Musalsalat, Syrian dramatic miniseries, have long been a medium for bold socio-political commentary in the Middle East.
This tradition began in the theatre, spearheaded by figures such as Syrian playwright Saadallah Wannous, who wrote and produced dozens of daring plays that were often controversial. His works tackled themes of revolution, regime change and sexuality in Damascus. Many of his plays were banned in neighbouring cities such as Beirut but performed in the Syrian capital, where Wannous was tolerated despite his provocative politics.
In fact, political commentary and dark comedy on stage were common features of the Damascene theatre scene during the 1980s. I was too young to remember, but at that time my mother took me to see my father on stage in Damascus, where he was part of a Syrian, Lebanese and Iraqi theatre collective that specialised in dark comedies.
This tradition of political and social critique transitioned to the small screen in the 1970s and 1980s. Syrian musalsalat gradually came to dominate Arab television for nearly 25 years, until the Syrian uprising of 2011, which escalated into a civil war and abruptly halted independent production companies operating in the region. That didn't mean the end of Syrian musalsalat. Despite the war and the shrinking of independent production houses in Syria, many actors, directors and producers relocated to Lebanon, Jordan, Saudi Arabia or even Hollywood, in the case of Ghassan Massoud.
As the war rumbled on, many of the Syrian-majority dramas were produced in neighbouring Lebanon, and focused their subject matter away from sociopolitical commentary. Instead they focused on crime-related themes such as gangs, terrorism or drug smuggling, as seen in the two series of Breaking Bones (Kaser Adem). This year's Ramadan television offers a broader a mix of topics: Layali Roxy, for example, is a period drama set in 1920s French-occupation Syria, and Taht Al Ard is set in the 1990s Damascus merchant markets.
Remarkably quick off the mark was Syrian series Habaq. In February, a trailer was released for the drama, which showed the fall of Bashar Al Assad and included live TV footage of Syrian rebel groups, led by Hayat Tahrir Al Sham, seizing key cities and advancing across the country.
In recent months, with the sudden collapse of the Assad regime, many of Syria’s prominent actors have resurfaced. This was particularly evident at the Joy Awards in Riyadh in January. Several Syrian TV stars from the golden era of musalsalat attended the awards, highlighting the enduring influence of Syrian drama. A lifetime achievement award was given to Yasser Al Azma, a Syrian actor and writer whose beloved comedy series Maraya (Mirrors) satirised a wide array of issues affecting Syrian and Arab societies.
In Assad-free Syria, social media has been flooded with audio clips and reposted scenes from popular Syrian dramas from the past. These series that challenged injustice, despair and conflict are finding a new audience in light of regime change and an uncertain future for Syria. People are also finding comfort in the nostalgia of old, familiar clips.
One actor who has become a symbol of this nostalgia is Khaled Taja, a Syrian actor of Kurdish descent who appeared in more than 62 TV series during his lifetime. He was dubbed the “Anthony Quinn of the Arabs” by Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish, referencing the Golden Age US actor. In the days and weeks following Assad's sudden fall from power in December, Syrian social media was flooded with posts containing his quotes and audio clips.
Often portrayed as the wise old protagonist in various musalsalat, Taja, who died in 2012, left a lasting impression on Syrians with cautionary, hopeful and revolutionary lines that often challenged structures of power and personal struggles.
One of his most poignant performances and quotes that was shared thousands of times across social media comes from the 2007 series On the Edge of the Abyss, in which Taja’s character meets a young mother on a park bench. Over several days, they engage in deep conversations about life, society, and loss. In one widely shared clip, he says in Arabic: “I’m confident that one day the air will be clean and the nation will be filled with trees. I won’t live to see that day, but Fareed [the baby] will, without a doubt. When he grows up, tell him there was someone called Waseem who was confident that this nation will still be blessed, that they will plant trees, and that there will be water enough for everyone.”
Series such as Maraya shaped my childhood like Friends did for others around the world. My parents would mark their calendars with Maraya’s new series launches, particularly around Ramadan. While it may be too early to see new series emerge in post-Assad Syria, one thing is sure: Syrians have many untold stories. Many of these will be painful, but fortunately for Syria and the Arab world, Syrians have a long history of transforming their pain, humiliation and frustration into gripping, often boundary-pushing and entertaining art. Like the late, great Taja did through his art, they will keep sharing messages of hope and endurance.
