( This is a film analysis I wrote in which I used two of Chahine's films out of a total of three films I used to understand the relationship between conflict and cinema in Egypt. Whatever reservations we might have about the man and/or his work, it must be said that he did great things. It is also partially a continuation of my
earlier post where I investigated the same themes conceptually.)
The issue that concerns me in this essay is the specific way in which films and their creators represent these conflicts and thus paint a picture of contemporary Egyptian society. Representation in itself is a highly problematic concept. In representing, the artist speaks for a reality or a social identity which s/he doesn't necessarily share. The artists interpret the dynamics of societal relations and power politics in specific ways which allow them to produce a coherent whole which is able to speak
[1] about the reality of a particular time and place. From this point of view then, representation will never be an exact replica of an abstract "reality" which is "out there" somewhere, but will always involve the artist's own understanding of this reality which s/he can appropriate however s/he sees fit.
Thus by definition, there is an instance of violence in representation, during which a specific interpretation is selected-based on a specific epistemology- and (re) presented as the reality of the film(text). The violence is thus manifest in omissions, negative re-drawings, and general selectiveness in regards to what is relevant and what is not. Since films (or any works of art/representation for that matter), by virtue of their structural limitations cannot ever portray whole truths the question here is not one of truth. No argument will be made for a more authentic reality than that which is portrayed in the films. Fictional works of art, even if realist in style, are, at the end of the day, fictional. In fact, any representation, fictional or not, by definition of what it is, is not reality, but some recreation of a portion of what is imagined to be "out there." The best a film can aspire towards is to draw on social realities in a way which is morally honest and aesthetically pleasing, perhaps even critical.
[2]Having stated this then, to assert that there is violence in representation (the truth of which I am not denying) is a tautological argument which fails to say anything useful about the particular ways in which films fit into a social dialectic about identities and power relations in society. There seem to exist two contradictory desires in this statement. One, is to assert that all representation is violent representation. The second, is to search for an "uncontaminated," pure representation which is genuine and therefore not violent. Yet as Raymond Baker articulates it: "such messy spaces of cultural contestation bear no resemblance at all to any imagined pure aesthetic realm, outside history and above politics.
[3]" This merely repeats the problem of abstracting from time and space which it attempts to criticize in the first place. What is useful, however, is to examine the ways in which representations can be violent, the historical context and discursive trajectory which gives meaning to their precise framings of reality (and, therefore, which allow for the possibility of particular incidents of violence), and the ways in which they interact with, critique, and generally affect dominant social narratives about power, politics, society and conflict. Particularly, what interests me are the specific ways texts create limitations
[4] through representing certain modes of being in definite ways so as to do violence to the real-life inspirations of such representations.
I am driven by a concern that the "representation is violent" assertion has become increasingly disabling for those who seek a timely and effective medium for circulating their ideas directly to the "experts" who are responsible for creating social narratives, in this instance, film makers. At a time where academia seeks to address experts, social critics and artists through circulating to the proper constituencies relevant and empowering ideas, we must rethink the manner statements such as "representation is violence" is conceptualized in order to ensure that it is not paralyzing for those whom it is used as a critique against, but rather enabling, and that it does not flatten differences in representation, but produces subtleties. It is only in the service of films' function of "creating political spaces that empower film artists to speak for or against existing power arrangements and within which rebuttals and counter-assertions can also take form
[5]" that such critiques should be made at all. It is with this idea in mind that I proceed to look at some of the most important Egyptian films of the past century.
The first of these films is The Terrorist, directed by Nader Galal, but more commonly associated with its lead actor, superstar Adel Imam who plays the role of the terrorist. The Terrorist tells the story of a young Egyptian man, lured into the world of Islamic extremism and violence by the promise of a young bride. While on the run, he is hit by a car driven by a pretty, upper middle class young woman, who takes him to her family home where he lives with her family while recovering from the car accident. There, he encounters on a day to day basis the supposed "moderate" religiosity of the Egyptian bourgeoisies, to whom he lies about his identity and from whom he silently learns the misguided nature of his violent ways. He pretends to be a professor of philosophy until eventually found out by the younger sister of the young woman, at which point he has repented from the path of violence but is killed by a member of his own terrorist organization.
