‘Tyrant’ is terrible ... but I can’t stop watching it

"Tyrant" might perpetuate troubling Arab stereotypes but HA Hellyer finds it compulsive viewing.

A scene from Tyrant, a fictional television series that isn’t actually all that fictional, says HA Hellyer. Courtesy FX

There are guilty pleasures and then there are really guilty pleasures.

When I was a young lad, I remember my father telling me once about a politically incorrect joke he’d heard: “That joke is wrong, but it is rather funny,” he said. He had been an anti-apartheid activist in his youth with a keen sense of political justice, but he also knew a good joke when he heard one.

I feel a little bit like that about Tyrant, a television programme that has just wrapped up its second series. It’s remarkably problematic in a variety of ways, but I find myself incredibly keen to see it renewed for another series.

Tyrant is a fictional television series that isn’t actually all that fictional.

Anyone who has been paying any attention to the Arab world over the past few years will see elements of a number of different political events, conflicts and turmoil in the storylines that come through this series.

There is the dictator who is unwilling to see his subjects as citizens who might have the right to seek a more just government. There are more than a few in the Arab world who would qualify for that role in real life. There is the opposition activist who turns into a radical Islamist extremist and then aligns himself with the forces of the “caliphate”, which threatens to take over the country. Then there is the resistance against the “caliphate”, which it manages to successfully push out of the country. The storyline, in that regard, is rather gripping.

But the show is problematic. There is a hero who is the brother of the Arab dictator. He is a hero who, for whatever reason, could not simply be an Arab in his own country.

Bassam Al Fayed, the gallant character who fights the good fight against both his brother and the “Caliphate”, is introduced to us as Barry, a name he assumed after he left the Arab world and went to California. There he married a white, all-American blonde. The subtext seems to be that the hero may be an Arab, but he’ll be a Westernised Arab that American viewers can identify with.

As I watched the show, I wondered why couldn’t Ihab Rashid, the opposition activist, have become the one we cheered? Why couldn’t the series have depicted an average Arab as the hero? And why did Bassam have to become Barry before he could become the character of courage?

Therein seems to lie the subtext: that the best kind of Arab is the Arab that is most like a westerner.

Bassam is the hero, but he’s given up something of what made him an Arab to become the hero. As the show progresses, he becomes more acutely aware of his heritage – albeit while still viewing it through a western lens – in the manner of a modern-day Lawrence of Arabia coming to lead these backwards ruffians to success.

Those roots cause him to talk about religious tolerance, while we see very little in terms of religious diversity in the series, even though diversity is a reality in much of the Arab world. In religious terms, there is barely a mention of Christians or Jews. In ethnic terms, there’s no mention of non-Arab minority groups, such as the Kurds.

Bassam’s father may be another Arab dictator, but his mother is a posh English lady. Bassam’s nephew, who we are encouraged to sympathise with, is western-educated.

In the two seasons thus far, every heroic character with any depth is western or westernised.

The archetypical Arab of the series, the Bedouin who is eventually killed, fills out the stereotype of the Arab who has two wives.

There was a strong, headscarved female Arab resistance fighter who waged war against the “caliphate”, but she was killed off.

The opposition activists are so quickly and easily radicalised that one might be forgiven for thinking that radicalisation is really quite a simple affair, although in reality it is a very complex issue.

As I ponder the show, two things come to mind. The first is when will Hollywood engage more critically with this region and show the depth and breadth of the Arab world in film and television? There are truly fascinating stories to tell and the international film and media industry ought to look at exploring those stories.

The second embarrassing thing is simply this: I do hope it is renewed for a third season. As problematic as it is – and it would be a far better show if it addressed its problems – it is also a gripping storyline, especially for people who are familiar with the region. I might continue to criticise it – but I’ll also be waiting for the next episode.

Dr HA Hellyer is an associate fellow in international security studies at the Royal United Services Institute in London, and the Centre for Middle East Policy at the Brookings Institution in Washington, DC

On Twitter: @hahellyer