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Al-Ahram Weekly 21 - 28 January 1999 Issue No. 413 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 21 - 28 January 1999 Issue No. 413
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Focus Economy Opinion Culture Features Living Travel Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A successful formula?
By Mohamed El-Assyouti
For some time now the Eid has been legally reserved for the release of new Egyptian films, "the film of the feast" being the coveted appellation appended to any number of movies upon their release.Such films share certain features: a feast film usually focuses on at least one superstar, and attempts to cater to the widest audience by providing a predictable recipe of song and dance, jokes and fights, women and sex.
Since the late 1970s Adel Imam and Nadia El-Guindi vehicles have tended to dominate cinema schedules during the feast, a phenomenon that has become more marked of late as the number of films being made in Egypt has plummeted. Advertisements that once used to read "in most movie theatres" now carry the boast "in all movie theatres," despite the increase in cinemas in the last few years.
Things have changed this year, however, and with the emergence of Mohamed Heneidi -- An Upper Egyptian at the AUC has become the biggest hit in the history of Egyptian cinema -- the dominance of the two moguls of the box-office is beginning to be challenged. Heneidi's play Alabanda (recorded on video and transferred to film for cinematic release during the feast) occupies some of the newest and most expensive venues.
Alabanda is the third play to be directly transferred onto celluloid, following in the wake of Adel Imam's Al-Wad Sayed Al-Shaghal (Sayed, the Servant Boy) and a Fifi Abdou vehicle which, incidentally, co-starred Heneidi. All three plays have been advertised as "feast films".
In challenging Adel Imam and Nadia El-Guindi, Mohamed Heneidi continues, though, to suffer from the same poor methods of distribution and production. A new idol is simply replacing the old ones. And in Egypt, certainly since the mid-60s, stars have extended their shelf-life to anything up to three decades. Mohamed Heneidi is, then, likely to be around for a long time. One can only hope that he does not follow the example of past precedents: Egyptian stars have tended to allow only minimal innovation in their films, which even after a couple of decades rehash the same formulas and characters. A plot twist might occur, say, once every ten years.
Sami El-Salamoni, reviewing a film by Hassan El-Imam, once wrote that "in the line of duty, the critic is obliged to watch such a film to the end, whereas any other spectator is free to leave the minute he pleases". They were words that had a certain resonance as I sat and faced Nadia El-Guindi for two hours as Al-Imberatora (The Empress).
A 20 metre queue of teenagers snaked towards the ticket booth. As soon as the credits were displayed on the screen, with Gamal Salama's distinctive music -- the same musical theme has dominated Nadia El-Guindi's films for the past 20 years -- whistles and claps filled the movie theatre. During the show, three red laser beams were pointed on particular spots on the screen.
Despite the competence of cinematographer Said Shimi and director Ali Abdel-Khaleq, some things never change. The script was written with the obvious intention of allowing for as many sexual encounters as possible, with El-Guindi getting sleazier by the year. The rest of the script comprises a hybrid of ideas taken from movies like Scarface and The Godfather, with Nadia El-Guindi as Michael Corleone. The last Egyptian remake of Scarface was called Al-Imberator (The Emperor): El-Guindi's new release is simply a late nineties version of this earlier adaptation. The theme of an oppressed individual's rise to wealth and power obviously strikes a chord among local audiences; this version, unfortunately, is inferior to its predecessors on all levels. This empress is one way or another involved with drugs, fundamentalism and devil worship, all in an attempt at evening the score with the man she loves the most. Yet as long as she carries on the same El-Guindi formula -- sleeping her way to the top and causing friction between powerful men -- the queues of young men outside the cinemas will probably continue.
The release of Adel Imam's latest, Al-Wad Mahrous Beta' Al-Wazir (Mahrous, The Minister's Boy), directed by Nader Galal, was delayed for several months as some scenes had to be reshot.
Imam's films have, for some time now, implicitly or explicitly criticised government policies, sometimes even targetting a specific political figure. This year, however, the character of Mahrous first uncovers ministerial corruption at the People's Assembly to which he is elected, only to blackmail them in return for his silence. By the end of the film, the simple villager lives like a king with a villa and Mercedes and is married to three women, each -- somewhat crudely -- representing a socio-economic group, the peasantry, the working class and entrepreneurs.
The audience appeared to be disappointed with the film, and its absence of any straightforward message. The confusion of the audience was aggravated by the script: Mahrous is shown ridiculing the late Sheikh El-Shaarawi and later giving the minister an aphrodisiac, hatta matla' al-fagr (until the break of dawn), a direct quote from the Qur'an. It was not what the spectators wanted from their erstwhile hero and many were probably left wondering by the end of the film whether watching Heneidi's play was not a better idea after all.
