By Mahmoud El-Lozy * Eight plays -- five of which are poetic dramas-- three dramatic adaptations, five collections of poems -- one of which remains unpublished to this day -- four collection of essays on poetic and dramatic criticism, five directorial projects to his credit, and acting roles in four plays and a minor supporting role in a film. Such is Naguib Surur's artistic and creative output in a turbulent career than spans two decades, from 1958 until his untimely death in 1978. Although some may be tempted to think of him as a dilettante who dabbled in a variety of different modes and genres of artistic expression, his work, independent of the form in which he chooses to express it, betrays a unity of purpose and vision. Nonetheless, in all of these artistic manifestation it is essentially the poet who stands out as the guiding spirit and reigns supreme. Chronologically speaking, his first creative endeavours were in poetry, and he later came to playwriting through acting and directing. Such a fusion as he has achieved is indeed exceptional. Within the theatrical milieu, he certainly stands out as an anomaly as he is probably the only playwright and poet who has both acted and directed professionally, thus actively challenging the well- entrenched division of labour so characteristic of the Egyptian theatre -- a division that may betray the hidden contempt that many playwrights, who perceive themselves primarily as men of letters, have for the acting profession. A legend in his own lifetime, Naguib Surur quickly acquired in the late sixties and seventies the status of guru to a number of fans, admirers, and followers. The drama and theatre critic Farouk Abdel-Qader coined the term Darawish Naguib Surur (The Dervishes of Naguib Surur) to describe them. His detractors -- and there were many of them in the seventies, and probably still quite a few today -- may claim that it is a reputation which he consciously cultivated. It is more likely that it was the sheer force of his personality, his magnetism and his genuine rebellious spirit that produced that effect upon those who came into close contact with him. The term "charisma" invariably comes up in any discussion about Surur by those who knew him. Yet what was charisma and charm to some was perceived by others as the histrionics of a disturbed and confused psyche. A rebellious leader and a source of inspiration to his followers, he was a noisy troublemaker and inconsiderate and an ungrateful individual to those he systematically antagonised, most of whom occupied powerful positions within the infrastructure of official culture. Between his followers and detractors lies a category of semi- sympathisers who nonetheless look upon him as a pitiful soul who, for lack of proper judgment, should bear full responsibility for the personal and professional miseries that plagued his relatively short and turbulent life. There is a typical and ever-recurrent Egyptian phenomenon which consists of trivialising the achievements of its dead artists, writers, playwrights, etc. This highly specialised industry systematically aims at reducing outspoken and daring artists to acceptable and more palatable products to be consumed without much thought. The tight control exercised by the State on the production, dissemination and consumption of culture perpetuates the myth of a homogeneity from which any deviation can immediately be labelled as treachery or madness. If Surur did not satisfy the minimum requirements needed to qualify as an Egyptian artist we can all be proud of in his lifetime, then the official cultural establishment -- its critics and apologists -- will transform him into an acceptable and respectable icon whose published works we can respect and admire. Now that Surur is no longer amongst us, such critics and commentators do not have to worry about angry responses from the subject of their inquiries. Who will speak for a dead man? Now that the dust has settled over the fierce artistic battles of the sixties and seventies it has been more than convenient to reduce Surur's dramatic output as "folk drama". Because quite a few of Surur's poetic dramas are based on folk stories or make extensive use of popular sayings, he has been neatly labelled as a pioneer of what is currently perceived as one of the most acceptable forms of Egyptian drama. Within the dominant critical discourse he has been tamely classified as a powerful influence behind the revival of folk tradition in the Egyptian theatre, itself an integral part of the so-called return to native forms of dramatic expression. The contemporary infatuation amongst a large section of the new generation of theatre practitioners with "popular" forms of drama, and their immersion into a hazy and, for the most part, self-indulgent and innocuous quest for "authenticity" has acquired a powerful momentum since the late eighties. The true culprits behind that new trend, however, are none other than Tawfiq El-Hakim and Youssef Idris. The "theoretical" foundation upon which much of the quest for "popular authenticity" rests was provided by these two celebrated icons of modern Egyptian culture. In the mid- sixties, and for reasons that escape rational human comprehension, these two men produced critical documents that have had the most disastrous consequences on the Egyptian theatre. In El-Hakim's Qalabuna Al-Masrahi (Our Theatrical Form) and Idris's Nahwa Masrah Misri (Towards an Egyptian Theatre), a desperate and rather pathetic attempt was made at producing -- or perhaps one should say manufacturing -- a history or some form of precedent of Egyptian theatrical experience. While Idris rejected the Western European model as incompatible with the nature of the Egyptian people and asserted the existence of a native theatrical model El-Hakim, arguing from more or less the same premise, produced specific models he believed could provide a meeting ground between Western-style drama and the forms of a "native tradition". To associate Surur in any way with such a trend can only be the consequence of crass ignorance or deliberate malice. Imposing such an