When Justice Fades and Creativity Dies: A Harsh Look at the Turkish Series Persona
The Turkish series Şahsiyet, known internationally as Persona, is one of those shows that could have been brilliant on paper but fell apart in execution. The core idea — an aging man who decides to take justice into his own hands before losing his memory — is undeniably powerful. But what unfolds on screen is a chaotic mixture of wasted potential, poor craftsmanship, and inconsistent tone.
The direction is, frankly, a mess. Scenes lack rhythm, movements feel staged, and even the simplest actions — like running or opening a door — seem awkward and artificial. The camera never finds emotional depth; it either lingers too long or cuts too soon. What could have been a haunting, atmospheric portrayal of moral decay turns instead into a patchwork of forced drama. Even when the story takes us to supposedly dark or mysterious settings, like old houses or deserted roads, nothing feels authentic. It’s as if the filmmakers didn’t bother to ruin a single cabin to make it look abandoned.
The music makes things worse. Instead of building tension or mood, it clashes with the scenes, constantly reminding the viewer that they’re watching something constructed rather than lived. The lighting, too, often borders on parody; overdone in some places, absurdly bright in others. It’s unclear whether the creators were aiming for realism or stylization, and the result lands somewhere in the uncanny middle.
Then there’s the script. The idea behind it is great, but the writing is painfully inconsistent. The dialogue often slips into pseudo-philosophy or pure nonsense, as if trying too hard to sound profound. The plot wanders between tones — from crime thriller to satire to social commentary — but never commits fully to any of them. The attempts at humor are especially bad: misplaced, poorly timed, and completely out of sync with the gravity of the story.
Season two only amplifies these issues. Instead of tightening the narrative or deepening the characters, it feels lazier, flatter, and more repetitive. What might have been a bold continuation of the first season’s moral questions becomes a diluted echo of the same mistakes. It’s as if the creators thought that simply revisiting the same formula would be enough to please the audience.
Still, beneath all the technical and narrative flaws, the core story remains intriguing. The premise — confronting personal guilt in a society that has forgotten justice — has real philosophical weight. In the hands of a more capable director and writer, Persona could have been Turkey’s answer to Breaking Bad: a moral descent told through ambiguity and character, not slogans and shaky camerawork.
As it stands, however, the show is more famous for its themes than its artistry. Its positive critical reception in Turkey seems to have more to do with its political undertones — especially its references to Kurdish rights and critiques of institutional power — than with its cinematic quality. That context explains its inflated ratings, but not its artistic shortcomings.
In short, Persona is a series that confuses message with meaning and ambition with execution. It has flashes of brilliance buried under clumsy filmmaking, awkward performances, and a tone that never decides what it wants to be. It’s the kind of project where you can see the brilliance that could have been; and that’s what makes it all the more frustrating to watch.
