Annie Berke’s review of Elana Levine’s “Her Stories: Daytime Soap Opera and US Television History” sheds light on the pivotal role of soap operas and their devoted fans in shaping American television.
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Her Stories: Daytime Soap Opera and US Television History by Elana Levine. Duke University Press, 2020. 400 pages.
During a summer interning with the writing team of Guiding Light (CBS, 1952-2009), America’s longest-running daytime soap opera, I gained a unique insight into the world of daytime television. Based at Proctor & Gamble Productions in Manhattan, the office dynamics were surprisingly more akin to a workplace comedy than the dramatic storylines unfolding on screen. Actors would often pop in from the soundstage, still in costume but out of character, seeking coffee and casual conversation. The lines between villain and hero were constantly blurred, reflecting the ever-shifting narratives of soap operas.
One of my key responsibilities was managing “The Binder,” a comprehensive archive of script loglines and character summaries spanning decades of Guiding Light. This vital tool ensured continuity, preventing accidental romantic pairings between long-lost cousins – a testament to the intricate and often convoluted family trees that define soap operas. While diligently maintaining this archive hinted at my future in television research, my immediate priority was avoiding phone duty and the often-passionate, sometimes irate, fan calls reacting to the latest plot twists. These interactions underscored a central question about daytime soaps: who truly owns these televised narratives?
Even at its peak, the American soap opera grappled with defining itself. Aesthetically, narratively, and culturally, it constantly negotiated its identity. Should soaps embrace progressive or conservative values? Should they delve into the everyday lives of housewives or venture into more sensational, even supernatural, territories? From a network perspective, were soap operas reliable revenue generators or financial burdens?
However, at its heart, the soap opera has always belonged to its dedicated fanbase. These viewers possess an encyclopedic knowledge, far surpassing any binder, capable of recalling decades of plot twists and character developments with remarkable precision. In a May 2020 Zoom discussion about her book, Her Stories: Daytime Soap Opera and U.S. Television History, author Elana Levine acknowledged writing not just for academics but also for these devoted fans, recognizing them as her most discerning critics. Levine’s dual perspective as both scholar and fan infuses her work with both academic rigor and genuine appreciation for the genre.
Her Stories builds upon Levine’s previous scholarship, which includes examining television’s pursuit of artistic legitimacy and its complex relationship with identity politics and evolving sexual norms. She argues that soap operas are not merely entertainment; they are a reflection of American history, mirroring societal shifts and cultural values from the mid-20th century to today. As Levine states, “For soap opera, the past always matters, bearing upon the present and shaping the future.” And it is the passionate soap opera fans who act as custodians of this history, deeply invested in the present storylines and vocal about the future direction of their beloved shows.
While television soap operas evolved from radio dramas, they faced the unique challenge of establishing a visual language for daytime narratives. Early soap opera recordings are often fragmented and of poor quality. By today’s standards, early sets and acting styles might appear rudimentary. However, these early experiments laid the groundwork for visual storytelling in the genre. Certain cinematographic techniques from 1950s soaps, particularly the close-up, remain fundamental to the form. Soap writers Frank and Anne Hummert, creators of Ma Perkins, famously declared the close-up “God’s gift to the small screen of television.” The soap opera’s reliance on close-ups, mirror reflections (famously parodied in Guiding Light), and other visual devices to portray the inner lives of characters, particularly housewives, was driven by both artistic choices and budget constraints. Levine points out, “Budgetary demands and the pressures of intensive production could thereby shape storytelling, as in the killing off of central characters due to actors seeking release from binding contracts.” The major networks prioritized profitability with minimal investment in soap opera production, a principle that has persisted throughout the genre’s history.
Soap opera viewers identified with the on-screen dramas, seeking guidance within these narratives as they navigated work-life balance, generational conflicts, and evolving relationship dynamics. Irna Phillips, a pioneer of the genre and creator of Guiding Light and Another World (NBC, 1964-1999), is prominently featured in Levine’s analysis. Phillips’ work gave voice to the ideological tensions surrounding post-war femininity. Levine explores how Phillips’ scripts engaged with, yet ultimately challenged, the burgeoning second-wave feminist consciousness of the era. Her shows, Levine argues, “contradictorily exposed the trauma of the very gendered ideals of traditional marriage and family life that she sought to uphold.”
During the classic network era (1950s-1980s), soap operas were not only financially vital for networks but also served as a creative testing ground for evolving television production techniques. Soap operas’ intricate, interwoven storylines and “multiple planes of staging” influenced primetime programming, from British miniseries like The Forsyte Saga to 1970s action series and nighttime melodramas such as Peyton Place (ABC, 1964-1969). Genre blending became crucial to the soap opera’s adaptability and longevity, leading to gothic soaps like Dark Shadows (ABC, 1966-1971), mystery soaps like The Edge of Night (CBS, ABC, 1956-1984), and even screwball comedy elements in The Doctors. As networks gained more creative and financial control, Levine argues, “Daytime dramas were the engine that powered the classic network era.”
