IDO LEKOTA
When television is treated as civic infrastructure, it deepens our collective imagination; when it is managed as mere spectacle, it corrodes the possibility of shared moral conversation.
The recent reception of two high-profile South African telenovelas – the layered, much-discussed Polygamist and the star-studded but widely criticised The 4 of Us – brings this distinction into sharp relief. Both arrived with high production values and prominent casts, yet their divergent impacts reveal that celebrity cannot substitute for disciplined, ethically attentive scriptwriting.
The Polygamist showed what happens when writers have space to test motives, plant moral ambiguities, and let consequences accumulate across episodes. Its plotting rewarded patience: choices made early reappeared with resonant complications later, forcing viewers to hold multiple, sometimes conflicting perspectives at once.
That demand is not a flaw but a civic benefit. A well-crafted serial invites public argument, prompts reflection about social norms, and models how complex dilemmas might be navigated in real life. The series did not merely stage events for consumption; it created a communal workshop where viewers could rehearse judgments and refine their moral language.
By contrast, The 4 of Us exposed the limits of relying on star power alone.
Unfortunately given the impact of ‘The Polygamist’ writing and acting skills package on the public the new telenovela was viewed with a more discerning eye. The spark that turned viewer murmurs into a blazing public discourse was lit by celebrated author Jackie Phamotse.
Taking to X, the Bare author delivered a blunt, unfiltered verdict that sliced straight through the production’s marketing hype. “Great actors but horrible script, the storyline is so predictable it’s shameful,” Phamotse posted, perfectly capturing the collective frustration of an audience that refused to be pacified by star power alone.
Phamotse’s critique fell on fertile ground. For years, South African television networks have leaned on a reliable formula: assemble an undisputed heavyweight lineup, build a lavish set, and let actors’ charisma carry the project. The 4 of Us checked those boxes, boasting an elite cast including Sindi Dlathu, Sdumo Mtshali, Rami Chuene, and Thembinkosi Mthembu.
However, Mzansi’s viewers proved their appetite for substance now outweighs loyalty to famous faces. Social timelines filled with admissions from viewers who found the show so uninspiring they could not push past the first two episodes.
X user @sazi_zondo summed up the casting-versus-writing tragedy bluntly: “I have honestly tried for the sake of Sindi Dlathu, but they make her look like a Temu when she’s a OG Chanel. Thembinkosi should’ve never left homecoming, he looks ridiculous in that haircut & Deja vu acting. Sdumo’s revival of Jonasi is boring as hell…”
Other viewers, such as @ChikizaD, said they abandoned the show by episode three because it felt like a tired sequel to The River.
The 4 of Us arrived with an impressive roster whose reputations should have been an asset. Instead, many felt the narrative scaffolding failed to support the performances, producing characters who often read as archetypes rather than people.
When plot mechanics resolve too quickly or motivations are underwritten, the result is aesthetic disappointment and a diminishment of television’s capacity to foster nuanced public thinking. Viewers bring global reference points to local screens; they have little patience for stories that prize spectacle over coherence. The backlash was less a revolt against casting choices than a demand that broadcast stories take civic responsibilities seriously.
This is not an argument against glamour or star casting. Both are indispensable to a thriving industry. The point is that they must complement – not replace – the painstaking work of writers. Script development is invisible in launch trailers, but it determines whether a project will sustain attention and contribute to public life.
When writers are treated as disposable vendors supplying episodic drafts under tight deadlines, ethical nuance is a casualty. When writers are given time, advisory support and contractual involvement through production, characters gain interiority and narratives produce consequences that linger.
The structural incentives of the local industry explain the imbalance. Production houses and commissioners often prioritise elements that guarantee immediate buzz: marquee names, glossy cinematography, fast turnaround. Development costs – research, table reads and iterative rewrites – are easier to cut than camera days. Yet cutting development is a false economy. It may secure a tempting launch weekend, but poor scripts erode viewer trust more deeply and quickly than any marketing can restore.
Restoring television’s civic function requires shifting how development is financed and valued. Funders, public broadcasters and private platforms should ring-fence resources for multi-stage script development and make commissioning conditional on demonstrable narrative milestones. Contracts must protect writers’ continued involvement through production so their visions survive casting and editing choices. Creating stable career pathways, fellowships, writers-in-residence and long-form showrunner tracks will encourage storytelling that looks beyond single-episode hooks toward sustained ethical inquiry.
There is also a cultural imperative. South Africa’s recent history and persistent inequalities demand stories that take complexity seriously. When dramas reduce characters to moral signposts or rely on tired tropes, they flatten public imagination and make nuance harder to hold in civic debate. Conversely, when scripts work to represent contradiction, ambivalence and institutional pressure, they foster habits of empathy and deliberation. Television has long been a site where society rehearses its values; when it does so thoughtfully, it helps citizens practice the hard work of living together in a plural democracy.
The Polygamist and The 4 of Us are instructive not because they are flawless or villainous but because they show what is at stake. One points to civic returns from investing in narrative labour; the other warns of the cultural cost when that investment is withheld. Producers, commissioners and policymakers should not mistake short-term spectacle for long-term trust.
If scripts remain second-tier inputs, audiences will withdraw their attention, and with it a crucial forum for public reasoning. If instead we revalue writing as core cultural infrastructure, South African television can convene a public, surface ethical dilemmas and model plural thinking, while still delivering the glamour and talent viewers expect.