Ali Abu Shadi, head of the National Centre of Cinema, speaks to Youssef Rakha about state contributions to film Critic Ali Abu Shadi's office at the National Centre of Cinema headquarters, City of Arts, Al- Haram Road, is no different from any other Ministry of Culture bureau. Spacious but ever so slightly tarnished, it exudes vitality despite the ever-present sense of immobility: for the chance visitor, indeed, waiting (fortunately, in this case, in the company of a quietly disgruntled Salah Marie) is the most requisite activity. All the staples of state-sponsored cultural offices are there: the simultaneously ongoing phone calls, the magnificently reluctant secretary (unfortunately, in this case, clipping her nails on the job), the important (female) guest, the embattled little man with a pile of documents to be signed by Ustaz Ali. This paradoxically hectic environment contrasts sharply with Abu Shadi's eminently polite and pleasant demeanour. Before his oversized desk -- phones ringing, people coming and going -- a large television screen buzzes silently. He is continually interrupted through the duration of the conversation; his attention seems to be constantly elsewhere; and one cannot help wondering how he maintains his lucidity. "At the most obvious level, the role of the state in cinematic production is a form of boredom. Boredom, yes. Because now that all the public- sector production companies have been handed over to the business sector there is no scope within which the state can function as producer. The Ministry of Culture no longer has any say in the way film projects are conceived or films produced. Quite naturally, as a result, the centre plays absolutely no part in production, which is what I mean by boredom. Our role is far from boring, nonetheless, because we still have a job to do. The ministry's role has to do with providing services -- we work within the boundaries of what has come to be known as the tertiary sector, in other words -- which, mind you, can still be extremely significant in that many- sided process of building up and maintaining a cinematic arena. But when it comes to production itself, the decision to acquire a script, come up with a project schedule and follow it through, the state is no longer permitted to produce films, by law it is in no position to do so. And without decision-making power this part of our role tends to turn into -- well, boredom. We sit back and we watch, as it were. There is no state to speak of. "I should tell you as emphatically as possible that this striking absence of the state is, in the end, a matter of [economic] necessity -- an inevitability of historical progress, if you like, and not necessarily a choice. There can be no doubt that, as an able guardian of the arts and culture, the state did play a crucial part in film production in past decades. Which is why, in reviewing the history of Egyptian film, you come across such beautiful examples of well-made, competent and, perhaps most importantly of all, meaningful films -- and so many of them, really. Most crucially, the state maintained a degree of balance between the demands of the market and the requirements of art, the intellect, creativity. This role influenced even the most staunchly money-seeking private-sector film producers. In shedding that responsibility, on the other hand, the state has given way to an overabundance of cheap and nasty projects, as it were: films that seek the fastest profits possible without the least regard for the requirements of art and the intellect. Which is why practically all the Egyptian films screened these days are so weak and thoughtless, and demonstrate so little understanding or reflection on reality. There are exceptions, of course, but they are too few and far between to make a difference in the state of cinema now. "So what is it that the state, the centre being one of its instruments, does? The boredom of our inability to contribute directly to production aside, we provide encouragement and support. We organise festivals, screenings, seminars; we give out awards, honour cinematic figures, place schedules and put people in touch with each other. Our role is neither administrative nor supervisory, perhaps you could call it 'additional'. I need not point out that it is a crucial role, for all that. These activities -- and I should stress the word 'activities' -- sustain the very fabric of cinematic life. They imbue otherwise vulnerable and exposed practitioners with a sense of fortitude, expand the scope of what they do with themselves and their work, give them necessary access to the work of their counterparts elsewhere in the world, placing them on the world film map, as it were, and provide them -- especially those of them with promise, initiative and a well developed sense of self -- with a much needed incentive to pursue the kind of cinema the market no longer provides for, doing so against the odds within the boundaries of the market -- over which the state no longer has any form of control. Such is our role: we endorse, as it were, from the outside. "Which is not to say that the centre is in any way divorced from the filmmaking world, quite the contrary. We are very much part of cinematic life, at least we try to be insofar as present-day economic and legal arrangements allow it. You initially suggested the end of the [Sixth] Ismailia Film Festival [for Documentary and Short Films] and the beginning of the [26th] Cairo [International Film] Festival -- two state-sponsored cinematic events -- as a framework within which to discuss the role of the state in filmmaking, but I can only really speak clearly about the former. The latter, after all, has yet to happen; and neither the centre nor I are directly involved in it, as I'm sure you realise. As far as the Ismailia Festival goes, you must remember that it is in its second round following an extended hiatus. A nascent, emergent event, really. And this year we thought that, rather than a full-blooded festival, it was going to amount to the rehearsal of a festival. Yet we