Reviewing three representative examples, Al-Ahram Weekly takes stock of recent holiday releases
Tramp in the tram
By
Mohamed El-Assyouti
Sai'e Bahr (Sea Tramp) -- why would anyone pay to watch it? Well, one reason is that it has Ahmed Helmi as lead actor. Helmi shot to fame after presenting a children's TV programme on an Egyptian satellite channel a few years ago and is, in the opinion of many, a natural comedian. And for those who use Se'idi Fil Gamma Al-Amrikiya (An Upper Egyptian at the American University) as a yardstick, and the glossy look of music videos as a reference point, Sai'e Bahr might be plausibly described as well-written, and even stylishly directed. Such, at least, is the contention of even some veteran filmmakers. As a result Sai'e Bahr looks set to reap the highest box office returns of all the Egyptian films released last month.
Bilal Fadl's script reproduces a comic pattern that links films starring Naguib El- Rihani and Ali El-Kassar, through those with Ismail Yassin, to some of Adel Imam's vehicles. The protagonist, not endowed with much luck but possessing wits galore, stumbles over some obstacles on his search for happiness and love but thanks to his upholding of the noblest principles -- as well as the support of the woman who loves him -- he is rescued from an abysmal fate. They marry and live happily everafter. Typically, Sai'e Bahr spices up the standard comic recipe with a few situations that expose both the vulnerability of the protagonist and his far from negligible character blemishes. But these are forgiveable not only because he is kind-hearted but also because he is funny.
The protagonist, Hantirah, is a street peddler and occasional street wedding singer. A 10-pound loan can be a subject for argument between him and his mother or father: he is poor, and simply to survive must spend his time endlessly on the make, endlessly hustling. He is reduced to being a kind of prostitute, at best a clown, desperately grabbing at any money that comes within reach.
Hantirah harasses women in the Alexandria tram and in the market place. He takes advantage of a prostitute and, through a practical joke, arranges for his friend to rape a passer-by on the Corniche. He tries dealing in drugs, and attempts to steal a suitcase-full of bank notes, failing miserably.
Given the questionable morals of the protagonist Sai'e Bahr risks alienating an audience that seems increasingly on the search for family values. Indeed, a recent TV programme featured numerous on-air phone calls of audience complaints. Yet as far as visual content is concerned, Sai'e Bahr is as ungraphic as any government produced soap-opera. Nor can its language be deemed explicit. The objections all centred on the film's vulgarity: its pervasive misogyny hardly raised an eyebrow.
The film establishes a blatant contrast between Hantirah's two love interests: Merit, whose dyed hair lead others to believe, at least for a time, that she is Greek, is easy to ask out, but she already goes out with another man and he, significantly, is a police officer with a car "who can sweep the streets clean of peddlers like Hantirah"; Ne'ma (literally a gift from god), on the other hand, dons the veil though her lush hair bewitches Hantirah when he accidentally sees it. She initially rejects Hantirah's advances, refusing to even go for a Coca Cola with the him in the street. When she finally accepts an invitation she asks him to either propose or to never see her again.
The film is swamped by stereotypes: the amicable junkie living in the cemetery who always reminds Hantirah that "women are like cigarettes, they start with a cough and end with a burn" and who becomes addicted to low grade drugs when he discovers on his wedding night that his wife is not a virgin; Hantirah's friend, a waiter and aspiring song writer, objects to his waitress fiancée's mini-skirt but is happy for her to effect an introduction to a song writer who becomes his agent.
While refusing any critical distance from the shortcomings of its characters Sai'e Bahr attempts, at least, to proffer some lame excuses for such compromises: Hantirah and his friends lament that they sing at weddings rather than being professional musicians while the song writer/agent will not deal with Kazim Al-Sahir or Hani Shakir on account of their sombreness, and instead calls Shaaban Abdel-Rehim the prince of Arabic song. Even the drug dealer in the film strives in vain to restore hashish to its leading position in the local market in the face of the invasion of bango.
As a vehicle for a budding comedian, one wonders if the trip offered by Sai'e Bahr is comparable to either.
