Bizim Hikaye: ‘Shameless,’ Minus the Shame

It can be revealing, if moot, to compare an original series to an adaption, especially in terms of culture.
But what stands out immediately upon watching “Bizim Hikaye,” the much-talked about, much-anticipated (or dreaded) adaption of “Shameless,” is that something is missing: specifically, the “shame.”
The longstanding UK series “Shameless,” and its popular U.S. adaption, have their well-established and passionate fanbases, with battlelines drawn on both sides of the Atlantic. Personally, I’ve always preferred the U.S. version, but then as an American, I’m conscious of the fact that it’s only because its southside Chicago accent and aesthetic ring closer to home.
Maybe that’s why the Turkish creators opted to go for the title, “Bizim Hikaye” (“Our Story”), as opposed to the expected, directly translated “Utanmaz.” It signals to us right up front that we’re in for a departure, an a la Turk approach.
The show, which premiered in mid-September, bears only passing resemblance to its infamous forebears. Perhaps the writers were all too aware of the problems of presenting the graphic sex, drug use, homosexuality, violence, profanity and overall ghetto-chic vibe of the English and American versions to a Muslim audience.
In fact, when word came out that there was going to be a Turkish version, the general sardonic consensus in Turkish blogs and social media was that, minus the sex, drugs, etc., the show would “probably be over in about five minutes.”
Why bother then? Why bother trying to adapt “Shameless” to Turkey, given that the “shameless” stuff would have to be left out?
When you think about it, it’s a risky idea even to launch such a series, given the highly politicized climate of today’s Turkey. One wonders how the show’s producers managed to get it on the air, especially given the “Shameless” franchise’s raunchy reputation. For that gamble alone, “Bizim Hikaye” is worth a watch.
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The American version in particular has been very popular in Turkey for almost a decade now. Routinely my students list it among their favorite yabanci diziler (along with the ubiquitous “Game of Thrones”).
One can speculate that its popularity rests in part on the harem aspects; shows that appeal to the voyeur in all of us are always popular. Secondly, “Shameless” is essentially rooted around the idea of raising a family, especially in a busy, struggling, chaotic world, a theme which resonates with Turkish viewers.
In “Bizim Hikaye,” the central character Feliz (“Fiona” of course) is trying to singlehandedly raise her five siblings while the drunken father snores and drools away on the living room floor. The flat, which is set in a poor Istanbul neighborhood, is a mess (something I have rarely found to be true of most Turkish households). Our Feliz scrambles to roust all the kids out of bed, to the breakfast table and on to school. The electric bill is due. The rambunctious siblings all chip in to pay it, while Baba awakes, shakes off his hangover and asks if there is any beer around (there isn’t of course).
Like in the U.K and U.S. editions, it’s established early on that the kids are pretty much left to fend for themselves.
The differences are noticed immediately. While Baba is clearly a drunk, we never actually see him drinking (except in one scene and the bottle is blurred). There seem to be no tekeller or bars in this neighborhood. Shouldn’t we see him trying to make use of the verisye defter, which every self-respecting drunk in Istanbul knows how to do? I was really looking forward to such a scene, but alas.
Other scenes seem a bit off as well. Baba wanders down the street to a café that looks suspiciously like a kardeşim cafe – you know, those sparsely furnished places where old guys sit around for hours reading newspapers and having tea. Baba asks if there’s any beer. The proprietor, who US fans will recognize as the “Kevin” character), offers him an alcoholic liquid from a blurry container stashed behind the cash register.
“Why doesn’t Baba just go to a bar or tekel?” I asked aloud.
“Because it’s forbidden to show alcohol or alcohol-related things on TV here,” my Turkish wife reminded me.
Then there’s Feliz’s would-be love interest Barış (the “Jimmy-Steve” character). Turkish fans of the US series will know him as the handsome guy who hides his posh family background behind this streetwise, car-thief pose. In “Bizim Hikaye,” Barış also drives a fancy car (he even pays off Baba’s drinking debts and buys a new washing machine for the family – which Baba later sells on the street, despite his professed conviction that the washing machine is “the sacred temple of the house.”) At any rate, our Barış is not a rich boy masked as a hoodlum Romeo. Instead, he’s a young man of modest circumstances who works as a hotel valet (that hotel’s guests must tip valets really well, considering Bariş seems to have 100-lira notes almost falling out of his pockets half the time).
