV production sector boosts that passive attitude by accepting anything, whatever the quality."
Besides, not all women have made great contributions. Does being fair mean presenting only genius?
"Any women are appropriate topics for drama, even prostitutes and thieves, as long as they exist in society, but on condition that the writer gives a true picture of life;" argues Nabiha Lutfi, documentary film director and cinema critic. "But most of the characters presented on TV are, unfortunately, far from realistic, and it is impossible to disregard the exaggeration of negative sides of female characters."
On the other side of the spectrum, prominent TV script writer Osama Anwar Okasha describes allegations of "unfair representation" and "marginalisation" as untrue. Only in cinema, he says, "has the recent lack of prominent female stars led to male dominance in the past five or six years."
Women, Okasha insists, have never been portrayed as fairly as they now are in TV drama. In Okasha's works, it is true, women usually play key roles. His Al-Shahd wal-Domou' (Honey and Tears), Damir Abla Hekmat (Miss Hekmat's Conscience) and Imra'a min Zaman Al-Hobb (A Woman From the Time of Love) could all serve to illustrate this point.
The latter two may embody a significant change in dramatic portrayals of women, since their (female) lead characters are shown fighting corruption. Most roles, however, continue to revolve around the stereotypes of the submissive wife, the love interest, or, in the very best of cases, the young woman seeking emancipation.
"Today, women are depicted as they are in real life: women with careers and responsibilities inside and outside their homes, women who play a significant role in society," Okasha maintains. "They are no longer superficial stereotypes: the social, psychological and political aspects of their personalities are shown. But that, of course, depends on the quality of writing."
Hayat Al-Gohari, the name of a series (by Mohamed Galal Abdel-Qawi) and of its female lead, is one significant case. Famous actress Youssra plays the highly principled head of a tax office who resists corruption and adheres to her ethics at a time when almost all those around her, including her husband, are abandoning theirs and surrender to the twin lures of money and power.
"There has been a positive change in the way women are presented in TV drama, but that's only in high-quality works, which, as mentioned before, are not numerous" explains Magda Said, poet, member of the Women Writers' Union and board member of the Egyptian Association of Supporters of Human Rights.
Still, even the good work, Said adds, has not been void of "negative statements" or "negative examples," which can undermine women's image in society, especially when the vehicle is a well-known actor with an image of credibility. Said is also outraged that "unnecessary belly-dancing scenes are given time on soap operas -- proof that women are used as sex objects to attract more viewers."
Utopia is not the goal, Said told Al-Ahram Weekly, "but TV plays a key role in forming people's thought and should thus enlighten people and eradicate social misconceptions," In a country where illiteracy rates are high, television is an accessible "alternative to school," especially in the countryside.
"That's why," Said concludes, "we need more drama supporting women's rights, educating women about their rights, and combating stereotypical views on women's role in society."
So is demagogy the only alternative to misogynist stereotypes? The question awaits next season's soaps.
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