		Al-Ahram Weekly 17 - 23 August 2000 Issue No. 495
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875

Ways of dying

By David Blake and Youssef Rakha

photos: Mohamed Mos'ad

The old season is over with, and a new season looms. October, its opening, is almost upon us. And for whatever faults the Cairo Opera, as an institution, may be held to blame, lack of maintenance is not one of them. The off-season is being used to wash and scrape every inch of the building, scattering white marble dust all over the grounds until the showpiece theatre is honed to a luminous flower-white quality, a pink and white peony for the months to come.
The white marble floors, freshly gleaming, are a skating rink that will soon echo to Verdi and Beethoven.
It is, in truth, a very beautiful building. Yet for some reason it has never enjoyed the praise of its public, maybe because it remains so cool, remote and rather grandly stand-offish under all conditions, in and out of season. Unlike most theatres, it neither entices nor solicits. It never unbends, even on those rare occasions when the auditorium is crowded. But it has dignity, scope and fulfills the picture of an opera house -- perfectly. Its stage confrontation with an audience could bear comparison to Bayreuth.
Yet this is a palace without a monarch. The ex-army general whose talents have been utilised to put order into the chaos that resulted in Mustafa Nagui's dismissal, is eager to point out that he is not a "director" but simply the "chairman of the board" -- a word that horribly demotes the opera to a place of big business, which it isn't. Thus when, following the tracks to a fine, late Metro Goldwyn-Mayer office -- infinitely friendlier than anything that the chilly facade might suggest lies within -- we finally come face to face with the man who might make it sing, there is a sense that the new season, though under a different leadership, will not be as different as we had hoped. But as far as maintaining the Opera's physical well-being, at least, we should have no worries.
"By early September," Samir Farag proudly announces, "I want everything to be sparkling, as good as new. There had been a lot of slackness in keeping the place up to standard, but as soon as I arrived here I made it known that I cannot do things that way, that everything must be regularly renewed and maintained. Neither is the artistic side -- which will be run more democratically, since everything is decided by a committee of five specialists (I admit, of course, that I'm not a specialist myself) -- the only thing. From the Opera's files to its budget and the quality of the walls lining the corridors, everything must be maintained and must be ready before we open."

Samir Farag -- charming towards change?

Farag, who is certainly qualified for a high-ranking bureaucratic position, has enjoyed a long and wide-ranging interest in music (he has organised the three annual army-supervised festivals in collaboration with the Opera House for the last six years). Such an informal interest ("I began to enjoy opera first," he tells us, "when I lived in London") does not, he admits, qualify him for the position of artistic arbiter. But, besides being the competent head of an air-tight bureaucratic system (in which the chairman's own artistic decisions are made after consulting with veteran musicians like Hassan Kami and Ratiba El-Hifni, Farag's newly appointed advisors), Farag has much else to contribute as chairman.
To mention but one example: "The Selim Sahab troupe had been performing the same songs for decades, over and over. We had a meeting and I explained that this cannot go on, that unless it produces new and stimulating performances, the troupe's agreement with the Opera House will be terminated. Everything must be new and interesting, otherwise nobody will come. And you understand that my biggest challenge is to grab the people, pull them into the Opera House by whatever means available. Because this is my major problem. Egyptians don't like this place."
Today, indeed, the corridors are so eerily empty it seems very unlikely that the opera will ever be as vibrant a place as we and Farag want it to be -- despite a large-scale advertising campaign, Arabic and non-classical programmes (popular music concerts, for example, will be regularly held in a planned Roman-style amphitheatre, so that "as well as the usual opera, we can have an alternative young people's opera operating at the same time, which will encourage people to come"), and broader cooperation with the Ministries of Culture and Youth.
Yet Farag still seems to be caught between the necessity of the Opera remaining a sanctified and ultimately exclusive temple for (sometimes brilliant, mostly average) classic musical prayer ceremonies, and the imperative of opening it up to "the public", which public, it seems generally to be thought, would give it a less than dignified demeanour. So here it is -- part morgue, part palace, and part Palladian hall of splendours fit for great Western-style shows -- Kami's vision for the opera, for example, was to turn it into an international centre for classical music, with home-grown stars and world-famous productions and events -- which, tragically, at least so far, seem never to take place.
Yet in the face of such changes and improvements, Farag seems unsure. Asked about the possibility of developing a proper, long-term repertoire, for example, he mentions only "an Egyptian opera" that will be premiered during the coming season. He offers no more details.
Poised midst the splendours of his office, he is light-years away from your svelte, condescendingly self-satisfied chairman of the board with an Armani briefcase full of orders (the image that "chairman" brings to mind). His briefcase is more likely to be full of bills. Eight million pounds in debt, the institution will, Farag explains, rely on support from the Ministry of Culture and on the box office takings it hopes to improve by making itself more accessible through alternative programmes. And to this, insofar as it is the first of many steps towards (commercial and artistic) buoyance, one can only bow, whatever one's misgivings.
Farag understands the institution's eternal predicament: an Opera house in Egypt. For all its chilly grandeur the opera belongs to Cairo, something of which the audiences often appear unaware, confused, perhaps, by its undeniable sense of pride in itself. The Cairo Opera -- it indicts itself, even if only by implication. And the reality? After a few turbulent, disappointing years during which musically it seemed to be rallying itself for better things, the opera suddenly went into one of its disappearing acts, joining the long list of Egyptian mirages. Now that Farag has positioned himself at the top, however, alternative programmes and, eventually, exciting productions, may be expected to bring in more people. And in this way Farag begins to stem the tide of opinion that opera is out of date, has finished its run and is not much part of the Cairo opinion.
Farag's persona may be different, but it cannot be denied that his answers to the questions repeatedly posed to the six previous occupants of the hot chair sound familiar. Will the new methods prove capable of effecting the genuine change? It could be as it always has been, like Nile, Pyramid and Kulthoum. Yet this captain with the gentle voice may be able to turn the tides that have swirled around the Opera House. He is, at least, a straightforward talker -- nothing opaque or stale about what he says and, by association, what he might do. His determination is remarkable. He is fresh, accommodating in his acceptance of the fact that the holy halls need not only democracy and promises, but exciting new opera productions, well-sung and presented. And hopefully, a whiff from the market place will do the holy halls a power of good.
Love and best wishes to the captain for an exciting voyage.
Related stories:
House and garden 8-14 October 1998

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