REELING THEM IN
BY REHAB EL BAKRY
The most anticipated movie of the year has opened to
brisk box offices sales. Is Emaret Ya’qoubian (The Yacoubian
Building) an upturn in the film industry’s decades-old slump, or has
the trend for better quality cinema been there all
along?
Emaret Ya’qoubian (The Yacoubian Building), like
Egyptian society itself, is infinitely complex in its simplicity.
The fictional story of the intertwined lives of the tenants of a
real downtown apartment block, it touches on some of the most
sensitive topics in Egyptian society: sexuality, perversity,
corruption, Islamism and the widening gap between rich and
poor.
The film is a screen adaptation of the best-selling
novel by dentist-turned-writer Alaa Al Aswany. And while many
expected the book’s taboo subject matter and subtle nuances would
never translate to the screen – whether due to poor production
quality or censorship – critics are hailing the movie’s
accomplishments, both technical and artistic.
Marwan Hamed,
the film’s 29-year old director, believes Emaret Ya’qoubian is an
indication of the possibilities that exist in the industry if all
the players are willing to do their part. “This is one of those rare
movies where all the necessary components for success were present,
from the budget for a clean production, to the box office stars that
will get people to the cinema, to a great story and – I would even
dare to say – good directing.”
But Hamed is wary of enamored
critics, who have been prophesizing that the £E 22 million
production – the biggest budgeted film in Egyptian history – will
usher in a new era for the Egyptian movie industry. Instead, he
argues, the industry has been taking baby steps in the right
direction over the last five years. Emaret Ya’qoubian is only one of
several steps in rebuilding an ailing industry, but if it suceeds,
it could secure the future of big-budget, high-quality
cinema.
“I think we’re just beginning to find the way again
after the industry was ignored for two decades,” he says. “Emaret
Ya’qoubian might turn some things around, but then again, it might
be a fluke. We’ve had those even when the industry was at its
lowest. It’s still too early to tell. What I can say is that it’s a
positive indication that we might, if everyone really works hard, be
able to once again place Egyptian cinema on the world map.”
The Golden Era
Egypt’s film industry dates back nearly a century. The
first Egyptian film, Dans les Rues d’Alexandrie (On the Streets of
Alexandria), was produced in 1912 by Abdel Rahman Salheya with the
help of foreign technicians. It was 11 minutes long. In 1927, Egypt
released its first full-length silent movie, Layla, with Awlad Al
Zawat (High Class Society), which followed in 1932, the country’s
first full-length speaking movie.
“Egypt’s cinema industry is
considered the fifth oldest in the world, on par with that of the US
and France,” explains screenplay writer Tamer Habib, whose latest
work, ‘An Al Eshq Wel Hawa (About Love and Passion), opened last
January. “The quality of the movies we produced [in these early
days] was exactly like those produced in other countries because at
that time everyone used the same technology. Even if you look at the
acting techniques, the directing, the hair styles and the makeup,
they were almost identical.”
It was economist and businessman
Talaat Harb who first recognized the movie industry’s
revenue-generating potential. He established Studio Misr in 1935,
the largest studio and film school in the Arab world, with hundreds
of classic films to its credit.
Harb was able to see the
motion picture industry as a form of entertainment for the masses
rather than just the elite. He was also among the first to recognize
that if he spent money on the production of the movies, and took
chances with new writers, actors and directors, he could produce
higher quality films that would sell more tickets. And if he
increased the number of movies produced every year, he could cover
more genres to suit the tastes of Egyptian society. More
importantly, he saw great potential in generating revenue by
exporting Arabic-language films to other Arabic-speaking countries
in the region.
Sadly, Harb never got to fully implement the
plan. He died in 1941. But his vision lived on and was adopted by
generations of moviemakers who led Egyptian cinema into its golden
era during the 1950s, 60s and early 70s.
“Egypt’s cinema
industry grew and diversified from just a handful of movies to a
full-fledged industry that addressed everything from the political
trends and thoughts of the day, to musicals, to romantic comedies to
social drama,” explains actor Khaled El Sawy, best known for his
starring role in the 1989 bio-drama Gamal Abdel Nasser. “At that
time, the industry was a true reflection of society, which is the
true function of cinema – as a forum to address the
masses.”
