A sentimental charge but little else, finds Youssef Rakha Kimo wi Antimo (Kimo and his Buddy) is another of those films that attempt to offer something of everything: comedy, romance, suspense and a complex, if often incredible, plot leading up to the requisite happy ending. It is the story of two aspiring artists from Alexandria who arrive in Cairo to make a name for themselves, overcome a range of obstacles and complications, including a rift in their relationship, and finally achieve fame and fortune. The film is typical of its genre in that it acts as a star vehicle, promoting the career of pop singer Amer Mounib, whose mawkish acting tends to undermine an already unremarkable musical talent. Playing Kimo, Mounib is a present-day incarnation of the romantic hero-social underdog image popularised in many Abdel-Halim Hafez films of the 1960s. And despite many failed attempts at comedy it is the scenes in which he imitates "the Dark Nightingale" that let him down the most. One wonders whether this is Mounib's own decision until it becomes apparent, through a variety of visual and dramatic signals, that the reference to Abdel-Halim Hafez is a deliberate strategy of filmmaker Hamed Said's. Mounib is cast in the role of a modern-day romantic hero -- suave, tender, a man of honour. Aside from the fact that these qualities do not fit comfortably with other traits of the character he plays -- Kimo remains, after all, a man of the world and a social climber, far more streetwise and pragmatic than the character Hafez played in Shari' Al-Hobb (Love Street), for example -- the question arises as to why anyone should have assumed such a strategy would meet with success. Perhaps the hope was that Mounib would bring a ready-made audience with him. You either like a pop star or you don't -- and if you do you will pay to watch a film in which he appears regardless of his ability to act or whether or not he projects a convincing image. Sadly producer Mohamed Hasib Abdou's expectations have been disappointed: screenings have been discontinued at several movie theatres barely a week after Kimo wa Antimo premiered. Either Mounib's audience is not as large as Abdou expected or the quality of the film is so low it has let down even Mounib's fans. Quality is certainly a problem in the film, with even the most promising name on the cast, Wahid Seif, making a series of boring appearances as the owner of the pension at which Mounib and his best friend Hammou (Tarek Abdel-Aziz) end up, and the father of Samia (Mai Ezzeddin), the girl with whom Kimo falls in love. Judged against younger comedians like Ahmed Rizk ( Mafia, Film Thaqafi ) and Magid El-Kidwani ( Harameya fi KG2, Harameya fi Thailand, Askar fil-Mu'askar ), Abdel-Aziz's performance as Mounib's sidekick falls short of what new-wave comedy enthusiasts expect. Not only are his lines hackneyed, his acting is muddled and his character unconvincing. His overabundance of energy rings hollow in the absence of an absorbing story line. Such failures undermine not only Abdel-Aziz's role but Mounib's, since the latter depends on them at many points in the plot -- the age-old contrast between romantic hero and comic sidekick is not sufficiently pronounced. Nor does Ezzeddin's swooning performance as the young girl in love help with the romantic side of Mounib's role. Ezzeddin's concern with Kimo's career and the earnestness of her conviction in his talent as a singer are difficult to justify in the light of Mounib's own palpable lack of the same, nor are her emotions conveyed in a particularly engaging way. The love scenes may be in the tradition of Abdel-Halim Hafez films, but they have been mediated via the video clip and in those scenes in which Mounib actually sings this is precisely what they become. And even as video clips they are not very interesting. Other scenes, designed in much the same way as Mohamed Heneidi vehicles, are not as well thought out nor ultimately as entertaining as their counterparts in the kind of new-wave comedy in which Heneidi stars. The scene in which Kimo and Hammou are dragged into an Upper Egyptian wedding in which the former is meant to impersonate real-life singer -- Mohamed El-Helw, for example -- works neither as comedy nor as social critique. Nor does the scene in which, while trying out their options for affordable accommodation Kimo and Hammou end up being dragged out of a hotel of ill repute where they are suspected of being lovers. The attention to detail without which such scenes lose their force is almost never sufficient: the sets are not true to life, the characters' motives are unclear, the acting weak. Though far from credible the script is well paced and ends with a solid climax worthy of Abdel-Halim Hafez. Having betrayed his friend by appearing as a singer with his belly dancer girlfriend at the nightclub in which she works, thus giving up their dream of achieving success as a duo in which he performs the role of composer, Hammou asks Kimo for one last favour: to lend him his voice for the duration of a major concert that will either make or break his name. The audience knows that he is overcome with remorse and disillusion with the world of cheap entertainment, but no other hint is provided as to what will come next. Kimo obliges, as much out of despair as loyalty to his friend. While Hammou pretends to be singing the audience is delighted with Kimo's voice; the latter sings backstage, tears streaming down his face as he does so. In a last-minute bid to stop him from going ahead with his plan, Samia and her father manage to sneak into the theatre before the start of the concert. Having failed to stop him they too weep as they watch. Suddenly Hammou drops the microphone, and there is pandemonium in the auditorium as the singing continues. It is at this point that Hammou announces to the audience that he cannot sing -- his friend deserves all the credit. Though too sentimental for comfort, the emotional charge of the following few shots is such that the viewer might leave the theatre thinking that it was not such a bad film after all.
