Abortion moral
The questions raised by Khaled Youssef's latest film are interesting indeed, writes Waleed MarzouK A pity it fails to address them
Excited by the prospect of the first Egyptian horror movie to be produced in decades, I shunned my friends' smug elitism: "Err... I don't think so". I bought my solitary ticket for writer-director Khaled Youssef's Ouija. The preview had promised a taut thrill-packed adventure, a kind of I know what you did in Marina, and I was determined to give it its day in court. When confronted with the actual images, there was horror to be found indeed, but it lay, rather, in the whining self-indulgence of the characters -- a reminder of how much more needs to be done before this industry can escape the choking double-bind of its melodrama-low-brow comedy straightjacket.
The story starts with a clique of friends on a road trip to Hurghada. They're young, (kinda) hot, liberal, locked in a cushy middle-class lull, and -- this will be become ever more prevalent as the movie progresses -- sexually active. Hind Sabri is married to a pillar of security played by Sherif Mounir (I'll refer only to the actors' names since this is not a flick that warrants the recollection of characters' monikers), and craves excitement. Menna Shalabi is trying to secure a commitment form her guy, Mahmoud El-Baroumi, and Hani Salama (who has outgrown bugging out his eyes for emphasis but not his congenital flakiness) plays a thinly disguised version of himself -- the arrogant, irresponsible and horny actor. He picks up a hot body at the beach (Dolly Shahine), eats some seafood, then, protesting weakly, sits down with his friends to a game of Ouija, in the course of which their dark fates are cryptically alluded to.
Once you've adjusted to being duped into the same old genre, the true merits of the movie start becoming apparent. There's a bold attempt at capturing the complicated, nerve-grating incestuousness of relations within a clique, where partners are traded after breakups, and residual baggage lingers everywhere. There's also, however, an ill-advised effort at wrapping it all up into a hip package that manages to miss the mark. Youssef ups the glamour quotient in the first act to nestle his audience into their seats; one begins to wonder if the nation's resort towns are indeed populated with loose sluts travelling in packs of seven, bobbing their bikini-clad breasts every chance they get. The cast pulls its flashing weight too: Mahmoud's abs are as wooden as his personality (and acting style), Hani's biceps have been at the gym, and his newfound love interest's figure, which the costume department made sure wasn't left to imagination, would feel well at home in a centrefold. The sequence in which the razzle-dazzle culminates and she sings at Hani (instead of to him) plunks us right into the heart of a mazzika video clip.
A botched suicide attempt, a con job and a death in the family, all part of the fortunes told, are swiftly settled, validating the board-game's predictions and clearing the way for a suspenseful self-fulfilling-prophecy storyline in which the twin-headed monster of adultery (or even the slightest whiff of it) and murder can rear its ugly head. Sherif, who kills time popping beer bottles with his pistol, begins to drive himself mad wondering who he's meant to execute. Since there's no one else in the movie, his attention turns to the males in his clique, and their possible past or present involvement with his wife. His paranoia grows exponentially, providing the sole component of comic relief.
Ouija is continually saved by the talent of its leading cast members; they work through, and occasionally elevate, the weak writing and lax directing, infusing life into scenes that would have otherwise fallen flat on their face. As Hani dances with Hind and his pearly whites consume half the screen, his lips twitch self-consciously, debating whether to intervene and obscure that hideous sight. In Sherif's response, we not only see a convincing and underplayed jealousy, but a teeming gravity that will serve him well in years to come. For the moment, however, left to his own devices -- to his intrepid direction, that is -- the mildest of triggers makes him bark his lines, forcing scenes into premature climaxes. And while Hind Sabri seems incapable of a false moment as she flits through the attention the movie's males lavish upon her, greed testing the sureness of her footing, it's Menna Shalabi's emotional prowess in her portrayal of a controversial character that dominates the film, salvaging it.