While many argue that nationalization of the motion
picture industry led to its downfall, El Sawy argues that the
industry went into decline after the industry’s players lost sight
of the art and simply began chasing money. “The government dominated
the sector for a short period of time under Nasser but this didn’t
lead to the industry’s deterioration. By contrast, some of our best
movies were made in the 1960s and 1970s,” he says. “The fault is
that... following the [Infitah] economic policies of the late 1970s
and throughout the 1980s, we had the rise of what we call contractor
movies, where there is no story, no acting and no production quality
of any kind. Instead, these were basic formula movies that aimed at
making a quick buck.”
El Sawy says the absence of any medium-
or long-term industry strategy doomed Egyptian cinema to what he
describes as its “complete collapse.” While the government may have
been fully to blame for the deterioration of technical elements such
as studio facilities, editing machinery and sound editing
facilities, which it monopolized, El Sawy says the profit-before-art
mentality of the industry’s players was the real
culprit.
Habib shares his sentiment, explaining that by the
1980s and 90s, producers had gotten so near-sighted that actors who
had made their acting debuts in the 1970s were routinely being cast
as 20-something characters simply because producers were too afraid
to take a chance with untested talent. “People got tired of seeing
40-year olds acting the role of first-year university students,” he
says. “Audiences simply couldn’t relate to the characters or see
themselves in the storylines, which seemed to get weirder and
weirder.”
Meanwhile, he says, the cinematography techniques
of Egypt’s golden era were lost as moviemakers cut corners on
everything from set design to editing and sound quality. “The
quality of the sound went from bad to worse; there are movies with
entire scenes where until today, I can’t make out what they are
trying to say,” he admits. “Too often, people walked out of the
movies having missed half the dialogue.”
To make matters even
worse, the nation’s cinemas – most having fallen under negligent
public sector ownership – were literally falling apart. Even when
the film’s video or audio quality was good – which in most cases it
was not – the equipment was in such poor shape that it ruined the
experience for the movie-going audience. Once an evening outing for
the whole family, regardless of socioeconomic class, going to the
cinema became the pastime of the unemployed, make-out couples and
unruly teens.
On the cutting room floor
By the 1990s, the film industry had hit rock bottom.
Not only was the quality a fraction of its former level, so was the
quantity – having gone from nearly 90 films per year at its zenith
in the 1960s and 70s to barely a dozen in 1995.
The industry
appeared destined for oblivion until 1998, when a pair of smash
comedy hits, Ismailiya Rayeh Gai (Ismailiya Back and Forth) then
Sa’idi fil Gama’a Al-Amrikiya (An Upper Egyptian at the American
University), for reasons still not entirely clear, resonated with
young audiences. The two films, both low-budget productions with
plot holes, clumsy camera work and poor-quality sound, pulled in £E
25 million and £E 27 million respectively – remaining to this day
the two highest revenue-generating Egyptian films in
history.
The films gave the industry its first push in almost
a decade. Overnight, producers were scouring their contact lists for
comedy writers and actors. While none of the tireless string of
me-too comedies that followed were particularly memorable, they did
succeed in attracting young audiences back to the cinemas. And
generating money.
“There was a moment of enlightenment,”
Hamed says with obvious sarcasm. “Producers came to the realization
that what they really needed to do was to increase the number of
movie-goers in order to make revenue.”
But to do that they
would need to improve the sorry state of the nation’s dilapidated
cinemas. “Businessmen began to invest in upgrading movie theaters.
So in the late 1990s and early 2000s, brand new movie theaters began
to appear throughout the main cities in the country with the latest
equipment and technology,” explains Hamed. “This addressed part of
the problem in that it made the movie experience a bit more pleasant
for moviegoers.” But it also developed the industry’s potential, as
rising box office sales generated the revenue to cover the
production of new movies.
The problem, asserts El Sawy, is
that the players were almost entirely disinterested in developing
the art; everyone involved – producers, screenplay writers, actors
and directors – were only after money regardless of whether their
actions were detrimental to the industry as whole. “It was a naïve
form of capitalist thought that failed to replicate the capitalism
in Hollywood,” he says. “In Hollywood, every movie producer is after
making revenue, but they adopt a long-term approach where making
movies is viewed with the same level of strategy as a factory that
will continue to make more products in the future.”
So the
behind-the-scenes people are paid well, receive insurance and give
some thought to their craft and how to do it well. Most of all,
their efforts are recognized, he says. “Here, movies are seen as a
temporary workshop that will be torn apart the moment the shooting
is completed. People are not encouraged, or even given the
opportunity, to give their opinion, nor is it appreciated when
given. So they don’t care anymore.”