met with remarkable success on a number of counts, which confirms my conviction that the presence of the state in the filmmaking arena must be worthwhile, after all. A total of 120 documentaries and short films, given the circumstances, is a figure to be reckoned with. For the official competition alone we had 65 films from 53 countries; these were meticulously picked out of more than 500 films submitted -- in itself a telling sign. "Besides the official competition, you see, we had several exciting programmes that ran parallel to the main stream of activities. One such programme, to mention but a single example, focused on European documentaries of the 1990s. Now this is a hugely important topic, seldom touched on in film-related discourse. The same is true of all documentaries and short films, more or less, of course, but it was particularly satisfying to see Egyptian documentary filmmakers and enthusiasts being exposed to this important facet of their subject of interest -- an opportunity otherwise unavailable to them. Another such fringe activity -- a seminar whose topic is, in fact, pertinent to the present conversation -- focused on the concept and practise of independent cinema, soliciting a great deal of discussion and debate in the process, much of which, interestingly enough, concerned the very meaning of 'independent' in this context, its implications for both the production and execution of the films in question, and for the wider practises of filmmaking in Egypt and the Arab world. One very controversial substratum of the dialogue relates to the fact that some believe that the independent orientation is the answer to the commercial nightmare of present-day cinematic life. This notion of the independent has emerged on the surface of film-related discourse in a way that makes it almost unavoidable; and the festival administration felt that it required a thorough reading -- hence the seminar. "So one thing to note about this round of the Ismailia Festival is that, while curatorial policy was definitely on the organisers' minds, the quality of the films was not necessarily as paramount as their capacity for generating dialogue and discussion; some films, you will have noticed, are not as excellent as the seasoned connoisseur might expect; but all films generate thoughts and feelings as much about the state of cinema now as about their own content. The object is not so much to answer the questions as to simply pose them; and that we certainly achieved. Ismailia was also a triumph on the organisational and logistical fronts -- a major issue when it comes to organising large- or even medium-scale events in Egypt. The times and venues on the schedule were abided by almost to the letter. The honourees -- the German documentary filmmaker and Palestinian sympathiser Manfred Vosz and the Moroccan director Ahmed Al-Bu'nani -- received sterling treatment and were available for commentary and reflection. We had a programme devoted to the recently deceased filmmaker Radwan El-Kashef; 10 Arab filmmakers, following the screening of 20 of their films, participated in a round-table discussion of their contribution. Ismailia in this way served its function as a forum and a conference. "The Cairo Festival, by contrast, is a major, major event -- notwithstanding the state's role in cinema, and given the international importance of the Cairo Festival, its success must be seen as a national obligation -- about which I unfortunately don't have enough information to speak very confidently. All I can say is that, with the change in leadership, I hope improvements will be made. It is not that the festival's previous leadership was in any way inadequate; the main problem, as you well know, concerned organisational failings: the fact that the wrong films were screened at the wrong cinemas in irritating defiance of the schedule, and for completely irrelevant, in the end commercially driven reasons. That is the main consideration. Otherwise, and despite the fact that the framework of the festival will remain unchanged, the event will no doubt reflect the choices of its new director, Cherif El-Choubashi. Even when you have the organisational and curatorial scaffolding firmly in place, there are still questions to be answered. Will you invite, as your guest of honour, an important filmmaker or a commercially successful one? Will you concentrate on mainstream or low-budget films? The answers to these questions will become apparent with the advent of the event itself, no doubt. All I can say is that, in both my official and personal capacity, I wish the Cairo Festival every imaginable success. "Such, you see, is the kind of endorsement the state provides: the two festivals are but prominent examples of a much broader range of functions. The state provides film producers with all the help they might need: tax reductions, logistical aid; it facilitates. But it can do nothing else when it doesn't even own a film theatre any more. There is this one attempt to undertake collaboration with Misr Distributors, to co-produce one or two films every year. But regardless of all that, my deepest desire is for a cinema that concerns itself with more than fast profit-making. Misr Distributors have inherited public-sector cinema, as it were; and so it is potentially our most promising partner. You ask, finally, about the role of art in society, in the present historical moment? I would say there is no direct connection, although to have the Palestinian filmmaker May Al-Masri as head of the Ismailia Festival jury, or to honour Manfred Vosz, is in itself a laden gesture. There is no doubt in my mind that art is relevant to society and politics. But which art? How do you deal with sensitive issues like the Palestinian question or the bombing of Iraq? Certainly not in the self-indulgent, in-your-face and fake way of commercial films. Curatorial policy has its own criteria irrespective of historical circumstances, but in preferring an excellent film to a superficially committed one, you are doing both history and cinema a favour."