The Terrorist, like almost all of Imam's movies was quite popular when it came out in the nineties amidst an atmosphere of social tension and political struggle between the Egyptian state and violent Islamic groups. The film reinforces the official state narrative about the reality of Islamic extremism and what is to be considered "good" Islam. Imam's character is superficial, even stupid. He has never been exposed to the "moderate" and "tolerant" values of the Egyptian middle class, and seems to have no real or deep rooted grievances which led him to join the "terrorists" in the first place. In fact, it seems that all that Imam needed was an instructional workshop, provided de facto during his stay at the family house, on how to be a good Egyptian Muslim.
The family which is supposed to represent the moderate middle class in fact portrays values in terms of codes of dress and gender roles which are much more Westernized and liberal-so to speak- than that of the dominant majority of the Egyptian middle class in the nineteen nineties. They are presented as the ideal, educated, patriotic and all around wholesome nuclear family, who enjoy social success and good relations with their neighbors. Contrastingly, Imam's character seems generally unused to human decency and good will, and carries an expression of concealed surprise throughout most of the film. He is consumed by sexual fantasies and militaristic tendencies instead.
The representations employed in the film are problematic in a number of ways. First and most blatantly, Imam's character is stripped of all social, political, historical and economic contexts. The character of the terrorist as protagonist is not at all used to explore the dynamics of violent groups who recruit disillusioned youth frustrated by a stagnant political and economic situation. Imam seems to have no real justification for the politics he practices and is easily swayed to the righteous path throughout his encounter with his temporary family. Young men who join extremist religious groups, then, are portrayed as essentially good at heart, but simply misguided and unaware (but might have to be killed unless they realize the futility of their philosophies). That is as far as the portrayal of the phenomenon of political violence in the film goes.
The economic devastation, social alienation and political subjugation in which the real young men who joined the Islamic groups of the nineties lived are never alluded to. The blame for the phenomenon of political violence lay mostly with the young men themselves who allowed themselves to be misguided and tempted by medieval and barbaric pleasures such as an anonymous young bride, and partly with a neutral lack of awareness about true Islam, the responsibility of articulation of which is left unclaimed. Society as a whole, and the state apparatus in particular, holds no ownership of the phenomenon that nearly ravaged Egypt's social and political fiber during the last two decades of the Twentieth century.
Thus we find massive and particular acts of omission throughout the film which construct a narrative of an Egypt free from social problems or wealth inequality, as if Islamic extremism was an alien intruder, not borne of the society which it aimed to transform. Furthermore, class is not presented as an issue at all in the movie, despite the fact that the family which hosts the terrorist is of a very privileged social class which exists as a foreign minority to the majority of Egyptians. In fact, good Islam is equated with middle class values, wealth and women's empowerment.
The film also does not make any serious reference to the regional and international politics which agitated the Islamist right, but presents the Islamists as aimless and empty-headed. The film, then, is but a euphemism for the actual complex social reality which created Islamic extremism in Egypt and the region. The bearded young men who bear arms are dehumanized until they enter the sphere of the acceptable moderate middle class, the lifestyle of whom, as portrayed in the film, the real Egyptian Islamist extremists rejected in whole and on well articulated ideological grounds. There is also never a portrayal of the often indiscriminate violence used by the Egyptian state at the time to curb the threat of political violence. Instead, the symbols of the Egyptian state are patriotic guardians of the moderate Egyptian way of life, and often victims of the violence of Islamic extremism.
This portrait fits in perfectly with the official Egyptian and Arab narrative on the Islamic extremists which were threatening the stability of their regimes. The Islamists in this film are never allowed to speak for themselves-in fact, even when they try to speak they are rude, incoherent and generally confused. Such a popular portrayal by Egypt's undisputed number one actor served to legitimize the government's violent suppression of all forms of Islamic opposition in Egypt whether moderate or violent. The film uses the power of simplicity and some comedy as well as the power of the on screen presence of Imam to lend itself credibility. The specific violence of representation here lies in the obliteration of the humanity of the young Islamist, and the providence as the only alternative a way of life which was neither acceptable nor at all available to the majority of Egyptians.