But there is no denying
that the money was having an effect on quality. By the early 2000s,
producers were spending more on their films, investing in promotion
campaigns and taking more calculated risks in selecting scripts and
casting. “The private production houses began to employ proper
research tactics to develop the market,” says Habib. “They began to
realize that they needed to promote the movies both directly and
indirectly. So we see money being invested on the quality of the
posters of the movies, the trailer in the movie theaters, and even
the interviews that the stars of the movie give before the release
date.”
Sahar Al Layaly (Sleepless Nights), the sleeper hit of
2004, relied very heavily on these marketing tactics. A slick movie
trailer piqued the public’s curiosity to explore an intelligent
social drama with a cast of mostly unknowns instead of the usual
mindless comedy. While it cost just £E 1.7 million to produce, the
award-winning film reeled in an impressive £E 17 million in box
office receipts.
Prior to its release, the industry could be
characterized as cautious. While a few filmmakers were experimenting
with new genres and more provocative topic matter, the majority were
sticking to the tried-and-tested slapstick comedy and melodrama
formats. After all, intelligent and well-scripted films such as
Asrar Al Banat (Girls’ Secrets), Ma’aly Al Wazir (His Excellency the
Minister) and Ayyam Al Sadat (Days of Sadat) won critical acclaim,
but flopped at the box office.
The surprise success of Sahar
Al Layaly, however, made an indelible impact on the industry’s
profile. Habib, who wrote the screenplay for the film, says its
winning formula demonstrated that studios “have to take calculated
risks if they are to have a good payoff in terms of
revenues.”
He says it also demonstrated that innovative
movies can be a success with critics and box office alike. “This was
another turning point for the industry,” he argues, “The movie,
which had all the right components like good acting, production,
sound, storyline and promotion, was a hit. Once again, producers
realized that if they spend money, they will make
money.”
They also realized they had been selling audiences
short. While Egyptians love a good comedy, they also respond to more
intelligent storylines, if packaged right. Accepting this fact
opened the door for the release of other movies that ventured into
alternative genres such as romantic comedy, social drama and
political drama. Some were successful with critics and audiences,
while others were popular with one or the other, and still others
were panned by both.
Reel to real success Habib sees
positive indications that Egypt’s film industry is on the road to
recovery. He points out that while many still lament the low quality
of many productions, the fact that Egyptian studios are now
producing over 30 titles a year is in itself a good sign. Revenues
are also up, having tripled since the 1990s when box office receipts
hit a record low £E 20 million a year.
But Hamed is more
cautious in his assessment. He feels the industry has been depressed
for so long that it will take a lot more than one solid movie, or
even a dozen, to mark a recovery. “We are celebrating the fact that
we make 30 movies a year, while Bollywood [India’s film industry]
makes more than 800 movies a year, which generate close to $1
billion a year,” he says. “Our movie industry doesn’t even make £E
100 million per year. There are [individual] Bollywood movies out
there that make a lot more.”
But there’s no denying that,
from an actor’s perspective, the industry is improving. Intelligent
movies such as Sahar Al Layaly, Damm Al Ghazal (Gazelle’s Blood),
Malaky Iskindireya (Private Alexandria) and Emaret Ya’qoubian are
giving actors a chance to step out of cookie-cut characters and
bring new life to characters that more accurately reflect real world
personalities.
“My role as an actor is to confront society
with reality, but there was simply no one making these kinds of
movies or writing these kinds of characters for a very long period
of time,” says El Sawy. “So I had to compromise by accepting a
variety of roles that would simply keep me in the minds of the
audiences, even if I would not get that much personal satisfaction
out of them. It’s part of the equation that I had to accept that the
types of characters I wanted to play were simply not readily
available.
El Sawy, who received critical acclaim for his
supporting role as a closet gay newspaper editor in Emaret
Ya’qoubian, recognizes a shift in the public’s taste. “The public is
more vocal about their concerns in society and is becoming
increasing politically active and demanding to know the truth, even
if it’s ugly,” he says.
Hamed suggests the government, which
traditionally stifled artistic creativity by censoring taboo or
politically sensitive subject matter, is giving signals that it is
taking a hands-off approach to the cinema industry and allowing it
to grow. In fact, he argues, a socio-political film like Emaret
Ya’qoubian could not have been produced just a few years ago. The
censors wouldn’t have allowed it, and no private producer would have
risked a £E 22 million budget to find out.
