Wessam Soliman is a talented screenplay writer whose characters are fresh, witty and anything but typical. Within the span of only a few years, she has managed to create a brand-new cinematic niche based on her perceptive take on modern-day Egyptian women. From her debut film Ahla al-Awkat ('Best of Times,' 2004) to her most recent endeavor, Rabie '89 ('Spring of '89,' 2009), Soliman manages to evoke a subtle-yet-powerful sense of nostalgia that often clashes in her films with the harsher facts of life. Her meticulous attention to detail has the effect of transforming otherwise mundane figures into the most interesting of characters, while her stories touch on the simplest--and most profound--of human rights: the right to be loved, to be different and to have a dream. Al-Masry Al-Youm sat down with Soliman to discuss women, men and contemporary Egyptian cinema. Al-Masry Al-Youm: Almost all your films have a nostalgic tone. Why is that? Wessam Soliman: We live in a very materialistic age, in which everything obliges you to be very pragmatic. It's as if the whole world decided to think the same way, and has hence lost the essence and genuine aspects of the individual. Amidst all that, I lean towards the idea of searching. I look for love that bares lots of meanings within it; for what makes people unique and brings out the good in them. Even in Fi Shaket Masr el-Gedida ['The Heliopolis apartment,' 2007], I wasn't concerned that Nagwa returns home with a groom or that she finally falls in love. It's about her holding on to a promise that dreams can come true. Al-Masry: Your characters are usually innocent and ordinary people. Why? Soliman: In Fi Shaket Masr el-Gedida, the lead character is a girl living in the conservative suburbs, where people are always questioning her innocence and wondering if it's a facade. In the end, they believe her, and even start looking with her for her teacher. She seems so ordinary, so unnoticeable--but if you look closely, you'd see how remarkable she is. Al-Masry: Your scripts reintroduced the concept of multiple stars, and gave leading roles to women. What were your reasons for this? Soliman: In most commercial movies nowadays, men get leading roles and women supporting ones. This is not the case with director Henry Barakat's movies, in which Fatin Hamama was a leading actress [in the 1950s and 1960s]. Prominent directors, like Mohammed Khan, Khairi Beshara and Dawood Abdel Said grant women equal roles to men. If it has to do with a social view, then you wouldn't have found leading stars such as Hamama, who was a box office star. That also goes for Soad Hosny, Nadia Lotfy and Shadia. I think this is the current view of distributors and producers who distribute to conservative Gulf areas, in addition to the fact that today's actresses and actors can't match those of the past with all their talent and stardom. Al-Masry: You portray women as highly perceptive, independent, balanced and in control. How do you perceive the status of contemporary Egyptian women? Soliman: It is deteriorating and very complex. There has been a regression since the 1919 revolution, when Hodah Shaarawi first took off her Yashmak [face veil]. The call for attaining college education and work followed. Suddenly, there was a setback and the hijjab [head scarf] became their only concern. The concept of working women in itself became debatable. In the 1980s, lots of my teachers used to say that women's work is religiously forbidden; that her real place is at home. This is due to socio-political conditions that changed when Egyptians came back from the Gulf, with the constant call for what's halal and what's not. It changed society's view of women, who not only wears a yeshmak but a niqab. It's not about clothes. Its about how she perceives her body. Different women became the minority. What really concerns me is that freedom might become linked to social class. Some middle-class women wear the veil to avoid people's talk. But if they were living in Heliopolis and Zamalek, they could dress however they liked. Al-Masry: Rabia '89 is among the few films that discusses adolescence from a teenager's perspective. Do you believe that the choices we make when we are young define our future? Soliman: It's a very important era, one that shapes one's personality, when all desires blossom. Yet girls don't know and nobody bothers to explain. Friendship between girls is very tight, but quite problematic--for each one wants to be the other's mirror. Yet each one of them gets to pick such a mirror. When Sara lies [by making up stories about a fictional boyfriend], she's happy that Kamelia believed her, because she wanted to believe this about herself--and vise versa. Al-Masry: Is your latest film, Azizi al-Ostaz Ehsan ('Dear Mr. Ehsan'), about women? Soliman: Yes. It has to do with the renowned Egyptian writer Ehsan Abdel Qodous, whose heroes were independent, rebel women in the 1940s to the 1960s, and their relationship with real life women today.
