11 - 17 January 2001
Issue No.516
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Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 11 - 17 January 2001 Issue No.516 |
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Love in the time of Internet
While watching Leih Khalitni Ahibak (one loose and suitably hip translation would be Why Knock Me Down), I couldn't help noticing that the girl sitting directly behind me knew the dialogue by heart. She was constantly preempting the actors while the drama unfolded, and at no point did she stop discussing the film with her friend sitting next to her. Their excited, enthusiastic, ceaseless muttering aside, the film's success was evident not only in these two viewers but throughout the theatre, which was surprisingly full for a post-Eid 10am screening. Most of those present -- the same age bracket regardless of class background -- were visibly in harmony with what they saw. Judging by the two commentators behind me, at least -- Mona Zaki's makeup, Hala Shiha's dress, Karim Abdel-Aziz's attempts to be funny, Nashwa Mustafa's jokes and Ahmed Helmi's glasses were among the topics discussed -- it was as if both stars and viewers were members of the same community, sharing mores, turns of phrase, world view and cultural-moral orientation.
This warm, almost universally positive response reminded me of the success of another film, Ismailia Rayih Gayy (Ismailia To and Fro), whose phenomenal popularity astounded even its makers. As with Ismailia Rayih Gayy -- although, perhaps, in a more articulate framework -- from the first few minutes on, one felt that film maker Sandra Nashaat was playing on her own ground and with the full support of a team she wholeheartedly belongs to. Consequently her portraits of individuals belonging to that cyber-age community, and of the world in which they operate, strikes an impressively effortless chord. Several flaws of construction may undermine the artistic framework of the film, but Nashaat's fare proves satisfyingly light-hearted and sincere: a true expression of the mood and the culture of the kind of young person it depicts and features. Equally stimulating were the film's songs, both lyrics and tunes, which replaced dialogue in romantic scenes between the two girls and the boy whose triangular, My Best Friend's Wedding-style romantic involvement make up the bulk of the movie's content. Sound effects and music are particularly effective, to boot. But they complement an already effective script.
The title is a sufficient indication of the film's romantic twist: literally "Why did you make me love you," it is the title of a popular song by the famous romantic singer Fayza Ahmed. But it was equally clear in the trailers that the film was also a comedy. Romantic comedy would therefore be the most appropriate genre allocation, and within the gamut of Egyptian cinema romantic comedy has been exceptionally well-received among the young. Nashaat seems to be on to something indeed. Made by young people, directed at young people, emotionally resonant among young people, her film is one of the Eid's popular and commercial triumphs.
On the present occasion, Nashaat wields a keenly observant eye for culturally-specific detail and an intuitive understanding of the emotional and intellectual registers governing the behaviour of her subjects. The "story" comprises little more than a framework within which to pursue the film's true subject, namely the aforementioned community: two girls fall in love with the same boy; one wins him over while the other systematically attempts to foil their happiness and prevent their marriage. The director takes a warmly human interest in these people: their manner of conducting their relationships with each other, the where, when and how of their meetings, their lingo, hobbies, family backgrounds, and the kind of life each of them leads. Nashaat's method depends heavily on the potentially comic, frequently discordant, social encounter, thereby eschewing sensationalism without letting boredom seep through. The violence with which the second half of the movie is burdened seems a forced contrast with her essentially comic angle of vision. Child and adult play intermingle, creating a constant creative tension that informs a prior state of idleness, for at some level the film undoubtedly deals with the Westernised and the rich, whose sense of identity is informed more by satellite television and Internet telephony than by anything Egyptian -- the (Egyptian) residents of a rich, if predominantly vapid, global village.
One overriding characteristic of the entire set-up concerns the tension between this global village and an older, dispossessed Egyptian village whose image is reflected not only in the heroes' parents but in the behavioural codes partly imposed upon them, and in their post-millennium reinterpretation of the conventions handed down to them through many generations. The characters are both human beings and symbols, as well as legends of a future cinema that more accurately depicts modern-day Egyptian society. Notwithstanding the artificiality of his role, Ahmed Helmi's performance is robust and intelligent. A whole crew of additional characters may seem superfluous, but the overall impact of the acting -- simple, realistic, involving a high degree of identification with the characters in question -- is powerful. Leih Khalitni Ahibak is hard to dislike, because it entertains effectively without resorting to obscenity or sensationalism, and because it constitutes a true and not altogether unpleasant reflection of what young Egyptian cinema -- and society -- has been and probably will be about.
The characters are as much individuals as types, and they reflect social and class realities that may not seem immediately relevant to the overall "point" of the movie, if such a point there is. The protagonist, Hisham (Karim Abdel-Aziz), is both a computer engineer and latter-day eligible bachelor. One of his two pursuers is a photographer. All live in one of the hip parts of town, Zamalek and Maadi, thereby creating a realistic social setting in which both characters and drama can be couched. Nashaat's casting is certainly successful, and Walid Youssef's script is sturdy enough to support the weight of the drama. After Mabrouk wa Bulbul (Nashaat's critically well-received debut, which was a commercial flop), the young film maker seems to be intent on reconciling artistic accomplishment with popular appeal. And, notwithstanding the ongoing difficulty of turning an ideal like this into reality, the territory Nashaat begins to chart is a place to which young film lovers are more than willing to emigrate. That is something.
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