Saturday 11/April/2026 – 04:25 PM
Nietzsche says: In everything we consider normal, there is a hidden amount of agreement to ignore the truth.. I swear that this saying was the slogan of the makers of the series The Color Blue, even if they did not know it.
The easiest thing for drama to resort to is that it plays with the content with popular topics, guarantees quick interaction, and wins the bet of viewing through the shortest path, but true art is not built on ease but on adventure, and it is the adventure that the Color Blue series decided to undertake when it approached a thorny, sensitive issue, and laden with traditional dramatic concerns: autism, an issue that drama has always preferred to stay away from, not because it is not important but because it requires a high degree of honesty and courage, and in a time when drama is measured by its ability to scream, this work chooses to It whispers, a faint yet penetrating whisper like a needle in an open heart, because the color blue here cannot be told…but felt.
The genius of the series lies not only in its choice of the topic, but in how it approaches it. It succeeded in transforming a path strewn with thorns into a smooth human path that does not frighten or burden the viewer, but rather opens the door to understanding. Autism was not presented as a private, closed issue, but rather as a human story that affects everyone, and precisely here the most important transformation occurred, for a very private issue to become public concern, and for the viewer to find himself emotionally involved, not out of pity, but out of participation. The series made us see what we were We avoid looking at it without feeling guilty, and if the idea was an adventure in itself, then the method was a smarter bet.
Autism in Blue is not presented as a medical condition to be explained or interpreted, but rather as a window into a question deeper than definitions: What makes us normal in the first place? The series does not look at the child as a difference that must be fixed, but rather as a complete existence that lives according to its own logic, as if the work is quietly hinting that the idea of normal itself is nothing but a fragile social agreement. Here autism becomes not a lack of perception, but a difference in the way of reading the world, as if we are facing another language that does not need compassion as much as it needs listening. At this philosophical level, Hamza turns into a mirror; It reveals our fragility, not his own, and forces us to confront a harsher question: Is the problem with those who do not look like us…or is it our limited ability to understand those who do not speak our language?
Hence, the series does not stop at the borders of autism as a specific condition, but rather goes beyond it with intelligent calm to a broader and more dangerous space: the space of silence inside homes. It is as if the work is saying that the crisis is not in difference itself, but in the way we choose to hide it. Autism here turns from a specific issue into a gateway to larger questions about everything that is kept silent about within families. In essence, the series is an indirect invitation to the people to speak out, to acknowledge what hurts them instead of hiding it, because what is hidden does not disappear, but rather magnifies in the shadows. It is as if the deeper message says that what we consider to be a defect or shame is only part of our humanity, and that confrontation does not detract from us, but rather restores to us our right to understand and contain instead of denial.
The series ostensibly tells about a family returning home carrying a child who faces the world in his own way, but deep down we are faced with a drama that does not depend on the event as much as it relies on the feeling. Here nothing happens in the loud sense, but everything slowly erodes, reassurance, certainty, and even the ability to endure. The work does not seek to amaze the viewer as much as it seeks to penetrate it, and does not impose a feeling but rather reveals it, and we rarely find a work that makes us reconsider our feelings in this calm and harsh manner at the same time.
At the heart of this situation stands Amna, not as an ideal heroine, but as a fragile human being in the face of endless anxiety, and Jumana Murad gave a performance that goes beyond acting to living. She was not playing the role of a mother, but rather a mother who was afraid, collapsing, and trying to hold herself together at the same time. Her fear comes not only from her son’s illness, but from a more cruel question: What will happen to him if I am not here? This is a role that seems likely to remain a milestone in her career. In parallel with this weight, Ahmed Rizk presented the image of the lost father. With remarkable sincerity, a man tries to grasp the threads of life that are slipping away from him without noise, but with clear inner confusion. Despite her limited appearance and the early end of her role, Rasha Mahdi left an important impact. Ahmed Badir, Nour Mahmoud, and Kamal Abu Rayya also added clear acting weight within a general state of discipline. Hanan Suleiman also presented a calm but influential presence that added to the work an additional human layer of honesty and balance. Most importantly, was the dazzling performance of the child Ali Al-Sukkari in the role of Hamza, who He presented a complex character with great sensitivity and remarkable honesty, to the point that all the time you almost do not believe that he is just an ordinary child playing an acting role, but rather you feel that you are facing a completely real situation.
And from here we arrive at one of the most important strengths of the work, the smoothness of the narrative, from the first scene. The series imposes its own calm, smooth rhythm, which is due to the writing workshop led by Maryam Naoum, who chose to write in a whisper, not a loud voice. This smoothness extends to the image presented by Zaki Arif, where frames turn into paintings and the color blue becomes an emotional state, not just an aesthetic choice. As for Saad Hindawi, he appears as if he is a true maestro, moving all the elements of the work in precise harmony. The décor, the music, the filming angles, the relaxing rhythm of the montage, and even the selection of the secondary actors came with clear craftsmanship, which makes Hindawi one of the most prominent gains of the Ramadan 2026 drama and a director who deserves to continue, not disappear, because this kind of feeling does not occur often.
Behind this artistic balance stands a bold production bet, as Kamel Abu Ali chose to take a risk instead of taking the safe path, supported by the general supervision of Mohsen Baghdadi, to produce the work in a visual and technical way that is close to foreign works. Here, production does not appear to be just financing, but rather a true partner in the vision and a guardian of its quality, which is reflected in every detail we see on the screen.
The series does not present a clear villain, but it puts us facing a more complex opponent, a society that does not understand and sometimes does not try to understand. The cruelty here is not explicit, but rather hidden in the details, in a look, a quick judgment, or an institutional inability. The society in this work is not a background but rather a pressing force that shapes the conflict without declaring itself, which increases the feeling of loneliness even in the busiest moments.
The rhythm may seem slow to some, and some moments may even be longer than they should be, especially when the work is excessive in contemplation at the expense of dramatic progress, but this slowness itself is part of its bet, choosing to live with the characters and not observe them, and to feel the weight of time as they feel them. Although this bet may not suit all tastes, it gives the work a rare depth and frees it from diligence, because the color blue cannot be told… but rather felt.
History itself says that some works are not measured by their value at the moment they are presented, but rather by what they leave behind after the noise subsides. There are works that are born so different that they seem to precede the awareness of their audience. They do not find full celebration in the crowd of traditional works that discuss the familiar, but they remain present, grow slowly, and re-impose themselves with time, not because they try, but because they are honest enough to remain. The color blue seems to be of this type, a work that does not bet on a fleeting moment, but rather on a longer time, on the viewer’s memory, and on his later ability to rediscover it away from the hustle and bustle of competition, and perhaps precisely for this reason, it is a work that is likely to live on, and to take the place it deserves… even after a while.
The Color Blue is not just a series that discussed a sensitive issue, but rather a dramatic experience that chose to take risks and to whisper instead of shouting. A work that bets on feeling, not events, on honesty, not dazzlement, and on the human being with all his fragility. Some works are watched and forgotten, but this work feels… and whoever feels does not forget.
