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Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 21 - 27 September 2000 Issue No. 500 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 21 - 27 September 2000 Issue No. 500
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Teaching the nitty-gritty
By Tarek AtiaThe scene at Mohamed Abdel-Hadi's Actor's Studio is a scene. Literally. Six aspiring actors and actresses are acting out a short sketch written by Abdel-Hadi, in an attempt to acquaint themselves with the experience of being in front of a camera. Mostly in their 20s, these hopefuls are a few months into a seven-month course. They have reached the stage where they can now perform in front of the camera, in a series of in-house screen tests that are then presented to the group and critiqued.
A well-known concept in Europe and the United States, the actor's studio is new in Egypt. But it couldn't have come at a better time. With role models these days practically limited to actors, singers and models, more young people than ever want to be stars.
How many of them really have what it takes? Joining Abdel-Hadi's studio is one way of finding out. Attached to actor-turned-producer Mahmoud Hemeida's Al-Batriq (Penguin) production company, the studio is basically a means for that company to discover new talent.
The studio also has numerous other roles, however, such as offering its services to other productions that may want to train their casts, or individual members of the cast in certain roles, dialects, situations -- anything that may come to mind. Because the service is still in its infancy, only a few directors have so far made use of it.
Abdel-Hadi's services, however, were used by the film Omar 2000, which premiered at this week's Alexandria Film Festival. For the first time in the history of Egyptian cinema, a movie's credits now include a casting director. Abdel-Hadi chose and trained the entire cast.
Back at the studio, six students are practicing a bedroom scene. Couple after couple sit in front of the camera. Abdel-Hadi, a wiry man with a goatee dressed in loose clothes, perfectly fits the stereotype of an artsy cinematic type. He quietly gives instructions.
"We're like a family," says Tamer Zein, a student who has to his credit a couple of TV roles and Cinema Institute final projects. "This is a great place." He compares the studio to internationally acclaimed director Elia Kazan's acting school, from which Omar Sharif and Robert De Niro graduated. Tamer thinks that once the studio graduates several dozen well-trained actors, it's going to put a lot of people out of business, specifically those who are currently making a living by merely falling into roles that are now clichés in Egyptian films.
Olfat is another of the hopefuls. She currently has a role in a National Theatre play Akher Hamsa. Between takes of the bedroom scene, she helps out by doing the dishes.
Later, I get the chance to sound out Abdel-Hadi's views on the future of Egyptian cinema. He tells me that when it comes to the multitudes who want to become the next Ahmed El-Saqqa or Hanan Turk, desire is not as important as imagination. In other words, the hopefuls must prove their ability to imagine before being offered the chance to take the seven-month course.
"It's not so much a school," Abdel-Hadi says, "as a studio." The distinction is important because the classes are meant to inspire the new actors as well as teach them the basics. It's the "method" school he's using, where the actor tries to become the character he's playing, rather than self-consciously acting out the part.
The studio has been open for a year and a half, and some 15 students have enrolled since the project began. Several graduates from the course have started their careers in the film industry. Basma was Alaa Walieddin's love interest in Al-Nazer, Monaliza was Mohamed Heneidi's love interest in Hammam fi Amsterdam, and Farah was Ahmed Zaki's love interest in Ard Al-Khowf.
Abdel-Hadi has always been interested in training actors, especially in cinema, and the partnership with Hemeida was the perfect opportunity for him to realise his dream. Originally a theatre director, then a theatre lecturer in the drama department at the Arts Institute, from 1990 to 1997 Abdel-Hadi lived in Amsterdam, where he received his doctorate in drama.
Now that today's screen tests are over, the students anxiously wait to watch and critique their own work. They're begging Abdel-Hadi, who's engrossed in conversation with one of his assistants, to start the screenings. The studio walls are covered with black and white pictures of Egyptian cinema's greatest stars -- Omar Sharif, Youssef Wahby, Faten Hamama, Suad Hosny -- interspersed with posters of such Hollywood hits as Practical Magic and Wild Things.
Abdel-Hadi finally leads the crew into the air-conditioned screening room. He dims the lights and starts the tape. Take after take, we watch Olfat and Ahmed, Nermin and Tamer, Suhail and Nesrin gradually improve their styles.
Clearly, not everyone here has what it takes to become the next big star. That's why, along with the hope and excitement, there's a sad feeling here on the first rung of the entertainment world's ladder. At the same time, there's something very real about the whole thing, something gritty about this muted sense of ambition and despair.