The film, despite its popularity, does not use its artistic power either to convey a complex reality or to provide a creative alternative to that reality, and thus leaves the average Egyptian viewer with little to relate to, almost as if the political realities in which he lived were something stripped from him and appropriated to other agents: a bad, almost non-Egyptian terrorist, and a happy, wealthy, liberal, also almost non Egyptian bourgeois family. It thus creates the impression that if everyone would just let the government do its job in peace without protest, everyone will have a two story house with a big garden and pretty daughters too.
In one analysis of Imam's public role, Raymond Baker states that " Adel Imam emerges as the most prominent figure from the arts to confirm the diagnosis offered by a desperate regime for the virus infecting Egyptian society: at the heart of Egypt's ills stands the irrational terrorist, the enemy of culture and civilization, and not the failed policies and terrible desperation that produced him." Yet Imam is possibly the most well known and well loved actor in Egypt and the Arab world, and while Imam has generally been known for his pro-government views, he has also played roles in the past which were critical of official practices and the corruption of bureaucracy. It is not, thus, useful to condemn Imam's talent as nothing but an artistic instrument of autocratic political power.
Despite the film's superficial storyline, there is no reason to question Imam's integrity-in this instance- as an artist expressing a worthy cause; but it is necessary to show how the film, precisely because of its artistic weaknesses, can be and has been appropriated by hegemonic powers to justify controversial domestic and foreign policies. The subtle powers of his acting talent would have allowed Imam to make a movie which still condemned political violence-which is in itself a noble cause- but without negating the grievances of a politically active group in society and all who could be related to them from near or far, and while being sensitive to the realities of Egyptian society. Since making this movie Imam has spoken at official congresses of the ruling National Democratic Party, has been appointed a Good Will Ambassador by the United Nations, and has married his daughter to the son of a prominent leader of the banned but tolerated Muslim Brotherhood.
The second film relevant to this essay is Youssef Chahine's Cairo Illuminated by Her People. It comes in the context of the 1990 Allied invasion of Iraq and is a quasi documentary which finds Chahine juxtaposing images of a sanctioned, scenic and tourist-safe and friendly Cairo (the Pyramids, the Nile, a bellydancer etc.) with images of Cairene day to day life which include religion, poverty, family, political dissent and trade. The film was banned due to its portrayal of Egyptian student demonstrations against the Gulf War and against the Egyptian involvement in it. While it does not tell a story in the usual sense of following around a protagonist, Cairo tells the story of the city and its inhabitants as they go about their daily lives, with all the liveliness, joy and hardship that that entails amidst regional and international political developments which are portrayed as having a fundamental-but not essentially determining-relationship to their existence in the city at that point in history. Chahine describes the domestic troubles which afflict the lower and middle classes in Cairo such as inflation, housing prices and unemployment, and indicates that these are related to international developments in the Gulf and the policies of the United States as well as Egypt's own role there- although the exact dynamics of this relationship are not wholly clear.
Chahine thus provokes the official stance on the Gulf War by opposing Egypt's involvement in it and second guessing the supposed role Egypt would play in the region and in relation to the United States in the post war Middle East. Chahine has been known for his oppositional stances towards the Egyptian government, and his generally controversial portrayals of taboo issues such as deviant sexuality and marginalized social identities in his films. While it clear that Chahine intends a link between Egypt's domestic situation and international politics, it is never made clear what the link is constituted of or how exactly the war in the Gulf would affect the daily lives of the Egyptians which he illustrates. His representation lacks the production of differences which would have allowed it to uncover a web of domestic, regional and international relationships that could help explain why exactly it was that life was so hard for the average Egyptian at the same time that the government was making promises of progress and development.
