{"id":17633,"date":"2025-03-14T14:50:55","date_gmt":"2025-03-14T12:50:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/?p=17633"},"modified":"2026-10-08T05:28:39","modified_gmt":"2026-10-08T03:28:39","slug":"drama","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/drama\/","title":{"rendered":"Egypt\u2019s Ramadan Drama 2025: Repetition, Concentrated Production and a Comedy Crisis"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cNobody succeeded\u201d could almost be the headline for this year\u2019s Ramadan television season. A handful of exceptions, including Welad El Shams<\/em>, El Noss<\/em>, 80 Bako<\/em> and Ashghal Shaqqa Geddan<\/em>, stand out in an otherwise disappointing early assessment by critics interviewed by Zawia3.<\/p>\n

More than a third of the way through Egypt\u2019s most important television season, they describe excessive repetition, fragmented storytelling and an over-reliance on the working-class strongman as the central character. Behind those problems, they see a production market concentrated around a dominant company and its partners, weakening competition and leaving little room for renewal.<\/p>\n

A pre-season list<\/a> counted 39 Egyptian series planned for Ramadan 2025, compared with 34 in the previous year\u2019s listing<\/a>. They span comedy, neighbourhood melodrama, action, fantasy and suspense. Many use the 15-episode format, a shift critics welcome as a way to reduce padding and accommodate more productions. Shorter runs, however, have not necessarily produced tighter scripts.<\/p>\n

Academic and critic Khaled Ashour tells Zawia3 that the season suffers from weak writing and sluggish pacing. He attributes what he considers its poor audience reception to the absence of strong scripts, actors\u2019 interference, concentrated production and the role of social media in shaping perceptions of success.<\/p>\n

Critic Adam Mekawy also sees repetition and audience saturation. The familiar popular hero still dominates, he says, but series such as Sayed El Nas<\/em> and Fahd El Batal<\/em> have not generated the response he expected. Even El Maddah<\/em>, he argues, is struggling to reproduce its earlier appeal.<\/p>\n

\n

For Mekawy, the repetition of stories and characters in the same dramatic moulds deprives viewers of surprise.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Mekawy compares the pattern with the once-popular Ramadan riddles shows and One Thousand and One Nights<\/em>: formats repeated for so long that audiences eventually began mocking them. He believes neighbourhood melodrama risks the same fate.<\/p>\n

What is missing, in his view, is a series that cuts across social classes as Gaafar El Omda<\/em> did in 2023. \u201cThat production succeeded with audiences because it brought together viewers from different backgrounds, from the bourgeoisie to working-class audiences. This year, no production has achieved that effect.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/svg><\/div>\n

A television season becomes a media argument<\/h2>\n

Criticism began early and extended beyond specialist reviewers. Presenter Lamees El-Hadidi criticised<\/a> the proliferation of neighbourhood dramas and their language, even while acknowledging that some were popular and featured accomplished actors and convincingly staged violence.<\/p>\n

In a Facebook post, she questioned the dominance of shouting, insults and exaggerated expressions. She argued that the beauty of Egyptian colloquial Arabic was being obscured by a distorted screen dialect.<\/p>\n

El-Hadidi drew a distinction between the realism associated with filmmaker Salah Abu Seif and the work appearing on television. She linked the speech she objected to with deteriorating education and what she called a \u201ctuk-tuk economy\u201d, asking why television should reinforce the worst aspects of social change and encourage younger viewers to imitate them.<\/p>\n

She also rejected the idea that the only alternative was drama set in affluent gated communities. Large sections of Egyptian society, she argued, lived ordinary lives that neither extreme represented. For her, the influence of television on language and behaviour made the debate about more than one successful series.<\/p>\n

The most contentious intervention came from presenter and lawyer Khaled Abu Bakr. In a Facebook message addressed to the interior minister<\/a>, he called attention to depictions of violence, intimidation and antiquities trafficking in Ramadan dramas.<\/p>\n

