By Nehad Selaiha As usual, at this time of year, I made my annual pilgrimage to the den of Dr. Fawzi Fahmi, the chairman of the Cairo International Festival for Experimental Theatre (CIFET), in search of information. It still lies on the first floor of the Arab Music Institute at the Academy of Art. As I struggled up the steps, assistants, bellboys and secretaries rushed past me, up and down, heavily panting and sweating. It was a sweltering day and the sight of so much dashing around made me gasp for breath. I glared fiercely at the doors of the two lifts which, after many false starts and deceptive spurts of energy, have been standing idle for years. (There are surely better ways to decorate the landings). Inside, the hall was shady but equally oppressive, and, within a few minutes, I felt I had walked into a sultry hive of crazy bees. Telephones buzzed incessantly in all the offices and cubicles around the hall -- Mona, Fahmi's personal secretary, was doing the remarkable feat of talking to four different people all at once, with a fifth on the phone -- and tall piles of boxes swayed past one and danced out on headless human legs. I took refuge in Fahmi's room, momentarily forgetting that, at this time of year, it always looks as if a tornado has just gone through it, and that its only air conditioner is old and creaking and always in need of the feeble support of two ineffectual, whining electric fans. I was surprised not to see Fahmi at his usual place behind the mounds of files and books on his desk. When the countdown for CIFET begins, he rarely leaves his office, often spending the night on a battered couch there, and going home only to change. Mona's face appeared momentarily at the door. "He is in the new building," she snapped and disappeared. The new 11-storey building which faces one side of the Arab Music Institute, across a pleasant courtyard with a bit of garden, is a truly impressive affair: a high sweep of brown granite steps leading, through wide automatic front doors, into a greenhouse kind of hall (minus the glare and heat); lifts that work; central air conditioning; real green plants in simple elegant pots everywhere; art exhibition halls; a well-stocked audio-visual artistic library; video and lecture-demonstration rooms with comfortable seats in cheerful colours; pine tables and chairs; and a restaurant in the basement to boot. Though not officially opened yet (a few final touches remain), some storeys are already in use and house the offices and working rooms of the computer, publishing and translation units of the academy. As the cool lift glided smoothly upwards to Fahmi's new office on the eighth floor, I thought what a great move that was and looked forward to a tall glass of iced water and a cup of good Turkish coffee in clean, uncluttered surroundings. I did not get either; but clean the office certainly was, and almost disturbingly uncluttered. Indeed, there was not a single file or piece of paper to be seen anywhere. The bookcases lining the walls were vapidly empty and the smooth, shiny surface of the desk looked pathetically nude. It was obvious Fahmi had not yet moved in and I wondered if this new office would turn into a replica of the old one once he did. He was warm and friendly but in a hurry to leave on urgent business: two guests were already waiting for him at the door. "Everything is downstairs in the other office, and I have left instructions that you be given whatever information you need," he said as we made our way to the lift. I spent the next two hours roasting and dripping in a stuffy, tiny room, with only one window and six antiquated desks squashed against each other. While waiting for the information, I tried to amuse myself with puzzling out how they got them in in the first place through the narrow door. My co-sufferers at the other desks were extremely kind and kept plying me with tepid water, coffee (the thickness of treacle), and soothing promises that it would not take long. When I finally decided that they must have put the desks first then built the walls around them, I picked up my bag and left. On the steps someone came running after me with a few scribbled sheets and it took the rest of the day on the phone and the best part of the following morning to clarify them and fill in the gaps. Here is the information for what it is worth and, mind you, it is neither final nor absolutely reliable. But the Weekly will try to keep you up-to-date with the changes whenever possible. The central seminar this year is on experimentation and cultural difference, and will be held at the nightclub of the Sheraton Hotel (where the guest speakers, the members of the international jury, the honourees and various distinguished artists will be staying) on the mornings of 2 and 3 September. The first session, which includes participants from Brazil, the USA. (Sharon Jensen), the UK (Judith Eliot), Iraq (Qassim Mohamed) and Egypt, among others, will concentrate on "experimentation within cultural difference and cultural interaction"; the second will discuss "experimentation: the cultural heritage, alienation, and cultural regeneration", with speakers from France, Poland, Latin America and some Arab countries. Both sessions are open to the public at no charge, with free coffee and biscuits at the break, and so is the morning round table celebrating the centenary of Tawfiq El-Hakim's birth, and chaired by Dr Samir Sarhan, which will take place at the same venue on 5 September. There may also be lectures, talks and open meetings with famous personalities, but these are usually arranged and announced after the guests have arrived. In my experience, however, the most interesting talks and exciting discussions in the festival often take place away from the public over meals, coffee, or a few drinks in the evening when the day's work is done. If you prefer to see theatre rather than discuss it, you will do well to rest in the morning and save up your energy for the hectic evenings. For 10 days, as many as 41 groups from 30 foreign countries plus 13 companies from 12 Arab states will be presenting shows around Cairo. And this is not counting the Egyptian contribution which stands at nine productions so