Levine further examines the often-contradictory political and ideological messages within soap operas’ “social issue storytelling.” Producers like Agnes Nixon (All My Children, One Life to Live) favored “cautious, tolerant liberalism” over overt activism. Global events like the Vietnam War were often filtered through interpersonal family dramas. While shows might reinforce conventional values, viewer interpretations were not always aligned. Soap operas may have leaned conservative, but their audiences were more nuanced.
Queer and feminist viewers, for example, often subverted conservative narratives by embracing camp elements and identifying with complex, even villainous, female characters. Erica Kane’s (Susan Lucci) 1971 abortion storyline in All My Children is a prime example. It “allowed Erica to be deceptive and selfish while also being sympathetic and even admirable in her unwavering resolve.” Soap opera actresses like Lucci became beloved figures, embodying the complexities of their on-screen heroines. Masculinity in soap operas was equally multifaceted, ranging from traditional tough guys to sensitive, brooding heroes reminiscent of gothic romantic figures, a departure from the idealized, professional men typically depicted in postwar media.
The peak of soap opera popularity in the 1980s, ironically, foreshadowed its decline. The “supercouple” phenomenon, exemplified by Luke and Laura on General Hospital, boosted ratings but also signaled a shift away from social relevance towards a focus on romantic desire. While these pairings often crossed social divides, their romantic triumphs implied that systemic inequalities could be resolved through personal relationships, a simplification of complex social issues.
A critical factor in the soap opera’s decline was the industry’s misjudgment of its audience. The rise of VCRs introduced new viewers seeking a “hip and legitimated kind of trash.” Networks, aiming for wealthier demographics to attract higher-paying advertisers, began targeting working women, assuming they were the desired demographic, even though traditional soap audiences were more diverse. This led to changes like location shooting and popular music montages, alienating working-class, Black, and LGBTQ+ audiences who had been the bedrock of the genre.
Between 2003 and 2012, six soap operas were canceled, including Guiding Light in 2009, marking a significant downturn for the genre. The emergence of time-shifted viewing and new television platforms challenged traditional audience measurement, leading advertisers to assume the worst about soap opera viewership. These assumptions, Levine notes, echoed a long history of stereotyping soap opera audiences based on “their practical and psychological needs.”
However, Levine argues that ratings alone do not define the artistic merit of television. Despite industry pressures and identity crises, soap operas continued to innovate. The debut of Passions (NBC, the 101, 1999-2008), with its Gen-X/Millennial appeal, and bizarre storylines like demonic possession on Days of Our Lives (NBC, 1965-) demonstrated a willingness to experiment. This embrace of the supernatural and outlandish might have seemed like a departure from traditional soaps, but Levine points out that genre hybridization was actually a long-standing characteristic of the form, going back generations.
Contemporary soap operas, even amidst upheaval, actively engaged with their own history. Shows like General Hospital and All My Children revisited past characters and storylines, offering new perspectives. General Hospital explored the origins of the Luke and Laura supercouple, acknowledging the rape that initiated their relationship. A 1998 storyline focused on Luke confronting his past actions and Laura articulating her long-suppressed trauma. Conversely, All My Children‘s “un-abortion” plotline reversed Erica Kane’s earlier reproductive choice, revealing that her doctor had stolen and implanted her embryo. These contrasting revisitations of soap opera history highlight the genre’s complex relationship with its past as it sought to recapture its audience.
With the rise of internet or “indie soaps,” blurring the lines of traditional daytime television, the future of the soap opera remains uncertain. Yet, as Levine concludes, soap opera endures as a resilient commercial art form. Its influence on television narrative and format is undeniable. Levine argues that “the ‘docusoaps’ of reality television, the magazines and blogs of celebrity gossip, and even the self-fashioned appeal of the interpersonal drama and serialized storytelling… are legacies of soap opera and the ‘feminine competencies’ for which it has long trained and rewarded its viewers.”
Reflecting on General Hospital, a soap opera Levine personally enjoys, I was struck by the opening credits – a montage of actresses’ faces appearing against a glowing backdrop. It reminded me of a conversation with a Guiding Light casting intern who described her ability to instantly recognize “who looks daytime.”
This raises a lingering question: what defines a “daytime” look? Is it something inherent, or culturally constructed? Many successful actors, including Mark Consuelos, Justin Hartley, Julianne Moore, and Anne Heche, began their careers in soap operas, suggesting that “daytime” isn’t a limiting factor for talent. Perhaps the answer lies in the early days of Guiding Light and Irna Phillips’ efforts to translate radio drama to the visual medium. What did audiences want to see when their “stories” came to life on screen? They likely sought to see reflections of themselves, their neighbors, and their families in the faces on screen – often facing dramatic and challenging circumstances. This, in essence, is the enduring appeal of the soap opera.
LARB Contributor
Annie Berke is the author of Their Own Best Creations: Women Writers in Postwar Television (University of California Press, 2022) and a film/TV editor for the Los Angeles Review of Books. Her criticism has been published in The New York Times, The New Republic, The Village Voice, The Yale Review, Film Quarterly, and The Washington Post.