While there is no reason that he should not question official policy on such substantial matters as regional war against an Arab country or that he should not try to link it to the lives of ordinary Egyptians, Chahine's lack of specificity allows him to romanticize the struggles of the Egyptian citizen while lumping together all his political and ideological enemies-the Egyptian government, American imperialism, Arab dictatorship, and the world economic order- as somehow responsible (which is not to say necessarily that they were not) for as well separate from the realities of the lives of Egyptian men and women. In the absence of coherent linkages, the critique of a social and international order loses its profundity and can be counted by its critics- despite the artistic merits of the film- as another voice to be added to the heap of an opposition-for-opposition's sake romanticizing left which has no real alternative to the very tangible challenges posed in the last decade of the century.
That is not to say that the role of film is to provide answers to social ailments. But even for questions to be asked usefully-and I would venture, honestly- they must be asked specifically, concretely and not rhetorically, which is what Chahine seems to be doing. A master of the political film of all genres, with a career spanning almost fifty years
[6], an American cinematic education, a number of political causes about which he is very passionate
[7] and arguably Egypt's most important filmmaker, Chahine has "argued that anyone concerned with Egypt's social problems as he was could not avoid politics and foreign policy because "politics controls society and what controls politics is foreign policy.""
[8] He has also stated that "Politics are inevitable. Politics control our lives the way world economics influences our local economy and how that influences our social life. We are managed by everything that is happening in the world-it's globalization.
[9]" But even here the vagueness of his idea is clear.
While the film has been celebrated as a scathing social critique
[10] and Baker remarks that "Chahine's struggle…goes to the heart of the issue of representation,"
[11] Chahine fails to portray the layered relationships between war, power, domestic economics and lived human existence. This would not be so much of a problem had Chahine not claimed to speak for these Egyptians and to speak the truth about the reality of the nature of the relationship between domestic and foreign policy. It is in this sense that Chahine is violent in his representation despite his commendable efforts (which, I maintain were artistically successful) to produce an original social critique. He claims to speak of a truth, and attempts to display a sense of authenticity
[12] (particularly through the use of documentary filmmaking methods) which he leaves obscure and of a government which he can only represent as incompetent and willfully subjugated, thus failing to complicate the pictures he paints of Egypt during the Gulf War.
The final film I will discuss here is also a creation of Youssef Chahine. The Return of the Prodigal was filmed in 1976
[13] and tells the story of bourgeoisie corruption after the nationalization project in Egypt. The returning son has spent the past twelve years of his life in prison for political opposition, but quickly falls into the vile habits of his bourgeois family after he is released. The film ends in the tragic massacre of the whole family. It is essentially the story of the decay of the Egyptian intellectual class, with whom Chahine continues to be affiliated.
The film was an attempt by Chahine to regain market success and appeal to a wider constituency after being accused of being elusive and elitist in some of his preceding films.
[14] The Return of the Prodigal was, in the words of Chahine, a musical tragedy.
[15] Yet he continued to use unconventional methods such as obscure characters which were external to the narrative and extra-textual scenes which did not fit in with the story of the film. In The Return, Chahine attempts to give a reason for this intellectual decay, and one of the main themes of the film is corruption. He also alludes to the increasing American hegemony in the Arab world through the character of a cowboy who stops a group of Egyptians in the street who had been singing the brilliant Salah Jahin's revolutionary and nationalistic medley "The Street is Ours."
In her analysis of Chahine's film, Maureen Kiernan writes that "as Chahine moves towards an increasingly postmodern form of expression, he also attempts, in this film, to criticize the very class which, in conjunction with the postcolonial presence of the United States, is responsible for the introduction of these very forms of discourse."
[16] The film is a sharp political critique but with the latent contradiction that Kiernan points out. Chahine's love-hate relationship with the West in general and with America in particular would later be spelled out in films which directly addressed that topic and took an autobiographical-fictional form.