far and looks very much like swelling. With so many shows and unknown groups, "what to see" becomes a vexing question. Some people go by the motto "safety in numbers": they cram in as many shows as possible, hoping that in the process they will catch more of the quality productions than others. People of a weaker digestion play it safe: they seek expert theatrical advice or heed the warnings of former victims. This makes them a prime target for practical jokers, and can lead to many an unpleasant evening spent on a wild goose chase. You can do worse than follow the example of those who go by the theatrical reputations of countries. In their case, productions from Western Europe, particularly Britain, France, Spain, Greece, Italy, Germany, and, to a lesser extent, Austria and Holland, top the list. Over the years, however, many of them have learnt to appreciate the experimental work done in some Eastern European states (mainly Poland, Hungary and Romania) and Latin American countries, particularly Argentina and Venezuela, as well as in Japan. This has been one of the most valuable and tangible benefits of the festival. Ten years ago, few Egyptians knew anything about theatre outside a handful of European countries or had the chance to sample it. Nowadays, artists, particularly the young, are curious about theatre everywhere. CIFET, however much we criticise its weaknesses, faults and shortcomings, has indeed, as Fawzi Fahmi puts it in his keynote speech for this year's festival, "widened our knowledge of world theatre and opened up new perspectives for our young artists". And it has done so not only through the hundreds of foreign experiments it has hosted, but also through the annual crop of books on theatre it has translated and published over the years. "They number over a hundred," Fahmi proudly declares. The quality of some translations has been criticised, and the limited circulation of the books has been a general and persistent complaint. Nevertheless, a vast number of theatre students, artists, and critics openly acknowledge their debt to these publications. The impact of CIFET can be also clearly felt in the improved quality of theatrical work done in Arab countries with a relatively short theatre history (like Jordan, Qatar, Oman, Yemen and Bahrain) and also in the growing popularity in Egypt of Syrian and Tunisian artists. One has to admit, however, that attendance at most visiting Arab productions is usually weaker than at guest shows from many foreign countries. When I remarked on this once, a friend retorted: "Naturally; Jordan is only one hour away, and Bahrain is less than five. Do you know how long it takes and costs to go and see theatre in Japan or Brazil?" But deciding what to see on the principle of distance (though understandable in terms of the natural human hankering after novelty and fascination with the strange and exotic) has its snags. For one thing, it causes resentment and creates bad blood between neighbours. In fact, a lot of Arab artists have repeatedly complained that they do not get a quarter of the attention lavished by the press and the audience on "foreign" artists. For another, it is never wise to be completely ignorant of the changes in taste and sensibility happening at your doorstep. Now, for many, it is the distance between venues (not continents) and the time schedule of the performances that in most cases determine what they see. Given Cairo's crazy traffic, no one in their right mind would plan to see a show at Sayyid Darwish Hall in Al-Haram, followed by one downtown at Al-Tali'a, and topped with a third at the Floating Theatre in Giza. They would never catch them at the beginning anyway, and since many experimental shows are relatively short, some only 40 minutes, they may not even catch them at the end. "The nearer the next show, the better" is a much wiser policy. Another is: "Catch what you can without breaking your neck, stay as long as you enjoy it, and leave at once if you get bored and seek another. It may be unkind to the actors but is better than hating theatre. And always allow yourself at least half an hour between every show and the next." Arriving at a performance breathless flustered and sweating is a thoroughly depressing experience that robs one of the joy of theatre. In recent years, more and more critics have been coming round to the idea that the surest way to see the best in the festival is to dog the international jury who only watch what has been previously vetted by the festival's selection committee and declared fit to enter the competition. I did that last year for a few days then gave up -- not because their schedule was hectic; it was really well-organised. But some of the shows they had to watch were dismally boring and, with four compulsory performances a day, they had no time to catch some of the really exciting experiments on the fringe. I learnt later that some shows are allowed to compete for reasons far from artistic. I wonder if John Elsom, who is chairing the competition selection committee for the second year running, can put a stop to that. So far, the two other members who will assist him remain unknown; nor have the names of the members of the international jury, or those of the local committee which chooses the two Egyptian entries been announced. In the meantime, artists in every theatre in Cairo are feverishly rehearsing their work, in public or private, and guesses, hints, and rumours are fiercely buzzing around them. Whatever is chosen to represent Egypt will inevitably cause some bitterness, disappointment and a lot of controversy before, during, and after the festival: if it wins no awards, it is condemned and torn to pieces; if it does, some are bound to say that the jury were simply being courteous to the host country, or had political motives. The only consolation is that it gets widely seen and talked about. But, away from the competition and its worries, this is always an exciting time for young artists, and for the next few days, I shall be going round Cairo's theatres to share their excitement and see what they are cooking. Next Thursday, I hope to give you a run-down of the Egyptian theatrical menu for the 10th anniversary of CIFET.
