Turkish Drama Weekly: Why Italian Women Still Go Wild for Turkish
Stars
Recently, while
attending the Italian Global Series Festival in Rimini, I witnessed once again
the extraordinary power of Turkish drama—and, perhaps even more significantly,
of its leading actors.
The arrival of Özge
Gürel and Serkan Çayoğlu, the real-life couple who became familiar to
Italian audiences through Cherry Season, triggered an impressive
response. Hundreds of fans welcomed them on the opening red carpet, while their
public conversation had to be moved from Cinema Fulgor to the larger Teatro
Galli after reservations sold out. The theatre was eventually packed with
spectators, many of whom had travelled from outside Rimini specifically to see
them.
What was particularly
striking was the composition of the audience: largely female, and certainly not
limited to teenagers. Many were mature women, visibly overwhelmed by the chance
to see their television idols in person. There were cheers, tears, continuous
applause and the sort of emotional excitement that used to surround major film
stars or pop singers.
The obvious question
is: why do Turkish series continue to attract such a large and intensely
loyal female audience?
Emotion without
embarrassment
One possible answer
lies in the emotional architecture of the Turkish dizi. These series are
generally unafraid of feelings. Love, longing, sacrifice, family loyalty,
jealousy and impossible relationships are not treated ironically or compressed
into a few scenes. They are allowed to develop slowly, through glances,
silences, misunderstandings and repeated obstacles.
During the Rimini
conversation, Gürel offered perhaps the clearest explanation. Turkish dramas,
she said, deal with emotions experienced by everyone and, in an increasingly
digitalised world, bring viewers back to values such as love, friendship and
family. Çayoğlu added that actors are conscious of reaching people living on
the other side of the world, including audiences who may express emotions
differently but can still recognise themselves in the stories.
This emotional
accessibility is one of the great strengths of Turkish drama. The narratives
may be deeply rooted in Turkish society, but their central conflicts are
universal: the tension between personal freedom and family expectations,
tradition and modernity, social status and romantic desire.
The return of the romantic hero
The leading men also
play a fundamental role. Turkish dramas have revived a type of romantic hero
that has largely disappeared from contemporary Western television: handsome,
charismatic, protective and emotionally wounded, but rarely cynical.
These characters may
initially appear distant or authoritarian, yet the narrative gradually reveals
their vulnerability. The transformation is essential: the apparently
inaccessible man becomes capable of devotion, sacrifice and emotional openness.
For viewers, the pleasure lies not simply in physical attraction but in
watching that emotional armour slowly fall away.
At the same time, the
very long running times traditionally associated with Turkish television allow
audiences to establish an unusually intimate relationship with the characters.
Viewers do not merely follow a romance; they spend months inside it. The actors
consequently become part of their emotional routine.
Gürel and Çayoğlu
acknowledged that Italy marked a turning point in their understanding of their
international fame. Their appearance on Mediaset’s Verissimo made them
realise the scale of their popularity outside Turkey. Çayoğlu recalled being
overwhelmed by the affection of Italian fans, while Gürel explained that, until
then, their demanding shooting schedules had left them largely unaware of the
phenomenon.
From imported dramas
to Italian stardom
No actor embodies this
transition more clearly than Can Yaman.
His appearances at many Italian Festivals during this summer, have repeatedly produced scenes of extraordinary collective
excitement, with crowds gathering for photographs, autographs and even a brief
glimpse of the actor. His reception at the Taormina Film Festival confirmed that
his fame in Italy has moved well beyond the traditional television audience.
Yaman initially became
popular through Turkish romantic dramas including Bitter Sweet and Mr.
Wrong, the latter opposite Özge Gürel. He then successfully crossed into
Italian production with Mediaset’s Viola come il mare, alongside
Francesca Chillemi.
The real turning point,
however, was Sandokan. Broadcast on Rai 1 in December 2025 across four
prime-time evenings, the Lux Vide-produced adventure series placed Yaman at the
centre of one of Italy’s most recognisable television myths. Its final episode
attracted more than four million viewers, and Rai subsequently confirmed plans
to continue the story with a second season.
Mediaset has now
announced another major project for him, Il labirinto delle farfalle, a
new four-night Canale 5 fiction included in the group’s 2026–2027 slate.
Yaman will also test a
different register in Bro, an eight-part Prime Video comedy. The project
represents a deliberate departure from the brooding romantic and action roles
that made him famous, allowing him to explore comedy alongside an Italian
co-star associated with Viola come il mare.
This diversification is
important. Yaman himself has spoken about wanting to move beyond the sex-symbol
label and avoid being permanently identified with a single character or
stereotype.
A relationship that
extends beyond the screen
The phenomenon cannot
be explained by beauty alone. Turkish stars often maintain a particularly
direct relationship with their followers, reinforced by social media, Italian
television appearances, festivals and fan events. The audience consequently
feels involved not only in the fictional love stories but also in the actors’
professional and personal journeys.
In the case of Gürel
and Çayoğlu, their real-life relationship adds a further layer of fascination.
Fans who first embraced them as an on-screen couple have continued following
them as partners away from the set. Fiction and reality reinforce one another,
creating a bond that can last long after the original series has ended.
This may also explain
the loyalty of older female viewers. Turkish drama offers them something
increasingly rare in Western mainstream television: glamorous escapism combined
with recognisable emotional values. The settings are beautiful, the actors magnetic
and the conflicts heightened, but the central promise remains reassuringly
traditional—the belief that love, however difficult, deserves time, endurance
and sacrifice.
Turkish drama is
therefore no longer simply an imported television genre in Italy. It has
created its own star system, its own fan culture and an emotional connection
capable of filling theatres and bringing festival crowds to a standstill.
The dizi may
begin on the television screen, but their impact now extends far beyond it.
photos: IGS, Mediaset
