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Al-Ahram Weekly 27 April - 3 May 2000 Issue No. 479 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 27 April - 3 May 2000 Issue No. 479
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Special Features Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Reflected glow
By Khaireya Khairy
The flood-lights were ablaze at Madinet El-E'lam's newest studio. Hardly surprising, given that a new television serial Autumn Leaves is in the making. Fore more surprising, and certainly more exciting, is the fact that the star of the new series is Faten Hamama. The actress who for decades dominated cinema screens is returning to television after a nine year absence.
Not that she is likely to be fazed by the lights. She has, after all, been a star for almost six decades, having made her acting debut at the age of seven. With 90 films to her name, and a lifetime as Egypt's leading leading lady, she is more than accustomed to the glare of bright lights.
She is expected at the studio complex, located 35 km from Cairo in Sixth of October City, at 1.30 pm and arrives exactly on schedule. Not for her the starry prerogative of keeping others waiting. Punctuality, she concedes, is an obsession.
She heads straight for her dressing room -- a comfortable room with sofa, armchair, and that most theatrical of accessories, a dressing table surmounted by a mirror surrounded by light-bulbs. Adjoining this is a second room, with wall to wall cupboards stacked neatly with clothes, dozens of shoes, and a veritable Pandora's box of costume jewellery.
She sits before the mirror, awaiting the arrival of the hair-dresser. He is late. And so she begins to set her own hair, and then brushes it out. She is almost finished when the hair-dresser finally arrives. All that are left are the finishing touches, completed in a silence that serves as eloquent reproof. Avidly punctual, Faten Hamama expects the same of others.
Next comes the make-up man, and together they embark on an hour long session, with the actress taking a proactive role in the application of her make-up. And then come the costumes. The whole process takes hours, during which time the film crew hover around in the studio.
Why, one wonders, after such a long and distinguished career, does she continue? She is, after all, now a great grandmother. Is it perhaps not time simply to rest on the accumulated laurels of a celebrated cinematic career? Is there anything to be achieved that she has not already done?
They are questions that appear never to have entered her consciousness. "My old films are regularly shown on the television," she says. "The younger generations clearly feel nostalgia for the life they depict, which they have never known themselves. So why should I not continue working in television?" She concedes, though, that she has to be careful in choosing parts, selecting only those suitable to an actress of her age. And in the current series, she is working with two other veterans of cinema's golden heyday, Gamil Ratib and Ahmed Ramzi.
Out on the set the lights are turned down. Faten Hamama walks into the set, the drawing room of a wealthy family, pleased to note that the striped sofa has been replaced by one in a solid colour, as per her instructions. Stripes, she knows from long experience, can easily be distracting on screen.
"Not that she is likely to be fazed by the lights. She has, after all, been a star for almost six decades, having made her acting debut at the age of seven. With 90 films to her name, and a lifetime as Egypt's leading lady, she is more than accustomed to the glare of bright lights"
Adel El-A'sar, director of the series, was born 40 years ago, when Faten Hamama was already the number one box office draw throughout the Arab world. It is the first time they have worked together. Is he, I wonder, a little nervous about directing an actress of Faten's stature?
He confesses to being intimidated on their first meeting. "But I have 16 films to my name," he says. "I hope I shall meet her expectations."
El-A'sar seeks his leading lady's approval on a casting problem. Her reply is quick, and to the point. she does not approve of the director's choice for the part because "he cannot act".
"He was just intimidated, facing the first lady of the screen," El-A'sar counters. "Just as I was when I first met you."
Faten refuses the flattery. She had in mind Wael Nour for the part. The director tells her that he is on bad terms with the actor. "Leave it to me," she says. "I'll patch things up between you." And soon Wael Nour is beside himself with excitement on hearing the news that he is to act with Faten Hamama.
Such are the prerogatives of being a star. Her contract stipulates casting and script approval. The former, she says, is partly made necessary to avoid "favouritism and nepotism." She may also advise the cast on what to wear and sometimes coaches them while performing.
"Let the words flow, like in a normal conversation. Do not attempt to act," is her most common advice.
Faten Hamama embodies that overused phrase, star quality. It may not be quantifiable, but around Hamama it is suddenly tangible. There is a frisson that everyone appears to feel in her presence. Ramsis Marzouq, the veteran, award winning cinematographer, is no exception. A burly, bearded man, he has collected numerous prizes throughout his career. How, I ask him, does he account for the effect of Faten Hamama's mere presence? "She is," he replies simply, "the first lady of the screen," before going on to pay tribute to her stamina.
"It is a strain for any actor to repeat a scene 20 times under the lights and cameras. But Faten has strong nerves. She did not flinch, and continued to play the scene, until the young actress who plays her daughter got it right."
Gamil Rateb, Faten's second husband in the series, is a product of La Comedie Française. He is a seasoned actor, though French is really his first language. Occasionally he falters over an Arabic word. In one scene together, it happens, and he is coached with enormous patience by Faten, who refuses to have the troublesome word excised from the script. Instead, they continue until the scene is right.
Scenes are repeated, often many times, with no show of emotion from Hamama besides an occasional flicker of the eyelids, and it is 10 o'clock before the director is ready to call it a day.
During the ride back to Cairo, Faten tells me that her doctor recently asked how many hours she worked a day. "An average of five," she lied. At times she works until two o'clock in the morning, though when she works, she says, she does not feel tired. Hungry, sometimes, but never tired. And having suddenly reminded herself, she picks up her mobile telephone, dials, and asks: "Is there any dinner for me?"