El Sawy agrees.
“Four years ago, there would have been no room for movies like
[Emaret Ya’qoubian] in the Egyptian movie industry,” he says. “No
one would have wanted to put the needed money to get the product we
are watching in movies today. I’m not even sure if the audiences
would have been ready to go to see movies like that.”
Even
today, he adds, there aren’t many producers who would sink £E 22
million into a movie, which leads him to assume that the movie’s
producer, media mogul Emad Adeeb’s Good News Group, is looking
beyond Egypt to recover the costs. “The way this movie was marketed
made it very clear that it was not just aimed at the domestic
market,” he says. He points out that the film was released overseas
at international film festivals before opening in Egyptian cinemas,
adding that while it might break even in Egypt, its best chance to
make profit is if it is released in cinemas around the
world.
Hamed points out that the budget for the promotion of
the film at international festivals is almost equal to the budget of
the movie itself. For the first time in a long time, there was the
realization that the propaganda that precedes and accompanies the
release of the movie is just as important as the quality of the
movie itself,” he says.
If Emaret Ya’qoubian proves a success
overseas, chances are we’ll be seeing more movies of this caliber,
remarks El Sawy. “If you think about it in terms of money, the
entire Egyptian industry at the moment generates between £E 50
million and £E 70 million a year. If you have a producer who is
willing to spend £E 20 million on just one movie, which is how much
Emaret Ya’qoubian cost, then he knows that it is very unlikely that
he will be able to recover his costs, let alone make profits, in
Egypt alone. So, in essence, he has no option but to try to make
money through international marketing.”
It’s a gamble, he
admits, but one that could put the Egyptian film industry back on
the world map. “If this experiment succeeds, then we might be able
to finally achieve the vision that Talaat Harb had so many years
ago.”
Khaled Hammad, a movie score composer best known for his
work on Sa’idi Fil Gama’a Al Amrikeya (An Upper Egyptian at
the American University) and Ma’aly Al Wazir (His Excellency
the Minister), and most recently Emaret Ya’qoubian (The
Yacoubian Building), says one of the positive trends that
emerged in the late 1990s was that film producers, for the
first time in decades, recognized that a good musical score
has value in itself. Too bad it was for all the wrong
reasons.
For Hammad, who has been composing since he
was a teenager, a movie’s score is its soul. “It’s a different
way of reflecting the emotions of the story... it connects the
audience to the movie, even if they are oblivious to it,” he
explains. “If you want to put it in an artistic perspective,
the music tells a different dimension of the story and brings
it to life in a very non-tangible way.”
But producers
rarely look at it from such a philosophical perspective.
Instead, he says, voicing his frustration, they tend to view
the score and soundtrack purely as a marketing gimmick.
“Producers see the music and songs that appear in the movie
[simply] as a way of promoting the movie,” he says. “This is
particularly true in light of the plethora of satellite
channels that have appeared over the past three years. All
producers have to do is come up with a montage of scenes from
the movie and put in a piece of music or a song – even if it
doesn’t fit within the dramatic flow of the movie – and they
have an instant promotional [music video] for the movie that
costs them absolutely nothing.”
And while movie
audiences have become increasingly aware of the value of good
music scores of films over the last decade, producers have not
stepped up to the plate. “The good side is that people are
paying some attention to the music that runs in a movie and
especially the songs. There are singers whose careers were
launched because of a song on a soundtrack,” he says. “But
producers are not working to capitalize on this awareness by
investing properly in movie scores. There has yet to be a
producer who’s been willing to invest money to hire a proper
orchestra to actually perform the music score properly. If it
weren’t for the fact that we have access to decent editing
equipment, our music scores would have been very
hollow.”
In Hollywood and India, it is not uncommon for
producers to spend a handsome sum on a score, knowing that a
good score can bring a high return on investment. “There are
soundtracks that have outshone and outlived the movies they
came from, such as The Godfather and Love Story, both of which
were released in the 1970s and are still selling CDs around
the world today,” he says.
By contrast, in Egypt scores
are an “afterthought.” Hammad says composers receive next to
nothing for their work and often have to pay for professional
editing out of their own pocket. “If my income came solely
from score composition, then I wouldn’t be able to make ends
meet. I do this for the love of [the art]. This is what the
producer capitalizes on. They know I won’t cut
corners.” |
submit
your comment
top |