Nehad Selaiha revels in the old and the indigenous Few can fail to note the irony of dedicating a theatre called Al-Ghad, meaning tomorrow, to preserving the folk heritage and keeping indigenous, popular performance arts alive. Should we take this to mean that the only way forward, into the future, is by retreating into the past? There was a time, back in the 1960s, when playwrights and directors all over the Arab world, particularly in Egypt, Syria and Morocco, believed such a paradox and thought it their sacred mission to carve out an 'authentic', non- European Arab theatre by tapping the folk heritage for old, popular theatrical phenomena. The result was a sudden eruption of hordes of storytellers, puppeteers, clowns, acrobats, mimes, shadow-players, ghawazi (gypsy belly dancers) and whirling dervishes on Arab stages. This 'authenticity fever', sparked off by Yusef Idris in 3 successive articles in 1964, quickly spread like a plague, sparing no one, not even the classically oriented Tawfiq El-Hakim, who soon published Qalabuna Al-Masrahey (Our Theatrical Mould) in 1967, citing religious processions and the improvisational art of public mimics as possible prototypes, and followed this with his curious quasi- absurdist/quasi-folk drama O, Tree Climber. Soon enough, with the publication of Ali El-Ra'i's book, Al-Komedia Al-Murtagalah (Improvised Comedy), in Egypt, and of Abdel-Karim Barsheed's, Abdel-Rahman Bin Zeidan's and Al-Tayeb Al-Siddiqi's manifestos in Morocco advocating an Arab theatrical form moulded on communal celebrations, not to mention Saa'dallah Wannus's prescription for a 'politicizing theatre' in Syria, and the staging of highly publicized experiments, this fever attained the status of an endemic disease and has continued with us to this very day. Ironically, in their feverish quest for a so-called authentic Arab theatrical form, those artists/theorists were obviously inspired, consciously or otherwise and whether they admitted it or not, by a number of European theatre rebels and innovators, foremost among them the German Bertolt Brecht. As I pointed out in my article "Brecht in Egypt" ( Al-Ahram Weekly, 11 June 1998, Issue No. 381), Brecht was introduced in this country in 1963 with a production of The Exception and the Rule and instantly became a seminal influence and a liberating force. Not only was his 'epic theatre' ideologically in line with the official 'socialist' ideology propagated by Nasser's regime and supported by the majority of writers, artists and intellectuals during that period, more importantly, there was also a natural affinity between the type of theatre Brecht advocated, which shunned illusionism and linear progression and embraced the comic, episodic and openly theatrical, as well as song and dance, and the indigenous Egyptian (and I dare say Arab) forms of popular entertainment. His plays, which were successively translated, as well as his theoretical writings, particularly his A Short Organum for Theatre and such essays as "On Unprofessional Acting", "The Street Scene", "Notes on the Folk Play", and "The Popular and the Realistic", indirectly bolstered the call for a popular theatre that draws on the folk theatrical heritage, making it ideologically legitimate and socially respectable. No wonder dramatists, like Alfred Farag, Naguib Soroor, Mahmoud Diab and even Yusef Idris himself, in his groundbreaking Al-Farafir (The Underlings), and directors, like Saad Ardash, Karam Metawe' and Ahmed Zaki, drew heavily upon the epic theatre techniques in their quest for artistic authenticity and social efficacy. Indeed, the influence of Brecht's ideas has been so profound and far reaching that it is almost impossible to find an Arab folk play from the 1960s onwards that is not at once political in intent, socialist in outlook and quasi-epic in artistic provenance. Of the third generation of the post-1952 playwrights who have attempted this kind of folk play, Sayed Mohamed Ali rates among the best. Apart from a couple of plays -- Yareit (Were It So) a one- woman show starring singer Azza Balba' in 1989 and Lahzat Wada' (A Moment to Say Goodbye), an ethical investigation into the motives of a self- confessed murderess, in 2000 -- most of his work is based on academic and field research in Egyptian folklore. Years of study and of scouring the countryside, from the Delta to Upper Egypt, in the company of his twin brother, composer Shukry Mursi, in search of stories, legends, songs, religious ceremonies and communal rituals and games, have yielded a number of memorable, exciting and highly amusing plays, including: Gomhoriyat Zefta (The Republic of Zefta) in 1988, Al-Mehabazateyah (the name of city street players in 19th century Egypt) in 1989, Furqu' Loaz (Pop Goes the Weasel) in 1991, Al-Mawlaweyah (the name of a popular Sufi sect) in 1995 and El-Khalabees (the name of itinerant actors/acrobats in the 19th century Egyptian countryside) in 2002 (see review of El-Khalabees in Al-Ahram Weekly, 19 December, 2002, Issue No. 617). Most of these plays adopt a meta-theatrical, or 'theatre-in-the-theatre' framework, presenting a company of traveling players enacting episodes from history or entertaining their audience with edifying imaginary tales. The structure is uniformly episodic, with the scenes following each other like music hall numbers, linked by one or more characters and a tenuous narrative line that mixes the real and the fantastic; the temporal and spatial settings, though