Naturally, there are no gay characters. “Ian,” the second-oldest brother on the US series, is transformed here into a perfectly healthy, heterosexual lad who has a deep, secret crush on a woman working at local street market. (In the US version Ian is gay and having illicit sex with a Middle Eastern man who happens to be his employer and who happens to be unhappily married to a conservative Muslim woman.) I suppose there’s no need to explain why this particular story angle failed to make the cut in the Turkish version.
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Looking over what I’ve written, I realize I run the risk of being overly critical and presumptuous. Why expect “Bizim Hikaye” to be the same as its UK and US counterparts? Isn’t that unrealistic, especially given the current political climate?
The show’s creators and cast should be free to pursue their own interpretations. Besides, what may come across as “tame” to many yabancılar could in fact be quite risque to some here. Maybe the simple fact that Baba is a drunk, for example, and not a pious, responsible type is taking some kind of chance.
Besides, there are other things that make “Bizim Hikaye” worth watching, especially if you are a foreigner newly arrived to Turkey (or a long-term one, like myself). Since you are already familiar with the original premise and characters, you can focus on the nuances, the differences, as I did, which can provide revealing insights into Turkish family culture.
For instance, I noted to my wife one particular scene. Baba, as usual, is passed out on the living room floor. Feliz begins to shout at him, but then softens, and gently places a pillow under his head. In the morning, the kids are fretting over money, the bills, etc. The “Lip” character starts to berate Baba for not getting work, for always being drunk, etc. But then, the “Debby” character stops him short.
In other words, in the Turkish version, the Baba character may be a worthless drunk, but he is still accorded a measure of respect. He is still Baba. You never hear the kids curse him, or punch him, or throw him out on the street the way he usually is on the UK and US versions. In fact, one night, the cops, having found Baba lying in the street, politely deliver him to the family’s doorstep in their patrol car. The kids, with scarcely a word, carry Baba into the house to sleep. It will be interesting to watch as the series unfolds how much (or little) the kids will learn to be more outspoken in their criticism of a clearly irresponsible parent.
Another interesting difference is Feliz herself. The Fiona Gallagher character we all know so well – selfless, promiscuous, at times self-destructive – is a much more modest character in her Turkish embodimment, Feliz. This Fiona doesn’t sleep around; in fact, in the entire first episode, we don’t see her so much as kiss a guy, let alone go to bed with him. Like her UK and US cousins, Feliz is the de facto head of the family, hard-working (she works at a local fast food restaurant), but seemingly more level-headed, grounded and reflective. As with Baba, it will be interesting to see how her character develops. As she stands, Feliz seems almost too responsible. Will the pressures of raising her siblings, not to mention her own repressed ambitions, lead to recklessness, as we saw with Fiona Gallagher?

The other kids were less developed in the series premiere, but that’s hardly surprising. As in the originals, here the initial focus seems to be on Feliz and Baba, the contrasts between them, while the others will surely develop as the episodes unfold.
When the two-hour premiere episode finished, my wife and I were somewhat divided in our opinions. I was curious about what would happen, while she was disappointed.
“It’s slow and kind of dull,” she concluded. “I mean, it’s so safe. There’s no shame in it all, really. Except the fact that they’re poor. The only real shame in Turkey is to be poor evidently.”
But I imagine we’ll end up watching the rest of the season. As the storylines and characters develop, perhaps we’ll be in for some surprises. I hope so. Otherwise, we’ll be left with just another soap opera. Now that would be a real shame.

James Tressler, a long-time Yabangee contributor, has just released a new collection of short stories, “Inside Voices.” He lives with his wife and cat in Koşuyolu.

Image intended as fair use.