Injy El-Kashef sounds out cinéaste on the history of political films, normalisation and representations of the "other" on the silver screen Filmmaker, cinema historian and former director of the National Cinema Centre, does not understand why Al-Sifara fil-Imara (The Embassy in the Building), Adel Imam's latest cinematic "statement", is creating the furore that it has. "The cinema we have is simple," he affirms, explaining that it does not even aspire to be thought-provoking, be it with or against normalisation with Israel. "Egyptian cinema does not respond to large issues with corresponding depth," he says in a categorical manner. "You have to remember that we do not live in a democratic environment, and that in itself precludes any form of intellectual plurality," El-Qalyoubi states, laughing eyes betraying vast stores of cynicism colouring his words as he adds "and there is nothing particularly wrong with that" -- another chuckle -- "It's fine. It's fine to live in a monolithic atmosphere, isn't it?" What is the point, then, the value, of a film like Al-Sifara ? El-Qalyoubi opines that it is no more than an echo of public sentiment; a bridge between a vehicle, its cast and crew, and the viewing audience. Ever since the release of Z, he explains, commercial political cinema became in vogue. Yet, as far as local cinema is concerned, politically-tainted productions have assigned themselves -- consciously or not -- the single role of reiterating popular stances on public issues, without ever attempting to tread the uncertain territory of intellectual stimulation. "Think of Saidi fil-Gamea Al-Amrikiya (An Upper Egyptian at the American University)," he prompts; "the audience went wild with applause in the scene where [Mohamed] Heneidi burns the Israeli flag. It is precisely this kind of public reaction that local cinema seeks to create -- just that." El-Qalyoubi asserts the importance of similar reactions in that they constitute a form of popular polling not afforded by other arts, in its spontaneity and enthusiasm. Yet to imagine that there may be any actual thought process involved in the making of such films is, he says, almost naïve: "The mentalities behind most productions are too primitive, they don't seriously ponder the different contexts required to represent the Israeli ambassador in an Egyptian film." The Israeli press has followed the release of the film with keen, sharpened pencils -- "and rightly so," says El-Qalyoubi. "To the Israelis, a cinematic representation of their ambassador is a statement recognising his existence -- to them, it seemed like a spark of hope in the road to much-sought cultural normalisation," he adds. "The classic Egyptian cinematic formula is good guy versus bad guy," he says -- and the stranger will always be bad. The formula, it could be argued, easily bends to accommodate the notion of "us" versus "them". In the case of Israel, "them" also happens to be an enemy against whom at least one member in every Egyptian family has carried arms, "including myself and many of my colleagues," El-Qalyoubi proceeds. "The problem is further compounded by the fact that Israel is a strategic enemy of whom we know next to nothing. "We know very little of the way they think, of Israeli literature, art, or music, despite the disadvantageous position this inclination for ignorance leaves us in versus their awareness of our culture," he states in passionate gesticulation. Until 1967, El-Qalyoubi recounts, "we saw Israel as a kind of femme fatale, beautiful and treacherous -- but knew nothing else. Suddenly, on the battlefield, Egyptian soldiers realised Israel was also a lot of men with arms whom they had to fight." Cinematic representations became centred around the Egyptian hero conquering that enemy by infiltrating his ranks, he explains. "Think of Nadia El-Guindi in Mohemma fi Tel Abib (Mission in Tel Aviv) or Mahmoud Abdel-Aziz in E'daam Mayyet (Execution of a Dead Man). Think even of Raafat Al-Haggan [a hugely successful television series], the ultimate Don Juan who charmed his way to victory." The choices of lead roles would indeed support this theory. The critic would not share his opinion on Al-Sifara fil-Imara, opting instead for the following commentary: "We need to return to enlightened figures such as Taha Hussein and Lutfi El-Sayed. The problem is that we now live in illusions. And one of these illusions is refusing to learn about Israel. No one ever said we should promote Zionist thought in the arts, but we should, independently of them, learn about them, the way they learn about us," he says, adding that "we should also smarten up. There are Israelis who promote the Arab cause through their art and suffer the wrath of their governments for it. And what do we do? We ban them from our theatres because they are Israeli." Ali Nassar's films Hekayet Madina Ala El-Shate' (The Story of a Seaside Town) and Al-Morde'a (The Wet Nurse) are cases in point. "How can Israel and Egypt both attack the same film for political reasons? It's nonsensical! Ali [Nassar] did a wonderful job and we turned our back on him," El-Qalyoubi laments. Another example, he proceeds, is the Arab citizens of Israel. "When a film is independently produced, against the Israeli government's will, to attack Israel, from the very heart of Israel, why do we not support it?" he wonders in amazement. "It is not normalisation with Israel to celebrate Israeli anti-Zionist voices," El-Qalyoubi affirms, again mentioning the stagnant and ignorant intellectual atmosphere as the culprit. "We have university girls who lose an eye ball demonstrating against a book they have not even read. To me, this means one thing: though we may not have the brains," he smilingly concludes, "at least we have the guts."