Like a true critical artist Chahine saves the most scathing critique for members of his own class, and seems to display an internal conflict in films like these. The nationalism of Jahin's music is contrasted with the image of the cowboy and the lack of will of the intellectual class. One of Chahin's most moving films in terms of how it evokes a lost glorious past of a dynamic nationalistic and intellectual life, The Return is also very original in artistic form. Yet the idea of the decadent intellectual class which has not been able to stand up to Western imperialism is a well-worn and weathered motif in Egyptian and Arab cinema. Chahine represented this post colonial colonized class as one lacking the motivation to change and the will to redeem itself-a general sentiment among secular leftist intelligentsia in the Sadat era when the grand slogans of anti imperialism and Arab socialism had faded away.
In fact what Chahine does in The Return is reify this state of impotence and apathy which may or may not have existed to the same extent which the film claims. Here is Chahine's moment of violence. Chahin's final solution seems to be the destruction of this class, perhaps in the hope of the birth of a new more imaginative and hopeful one. Yet Chahine condemns this class to mortal doom although all he can offer them as an alternative is a long gone past. Chahine can come up with no new or original way in which this class of intelligentsia can confront a world order controlled by hegemonies over which they have no control. The idea of a world beyond their control is central here to the plot, the existential situation of the protagonists and Chahine's general philosophy about how international relations work to create lived (often miserable) realities in local (specifically Egyptian) situations.
In conclusion of this brief survey of The Terrorist, Cairo Illuminated by Her People and The Return of the Prodigal, a reiteration of the objectives and limitations of this analysis is warranted. What I sought to do was to deconstruct these films as cultural texts which include self imposed instances of violence in their narrative regarding the way certain ontological realities are portrayed. What I did not mean to do was to indicate the films' lack of "authenticity" or truthfulness, the end of which as previously discussed, I believe is futile, but to point out what the specific contours of the violence imposed in the films were. Neither did I intend to say that the artists' visions of reality were misguided or partial, but to critique the films on their own terms so as to uncover the differences they conceal and the similarities which they fail to see.
The point of this is to be able to speak to the "experts" who create cultural texts, not from the privileged position of a detached critic but from the position of an individual who lives in the society which creates and is influenced by these works of art and statements of politics. To speak to these experts about these texts in a way that is relevant and not just condemnatory is to engage in a conversation about the relationship between global politics and the lived situation of the average Egyptian citizen, and to participate in a dialectic which is responsible for the production of such works of art. The point then, also, is to be able to talk about these texts both as works of art which have their own intrinsic value and as representations of social discourses which cannot be separated from the reality in which they emerge.
Pointing to problems of representation within the specific narration of the relationship between politics and art is not to want to transform art into political manifesto or, on the other hand, strip it of its political content, rather it is to realize its importance in the everyday conversations which create visions of reality and eventually influence social movements, mobilization, patterns of behavior and power politics. My largest ambition for this essay is that it is able, on its own merits, to take part in and to speak during conversations within and about society and with the authors/artists who are endowed in society with the talent and the capabilities to influence politics in subtle but far reaching manners, for the wider purpose of helping create an awareness of the violence in art which opposes violence.
There exists a necessity to create a more sensitive, culturally resounding and hard-hitting social critique (as manifest in the films) through a medium which has just over the past five years in Egypt begun to reinvigorate itself and create original works which speak of different politics in different ways, and thus affect the course of conflicts through our understanding of them in different ways. The role of conversing with these texts and their authors, then, is to root film in the cultural matrix from which it emerges and enable it to better carry out its political role as a voice which is heard by mass audiences.
[1] For a discussion on the ability of texts to speak, see Said
[2] For a discussion of the changing language of cinema in response to Egypt's changing society see Armbrust
[3] Baker, P.7
[4] Said, p.9
[5] Baker, p.7
[6] Massad, p. 77
[7] Massad, p. 87
[8] Baker, p. 31
[9] Massad, p. 88
[10] Baker, p. 29, Massad, p. 83
[11] Baker, p. 30
[12] Kiernan, p. 148
[13] Kiernan, p. 141
[14] Kiernan, p. 141
[15] Kiernan, p. 142
[16] Kiernan, p. 142
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