Abu Bakr argued that these works could harm young viewers and portray Egyptian streets as chaotic and unsafe. Television, he wrote, was more than entertainment: it shaped attitudes, sometimes more powerfully than government awareness campaigns. Although he praised some productions, he accused others of promoting kidnapping, weapons trafficking and language he considered alien to Egyptian society.<\/p>\n

He asked whether these portrayals reflected the working-class neighbourhoods Egyptians knew, describing those communities as governed by moral values before the law. He linked his concerns to broader challenges in education, culture and social media.<\/p>\n

His appeal provoked a sharp exchange. Presenter Mohamed El-Baz criticised<\/a> his decision to address the Interior Ministry rather than producers and filmmakers. El-Baz pointed to earlier productions, including El Ekhtiyar<\/em>, that celebrated the police\u2019s role in combating terrorism and crime, arguing that concentrating only on violent storylines was unfair.<\/p>\n

Ola El-Shafei, editor-in-chief of Youm7<\/em> and a drama content official at United Media Services, questioned<\/a> the purpose of Abu Bakr\u2019s intervention. Was it a complaint against drama makers, she asked?<\/p>\n

El-Shafei defended the range of subjects on offer, citing the historical setting of El Noss<\/em> and the exploitation of orphans explored in Welad El Shams<\/em>. She also said that numerous productions presented the police positively, highlighting crime prevention and public protection. El Noss<\/em> is set in the 1930s.<\/p>\n

<\/svg><\/div>\n

Concentrated production, limited competition<\/h2>\n

For Ashour, one of the fundamental weaknesses is the concentration of production. Strong competing companies once pushed one another to improve quality, he says. The dominance of one group has reduced both competition and variety.<\/p>\n

\n

Some production companies have become \u201cfactories\u201d, Ashour says, turning out series quickly without giving enough attention to coherent plots.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

The result, in his assessment, is a succession of similar works recycling the same themes and conflicts. Meanwhile, online promotion can create an impression of success that does not match the viewing experience.<\/p>\n

Ashour alleges that some actors rely on organised online teams and paid pages to promote weak productions. Viewers, he says, can feel that the social-media narrative belongs to a parallel reality. These are his observations about promotional practices, rather than independently measured audience figures.<\/p>\n

United Media Services holds a dominant position<\/a> in Egypt\u2019s drama market. Critics and filmmakers concerned about this concentration argue that it affects creative diversity.<\/p>\n

Reporting on the group\u2019s network of companies<\/a> identifies advertising and production businesses including Media Hub, associated with Mohamed El-Saady and Ehab Gohar; Synergy, associated with Tamer Morsi; POD, associated with Amr El-Fekki and advertising representation for the group\u2019s outlets; and Ingredients, which works in advertising content production alongside Media Hub.<\/p>\n

<\/svg><\/div>\n

Censorship and interference<\/h2>\n

Mekawy identifies another obstacle: a narrowing space for creative expression. Writers and production teams, he says, must hide behind layer after layer of disguise to address difficult subjects.<\/p>\n

He contrasts this with the greater boldness of some productions in the years following 2011, including Mawga Harra<\/em> and Bedoon Zekr Asmaa<\/em>, both broadcast in 2013 and regarded as landmarks in Egyptian television.<\/p>\n

The Supreme Council for Media Regulation has issued standards for television drama<\/a>, including guidance against glorifying crime and unjustified violence. Its 2022 statement also encouraged portrayals of the military and police defending the country, alongside professional and ethical requirements for broadcasters.<\/p>\n

Earlier regulatory interventions included a 2017 announcement<\/a> of fines of EGP 200,000 for satellite television channels and EGP 100,000 for radio stations for each offensive expression broadcast. The announcement also described licensing consequences for repeated violations within six months. These are historical measures cited in the debate, rather than a new Ramadan 2025 decision.<\/p>\n

In 2021<\/a>, the council warned channels against showing dramatic productions without approval from the censorship authority.<\/p>\n

A study by the Hadara Centre for Studies and Research<\/a> discussed the controversy surrounding these interventions, including questions raised about the council\u2019s powers under Law No. 92 of 2016 and the timing of sanctions before implementing regulations were issued.<\/p>\n

