Hani Mustafa finds Youssef Chahine's latest film, Hiyya Fawda (Chaos), too agitprop to afford a measure of artistic gratification Youssef Chahine has often succeeded in the precarious balancing act between political commitment and aesthetics, mixing potent artistry with politics in measured portions. Whenever the situation in the country offered enough leeway, he would infuse his films with a strong political message. But Chahine, arguably, has on occasion gone as far as sacrificing art for the sake of politics. This was true of Al-Akhar (The Other, 1999) and also of his contribution to a selection of short films on 9/11 screened at the Venice Film Festival in 2002. But this trend in his oeuvre was most evident in Al-Masir (Destiny, 1997), screened at the Cannes Film Festival in 1997, the year Chahine received a life achievement award. Destiny was a reaction to the religious fanaticism that swept Egypt in the 1990s. Two incidents are likely to have been on Chahine's mind when he made that film. One is the lawsuit that Islamist lawyers filed against him, objecting to his fictionalising of the biblical story of Joseph in his film Al-Muhajir (The Immigrant, 1994) on the grounds that Al-Azhar prohibited the depiction of prophets on the screen. An apostasy case filed against a professor of Arab literature, Nasr Hamid Abu Zeid, in the mid-1990s may have also motivated Chahine to make Destiny. Chahine's latest film, Hiyya Fawda (Chaos), is another example of a politically-motivated film. Following the same line he took in The Other and the 9/11 short film, Chahine ditches artistry in favor of an explicit political message. His assessment of the political situation in Egypt is quite daring, almost matching the shrill tones of such opposition papers as Al-Dustur, Al-Fajr and Sawt Al-Umma. But as you would expect in those films where the filmmaker is too intent to take political sides, Chaos loses all verve. Nor is Chahine's Chaos an exception in this respect in recent Egyptian cinema -- the same tendency is evident in a number of films written by Wahid Hamid, with Adel Imam as lead actor and Sherif Arafa as director, such as Al-Laeb Maa' Al-Kobar (Messing with the Big Shots) and Al-Irhab wal Kabab (Terrorism and Kebab). Khaled Youssef also did some movies in that genre, including Al-'Asefa (The Storm) and Zawag bi Qarar Gomhuri (Marriage by Presidential Decree ). Some of these movies are commercially-inclined, though they often fail to be entertaining. Chaos opens with quasi-documentary scenes of demonstrations in Egypt and riot police suppressing the demonstrators, and soon thereafter introduces a police sergeant, Hatem Abdel-Baset (played by Khaled Saleh), who is cast as the epitome of abuse of power -- disappearances, torture and bribes are all in a day's work for him. Much of the film is spent tracing Abdel-Baset's sexual fantasies about the girl next door, Nour (played by Menna Sahlabi), and his pathetic attempts to spy on her and stalk her every move. Nour is an English language teacher in a school run by an aging woman activist. The principal's son, Sherif (Yousef El-Sherif), is a public attorney, whom we see in one of the opening scenes releasing protesters from detention. The two directors, Youssef Chahine and Khaled Youssef, are obviously hailing the judiciary while denouncing police excesses. Their views echo the recent public debate concerning the independence of the judiciary. A subplot centers on Sherif's involvement with a rich and spoilt girl whose judgement is so skewed that she drives around smoking dope in a convertible automobile. Her father, oblivious of his daughter's conduct, is closely tied to the Policies Committee of the ruling National Democratic Party. The father appears in only one scene, just to press that political point. As if all this symbolism were not heavy enough, the film gives the emotionally-loaded name of Bahiyya, traditionally a peasant woman representing Egypt, to Nour's mother. And it makes pointed comments about the overlap between mosque and state. Nour's rape scene is utterly unconvincing, as is her subsequent escape. Chaos ends with a mob scene at the police station, during which Hatem commits suicide. In order not to antagonise the Ministry of Interior, the film begins with a disclaimer pledging full respect for the police and its role in enforcing law and order. And in the final shot, the police chief chastises Hatem with words to the effect that "you brought it all on yourself", thereby absolving the higher-ups from blame for any abuse of power. An attempt is made to give insight into the workings of the notorious Hatem's psyche. In a restaurant encounter with Nour, the would-be rapist is allowed to reminisce about his harsh childhood, how he lost his mother in infancy and how his uncle deprived him of his inheritance. This scene does not mesh well with Hatem's general conduct and comes across as a hasty nod towards his humanity. The film also fails to build the characters of the chief police (Ahmed Fouad Selim) and the intelligence chief (Amr Abdel-Galil). The former comes across as a man who is interested in keeping, rather than doing, his job, with the minimum of effort. And the latter more or less abdicates his responsibilities to Hatem for no obvious reason. Both characters could have been beefed up to enrich the human component of the film and make it more credible. We miss the hallmark aesthetics of Chahine. Gone are the measured camera angles and the contemplative shots. Despite the attention to detail in sets and locations, as in the palace-turned-police station, the film remains technically mediocre. When the political message is given precedence over all else, as in Chaos, little is to be had by way of aesthetic quality.
