On IAMHIST and Isidingo, Part 1

Notes on soap operas and local TV history

Collage made with images by Diego González, Christian Kaindl, Kelly Sikkema, and Michael Dziedzic (via Unsplash) & Zaian, MultiChoice (CC BY-SA 4.0) and new versión by ebnz (CC BY-SA 3.0) (via Wikicommons).

I went to the International Association for Media & History (IAMHIST) biennial conference two weeks ago, and I felt more inspired, stimulated, and engaged than I have felt in a long time. Everything felt emplaced and impassioned and, for the most part, far removed from one of my biggest bed-bugs—the over-theorisation of the Archive (the capital 'A' is imperative) without actually familiarising oneself with its catalogue or talking to the people whose professional and scholarly pursuits revolve around its holdings.

This year’s theme was ‘Decentering Media Histories and Practices,’ and presentations were suitably broad. On the first day, I presented on selected HIV/AIDS-related material in my university's archives and special collections. After that, I listened to presentations about colonial-era medical films; recordings of Japanese war criminal executions in Singapore after the Pacific War; historical game studies; women on stage and screen in 1930s China; film classification in Hong Kong; Irish filmmaking in the 1910s and 2020s and the reuse of audiovisual archival material in Northern and Southern Ireland; South African wildlife film archives (and the shortcomings therein), 1920s women film censors, film editing, religious cinema, and television history.

The South African television history panel, which was a prelude to an edited volume on the same subject set to be released later this year, prompted me to follow up on something I first encountered on a billboard near the airport a few months ago: SABC+, the national broadcaster's free streaming service. It has a decent selection of back-catalogue episodes of iconic, long-running soapies—amongst them are New South Africa classics like Muvhango, 7de Laan, and Isidingo, all of which have ceased or, in the case of Muvhango, are about to cease airing. (Generations is still going, and this is my public mental note to watch it.). You can also find childhood gems like Takalani Sesame (which I distinctly remember watching as a young child even though I certainly didn't understand it) and a Zulu-dubbed Spongebob (which I did not know about until we stumbled upon it when we were first scoping the SABC+ offerings). They also have an option to watch live-TV news and programmes, and links to various radio shows.

During our initial browse, Max and I decided to try out Isidingo. After making a 26-episode-sized dent in the 184 episodes of the first season (the only one available on the platform), we are hooked.

Thanks to the Wayback Machine and Wikipedia, I stumbled upon an article about Isidingo from 2006 written by Guy Willoughby that holds true to my viewing experience:

“I mean, what's more consoling than TV folks riding the same genteel roller-coaster as you and I? We take sweet relief in identifying with these people - Isidingo cleverly covers all social types, from barflies to board directors - knowing they have unending problems too.

Because it doesn't tie up neatly in an hour, the life-parallel is truly seductive.”

There are many reasons why I love Isidingo. It captures the moment of nation-building television so well. The characters—their quirks, their sayings, their dramas—are memorable and believable¹. For the most part, the dialogue in Isidingo feels real—more real than the majority of television dialogue I’ve encountered. LA Times TV critic Robert Lloyd attributes this to “a luxury of space that makes [soap operas] seem more naturalistic” when compared to shows that air weekly and/or with a more limited number of episodes per season. Isidingo is particularly good at this, though my opinion on this is perhaps unduly influenced by the show’s local flavour and its ability to hit close to home.

Besides the part-and-parcel infidelity and intrigue, the show is set against the backdrop of a just-post-apartheid mining town, rife with opportunity to unpack myriad sociopolitical tensions, including but not limited to: racism, disciplinary hearings, strikes, trade unions, affirmative action, tribalism, a murder-suicide (that was really just a murder), theft, the criminal underworld, and small town life. My most recent Isidingo session was particularly nail-biting because one of the characters who I thought of as a decent ou (as I’m sure many other characters would phrase it) is turning corrupt. I couldn’t deal with it. I am officially invested!²

---

1. Max and I have been echolalically repeating a line said by Ted, the bartender: “No, man, Trish. Not Ryno. He’d feel sorry for the steak on his plate, man.”

2. In the spirit of curiosity, and also in part due to my desire to learn the Irish language at some point in the near future, I downloaded TG4’s streaming app and tried to watch Ros na Rún, which has been airing since 1996. I wanted to compare the first season to Isidingo’s. However, the only seasons available are the most recent ones along with a 25^th anniversary selection of episodes comprised of compilations of scenes from different seasons related to particular themes. From what little I did see, though, there are some commonalities—the pub as a central gathering place, fighting, and romantic dalliances of varying levels of fidelity.