understanding upon his work can only serve to prevent those who approach them to recognise their dark and powerful undercurrents. His own writings provide ample proof for anyone who wishes to see that he never espoused such a trend. In a 1977 collection of essays entitled Hakadha Qala Juha (Thus Spake Goha), Surur lambasted and thoroughly demolished all theories that seek to convince an often all-too credulous public that there was any such thing as theatre in Egypt before its modern contact with the West. He identified these attempts as mere chauvinism and as originating from a deeply-rooted inferiority complex. Surur saw the phenomenon of turning towards folk and popular tradition in the theatre as essentially betraying an inability to connect with the present. El-Hakim was particularly targeted by an incensed Surur who did not mince his words in systematically cutting him down to size as an overrated playwright. He ridiculed El-Hakim's claims and vehemently denounced them as an expression of pure formalism and staunchly asserted the priority of content over form. As a stage actor Surur has left an indelible mark through his memorable performance in Shawqi Abdel-Hakim's Okazion (Sale) in a production directed by Layla Abu Seif in 1977. The prostitution of art within a social order dominated by rapacious mercantilism is the play's central theme. It tells of a traveling theatre company reduced to literally selling itself in order to survive. In that production Surur played the part of an unemployed drunken playwright, actor and director who joins his destiny with that of the theatre company. The part played by Surur had not been written in the text. Surur created the character and the character he created was none other than himself. Those who were present at these performances all agree that in that role Surur produced one of the most memorable moments in the Egyptian theatre of the seventies. It would not be an exaggeration to say that this production and the part Surur played in it marked the end of an era. What came after was nothing less than the actualisation of Surur's darkest nightmares. To celebrate the memory of Naguib Surur without making more than just a passing reference to the unpublished poem entitled Al- Umiyyat would be one more betrayal to be added to the betrayals -- real and imaginary-- that he endured in his lifetime. The Umiyyat is a shocking, disturbing, satirical dark work which stands at the centre of Surur's creative output. No theatre director is advised to attempt directing any of his plays before reading the Umiyyat, for it is an essential key to a vital and radical interpretation of his work. One could describe it as the repressed collective unconscious of the Egyptian people. The poem is a direct and forceful stream of abuse, invective and lyricism that seems to come straight from the subconscious. Yet, while the poet makes no attempt whatsoever at exercising any form of self-censorship, we detect behind the anger and the obscenities the incisive insights of an uncompromising mind. The poem seems to follow through in almost clinical detail a process of dying agony-- the dying agony of a poet that mirrors the dying agony of a nation's spirit. Permeated by a morbid obsession with death and suicide, it abounds with visions of crucifixion, torture and exile. In many ways it is a confessional piece of work; the last will and testament of a man who embraces and rejects death in the same breath. Surur challenges, ridicules and denounces all aspects of official culture and its representatives, and reminds us of everything that official culture forgets, ignores, or falsifies. The list of institutions, individuals and subjects he targets is almost endless. These include, among many others,the theatre establishment, newspaper editors, Kissinger, the peace process and the open-door policy. There are extended tales of persecution and betrayal, both personal and collective. Actually, the poem tends to cancel any distinction between the personal and the collective. Within the consciousness of the voice that addresses us in the poem, the personal and the collective are one. In the midst of torrents of abuse and subversive and obscene inversions of popular and folk sayings and songs there are also some of the most lyrical passages ever to be found in modern Egyptian poetry. One may recall specifically the passage where he recounts the tribulations of his family and his long forced separation from his wife and children. Equally moving is his advice to his son. In a direct address to the man his infant son will become Surur asks him to speak for him after he is gone. This passage reflects a heartfelt anddesperate need to vindicate himself before his son, so that he too would not fall prey to the lies he knows will be said about him. He asks him to love Egypt and the Nile and never to curse Egypt. Paradoxically, this is what Surur repeatedly does in the Umiyyat. Egypt is referred to on more than one occasion as a whore, and is once described as "a studio for global interactive copulation". The love-hate relationship that binds Surur to Egypt is perhaps not so perverse as it may seem at first glance and is probably as honest an expression one could get of the anguishes, frustrations and traumas of that period. In his lifetime Surur was a thorn in the side of the official guardians of culture who could not understand this man who thought he could get away with repeatedly biting the hand that fed him. It was easy, and probably still is, to dismiss him as misguided soul, a paranoiac, an emotionally and mentally disturbed man with a predilection for martyrdom. Uncompromising in his denunciations, he was an embarrassment to many of his contemporaries in the theatre, for, unlike so many of them, he never joined the ever-growing ranks of cheerleading artists. He could not be bought, co-opted, corrupted, or bribed. If this is madness then Egypt is the sanest country in the world. * The writer is a lecturer at a Department of the Performing and Visual Arts, The American University in Cairo. Related: Drink Delirium Naguib Surur and his works
