A Citizen, A Detective, And A Thief
A Citizen, A Detective, And A Thief
I don’t know a lot about Egyptian cinema. I was talking to an Egyptian friend recently who was explaining that by the time he fights through the traffic to arrive at a cinema in Cairo he is too tired and frustrated to enjoy sitting through the movie. So Egyptians, he explained, avoid going to the movies. I didn’t ask if that is why Egyptian cinema is no longer enjoying its golden era, and has not for over forty (40) years. My friend also explained that Egyptian cinema is a great platform for composers to showcase their spectacular music. Cinema is known for producing some exceptional music, and Egypt is the capital of the Middle East for entertainment.
It should be little surprise then that after watching a couple of (recent) Egyptian films I was amazed, not just at the quality of the films, but at the complexity, humor, and yes, the music in the film.
Like a French film, it untangled its history, dealt with questions of moral authority and censorship dictated from the past, glimmering ever hopeful at a future that could break from the past, but doesn’t entirely. Sounds like France… and Egypt. Though the film was pre-Mubarak, it could very well have been released last week, for all of its complexity. I won’t get into the character deconstruction, but suffice it to say that the simplest, yet most complex character, happened to be the thief, played by who else but Shaaban Abdel Rahim,a famous but oftentimes controversial singer. Rahim acts the part of the traditional ‘Old World’ moral authority. He is mocked and scorned by the author, Selim (the citizen) for his moral stupidity. In the end, fighting against the thief (Rahim) proves fruitless. Before long, the citizen joins the good fight, and teams up with the thief who publishes the citizen’s stories that, under the watchful eye of the thief, are morally “correct” stories that “all will love to read.” Breaking from this moral authority is a near impossibility, and perhaps undesirable. In his heart of hearts, the citizen knows that he has a true masterpiece left to write (re-write after the thief burned the original copy for its moral repugnance). If the citizen could break from the old moral authority and rewrite his masterpiece, he could be free, and perhaps better serve the world with a very different truth. And so it goes on, the tugging and pulling of a society that argues the merits of its own culture.
The argument within the film is perhaps a debate against the uneducated authority of the masses as represented by Rahim. Or as Rahim frames it, against the snobbery of the intellectual class. There is a real-life struggle to reconcile Rahim’s ill chosen, politically contentious songs, and Selim’s snobbery, within a larger debate about national identity. Is this Egyptian? The difficulty is, as I learned, evident in watching the film and listening to Rahim’s songs. They are powerful. Rahim screams and cries and cheers and croons and sways and dances. And you can’t help but cheer him on and dance too. And you cheer for Egypt. Egypt! But that is exactly the conundrum that has us cheering for Selim (the citizen) to defy the moral (censoring) authority. But one clip of Rahim and maybe it’s not so bad. We can live with this. That is the problem: two worlds are so closely intertwined that they are inseparable–for now. It is much more complex and deep that I can imagine. And for Egyptians today, a task that is worth the worry and the protest.