The study also criticised the breadth of terms such as offensive language and harm to public values. Vague definitions, it argued, give authorities extensive discretion over television drama and raise concerns about freedom of expression and the ability of different currents to present their views.<\/p>\n

<\/svg><\/div>\n

Production turmoil and a struggling comedy season<\/h2>\n

Ashour describes the number of directors, writers and actors leaving productions as unusually high. He links those departures to repeated interference and the resulting disruption to the structure of series.<\/p>\n

Among the examples he cites is director Wael Farag\u2019s departure from Shahadet Moamalet Atfal<\/em>. He also refers to a change of director on another production amid an actor\u2019s interference in the script and direction, and to directors leaving after filming several episodes.<\/p>\n

He associates production problems with the scheduling of Zolm El Mastaba<\/em> for the second half of Ramadan. That is his explanation of the circumstances, not evidence that every second-half premiere represents a delay. He also cites actor Diab\u2019s withdrawal from a production and his replacement by Khaled Kamal as part of the wider disruption.<\/p>\n

Comedy, in Ashour\u2019s assessment, is experiencing an especially weak season. He argues that some filmmakers mistake exaggerated behaviour and implausible situations for comedy, neglecting the writing that makes humour work.<\/p>\n

Actors\u2019 influence over scripts and direction is another concern. When a star reshapes scenes to serve a personal image, he says, the work can lose its coherence. He describes performers receiving scenes only a day before filming, instead of reading a complete script and developing an understanding of their character\u2019s relationships and progression.<\/p>\n

For Ashour, the problem extends to the subjects chosen. Egyptian drama has long reflected social and political realities, but he sees a retreat towards superficial stories detached from everyday concerns.<\/p>\n

He cites Taht El Wesaya<\/em>, broadcast in 2023, as an example of a successful series built around a genuine social issue. He contrasts it with repeated plots revolving around violence, antiquities trafficking and intimidation that, in his view, fail to engage meaningfully with people\u2019s lives.<\/p>\n

He also objects to implausible depictions of antiquities trafficking, in which criminal networks appear capable of overshadowing government institutions and official museums.<\/p>\n

\n

Restoring competition, improving scripts and direction, and addressing real social concerns are essential to rebuilding the strength of Egyptian drama, Ashour argues.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Without those changes, he warns, concentrated production and unwarranted interference will continue to produce formulaic work lacking a distinct identity.<\/p>\n

<\/svg><\/div>\n

Too many series, too little time<\/h2>\n

Mekawy points to a shift from traditional television viewing towards digital platforms. Younger viewers, he says, increasingly watch short clips or reviews instead of complete episodes.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur mothers\u2019 and aunts\u2019 generation was loyal to television. The new generation watches summaries on digital platforms,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

Social media has also expanded the field of criticism. Content creators and ordinary viewers now offer analyses that can influence how a series is received, sometimes without specialist critical experience.<\/p>\n

\u201cCriticism is no longer the preserve of professional critics. The ordinary viewer has become a critic,\u201d Mekawy says. For him, the speed with which those opinions circulate can shape impressions before audiences have watched the work themselves.<\/p>\n

Concentrating so much production in one month adds to audience fatigue. \u201cShowing important works in a single month scatters viewers\u2019 attention. They cannot find time to follow everything, so even good productions get lost in the crowd.\u201d<\/p>\n

The early-season debate therefore reaches beyond the quality of individual series. Repetition, market concentration, creative constraints and changing viewing habits all bear on whether Egyptian television can renew itself. The question raised by these critics is whether the industry will address those conditions or continue reproducing the same formulas.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Critics point to recycled stories, weak scripts and shrinking competition as Egypt\u2019s Ramadan television season struggles to deliver fresh drama.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":12086,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[413],"tags":[],"kateb":[6247],"class_list":["post-17633","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-society-en","kateb-rasha-ammar"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/03\/\u062f\u0631\u0627\u0645\u0627.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17633","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17633"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17633\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17634,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17633\/revisions\/17634"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/12086"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17633"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17633"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17633"},{"taxonomy":"kateb","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zawia3.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/kateb?post=17633"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}