varied, are indefinite and deliberately vague, as in folk tales, and as is the case in such tales, the moral is always clear and simple. Invariably, the characters are types, or lightly sketched in broad strokes; the acting, which alternates with narration, is predominantly loud and rough, in the style of slapstick comedy, and is often punctuated with songs and dances, costume changes (mostly done on stage, in full view of everybody), improvised comments and topical allusions, as well as boisterous exchanges with the audience. As a rule, the audience are encouraged to actively participate in the performance, if only by joining in the singing and clapping in tune to the music of the live folk band that usually accompanies such productions. Sayed Mohamed Ali's latest play, currently on at Al-Ghad theatre, displays most of these features. Its title, Al-Shuttar, which literally means 'The Sharp or Clever/Crafty Ones', is used here, as it was in the final phase of the rule of the Mamelukes, to describe Robin-Hood-like highway robbers and brigands who waylay the caravans of rich merchants and plunder them for the benefit of the poor. It typically opens with two heavily painted and comically dressed street performers called Al-Nawwar (Blossoms) and Ibn Sabbab (son of a reviler or abuser). Assisted by an acrobatic clown (Adel Madi), a live folk band occupying one corner of the hall to the right of the audience and a lively troupe of dancers, this couple (played by the wonderfully agile and versatile Marwa 'Eid and Basim Shukry), recreate the atmosphere of old, popular performances and introduce us to the story they are about to enact. Very much like a tale from The Arabian Nights, their story tells of a greedy and despotic sultan (hilariously and superbly impersonated by wonderful comedian Sami Maghawri) who is bedeviled by terrible nightmares in which he sees himself devoured alive by a lion, walking a tight rope over a huge abyss between two mountains, denied entrance to paradise, or summarily flung into hellfire. These horrible visions are vividly presented with Nabil Bahgat's flat stick-puppets as scenes in a shadow play on a side screen, with proper sound effects from the live band. After consulting with his stolid vizier (Mu'taz Al-Sweifi), his witless chief of police (Hammam Tammam) and his ridiculous lord chief justice, all cowardly and thoroughly corrupt, he seeks the help of a 'sheikhah' (holy, old woman cum sorceress and soothsayer, played by Bushra Al-Qasabi) who puts him through some ancient, magical rituals (at which the clowns, dancers, singers and musicians assist), but to no avail. Finally, he is advised to seek the help of a famous holy man who lives a great distance away. Dressed as a merchant, he sets off on his journey, accompanied by his similarly disguised vizier. In the following scenes, the young couple we saw at the beginning enter into the game, with Basim Shukry posing as the chief of the gang of bandits and Marwa 'Eid impersonating the beautiful, brave and upright daughter of the sought-after holy man whom he captures, together with the sultan and his vizier and other travellers. The two fall in love at first sight and it soon transpires that the chief bandit was formerly one of the holy man's students and disciples and that he only took up armed robbery to punish the uncharitable rich and help the starving poor. Both undertake the sultan's education, taking turns at castigating and preaching to him, while the sultan, who has fallen in love with the lively intelligence (rather than beauty) of his female tormentor (since she is fully covered, including her face), first engages her in a battle of wits, using old, popular quiz games, from which she emerges victorious, then tries to seduce her to his way of thinking by offering her to become his wedded queen, which she refuses. To know how the journey ends and whether the sultan achieves wisdom and salvation or is toppled from his throne you will have to find out for yourself by going to see the play. Not that the story in this kind of production really matters; whichever way it develops or ends, it serves primarily as a vehicle for displaying some of the treasures of the folk heritage and a variety of popular performance arts. Director Mahmoud El-Alfi, who makes his comeback to the stage with this play, after many years of absence, understood this well and carefully chose an artistic team that did not let him down: Fadi Fouquet's simple and economically eloquent sets used a few oriental motifs and props to indicate the change of scene quickly and smoothly, and his predominantly oriental costumes were rich and colourful with some inventive touches; Magdi El-Zaqaziqi's exuberant choreography drew on a variety of local dance traditions and seemed perfectly in tune with Mohamed El-Sha'ir's bold and earthy lyrics, Mohamed Baher's lively melodies and incidental music (which relied solely on traditional folk instruments -- pipes, reed flutes, tablas, tambourines and rababas) and with Nabil Bahgat's exquisitely designed and skillfully manipulated puppets in the shadow-play sequences. The contributions of this gifted artistic team together with the zestful performances of the talented cast made El-Alfi's long awaited comeback into a festive, communal celebration. Al-Shuttar may strike the uninitiated as naive, crude, too loud and occasionally vulgar. But for many others, myself included, it was a joyous, colourful and invigorating experience.