By now definitively our most competent ingénue, Menna plays a girl with a history of promiscuity, trying to prevent a seven-year relationship, to which she's devoted her heart, soul, money, and (most regrettably) body, from crashing. A late-night drunken "accident" with Hani, followed by the discovery that she's pregnant, ups the stakes dramatically and a racy conflict is spawned. Mahmoud, knowing that the child is his and that another abortion may terminate her chances of motherhood, coupled with the fact that he's still emotionally attached to Hind, can't forgive her -- with the film blaming his strict, thoroughly ingrained narrow-mindedness on class.
Watching Menna beg to be taken back -- on her knees feverishly kissing his hand -- is beyond heart-rending, it's painful to endure. Her courage and vulnerability evoke sympathy and admiration in equal measure. When she vows to kill him in a moment of deluded determination the urgency is terrifying. She's talented enough to summon her tears at will, but, again, a lack of restraint in the direction results in them punctuating the end of practically every scene she's in, turning what was meant to be moving into something maudlin and odious. It may have been an incessant and deliberate push to ensure that she comes across as sympathetic (an entire sequence was also devoted to the sacrifices she made to secure Mahmoud an uptown place and job on his graduation), but if so it proved to be ultimately destructive.
Such inconsistencies in the writing permeate the film. In a certain sequence during which Hind visits Mahmoud in his room in Hurghada, we're left unsure whether it really happened or was just a fantasy in Sherif's head. Nor this cleverness on the director's part, just poor and muddled storytelling. A climactic fight is interrupted with a scene change; we move from bar to car, where Hani convinces Mahmoud to chill out and get in, and then to Mahmoud's place, where the bar fight edge is inexplicably recommenced. Absurd and unrevised lines like, "She committed suicide, let's go visit her in the hospital" are not only uttered in earnest, they're repeated. But the real shortcoming lies in the characters' lack of development. Youssef has a good sense of where they're coming from and their desires -- and attending to all of them he develops both sides of any argument and hence genuine conflict -- but not a sound sense of who they are. Details regarding upbringing, occupations, and the resulting psychological dispositions are overlooked, so it's no surprise he's left with gaping holes in his story and never sure where these people should end up.
This one-step-forward-two-steps-back hesitancy informs the film's moral framework, which shies away from resolutely reaching any centre. From the first moment the film moves uncertainly (almost apologetically) towards reconciling libertarianism with domestic religious values. As soon as the Ouija board is introduced, we're reminded that "magic is mentioned in the Quran", and when Hani lectures the old-school Mahmoud about accepting a woman with a checkered past, he also refers to the holy book to back up his position. Is it intelligent or cowardly that Youssef leaves this argument open-ended? The divide is clearest in the movie's biggest cop-out. The night Hani and Menna go too far is always referred to later as a "loss of control". People don't get possessed when drunk and stoned, no matter how full of joint butts the ashtray is at the end of the night. A decision is always made; someone has to instigate the action even in the thickest of stupors. But how can the movie cop to that? Having indulged their excesses, how can their better selves move on without blind and fervent denial? Whenever the film is confronted with moral ambiguity, it throws its hands up in the air.
Finally, it's important to warn potential viewers of the abrupt, truncated and wholly unsatisfying ending. The end credits literally roll up in what was supposed to be (according to the classical narrative structure, to which it had thus far abided) the film's climax. That this move was clever, or, worse, "experimental", will never convince anyone with an IQ above 30. Interesting conflicts had been established. Will Mahmoud, because of ingrained notions of oriental-man pride, rob a girl who loved him of motherhood? Can Sherif free himself of an obsession to save his marriage? Instead of the patronising platitudes it cheaply spells out -- "We must accentuate the positive" or even more inanely, "Life is to be felt, not rationalised" -- this is what the film could have boldly addressed, these people's propensity for change. But the audience is cheated of any opportunity to witness these characters grow, offered a frustratingly aborted effort instead.
Al-Ahram Weekly Online : Located at: http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2006/782/cu12.htm