A few weeks ago, while checking Al-Ahram's Wednesday edition for new films released in Cairo, I stumbled upon a little ad with the poster of Abdellatif Kechiche's latest art sensation "La graine et le mule (Secret of the Grain) a film I was frantically eager to watch but couldn't obtain from my usual sources. "Graine - winner of four César Awards including best film and direction - remains a difficult commodity to acquire. The film was released in France at the end of last year and has not had a wide commercial release in the top foreign markets (the film is yet to be released in the America, Britain and Germany). News of the film's release in Egypt was, nevertheless, overshadowed by the actual theater it's playing in. Cinemania, the ad implied, is Egypt's first commercial art-house cinema, dedicated to the kind of rare movies film lovers like me relentlessly chase after in culture centers and film festivals throughout the year. The news was initially too overwhelming for me to comprehend. I was ecstatic, roaring in enthusiasm like a little kid with new toy. In my wildest fantasies, I never, ever expected such a project to exist someday in a country with soils that have always been inhospitable, unfitting for specialty films. I finally overcame my persistent astonishment and went to see the film a week ago. As expected, there was hardly anyone in the small, intimate Cinemania theater- ironically located at the City Stars mall, the current embodiment of Egyptian consumerism - except for revered film critic Rafiq El-Sabban and two older couples. "Grain is, after all, a difficult, long film with no known stars. Its gratifications are poles apart from both big Hollywood affairs and the standard French comedies. I myself felt somewhat bored in the first 20 minutes of the two-and-a-half hour film. It took me some time to immerse myself into Kechiche's world, till I became acquainted with the North African immigrant community the film closely examines. "Grain is a film that requires patience, with stunning rewards for those prepared to invest emotionally and intellectually in the film. It is set in the small fishing port of Sete, half way between Marseilles and the Spanish border. The main protagonist is Slimane Beiji (Habib Boufares), a 61-year-old handyman who has been working for 35 years in shipyards. Because of his status as a Tunisian immigrant, half of this period wasn't registered. Deemed slow and unproductive, Slimane is laid off by a boss concerned more about schedule than perfectionism. Slimane has four children and two grandchildren. He's separated from his wife Souad (Bouraouïa Marzouk) and late in paying his alimony. He lives in a tiny, wretched flat, downstairs from his girlfriend Latifa (Hatika Karaoui) who owns the building. Slimane has a fond affection for latifa's daughter Rym (startling newcomer Hafsia Herzi) whom he considers his daughter. Dejected, helpless and unproductive, Slimane, with the help and backing of Rym, decides to transform his deserted, wrecked boat into a floating restaurant whose main dish is the Maghreb's traditional couscous with fish. I choose not to reveal any more plot details. I must note though that the film takes a sudden turn in the 40 minutes that left me on the edge of my seat, involuntary shaking my legs in anxiety and burning with anticipation until the very last second of the film. On paper, "Grain might sound like an average beating-the-odds story. As a matter of fact, it is too rich, intricate and multi-layered to confine itself to a particular theme or genre. On one level, it is a snapshot of a large French-Tunisian family, a fascinating comparative study between the first and second generation of an Arab immigrant community inhabiting the outskirts of France, of powerless men, stuck in a different time and place, and of rational, practical women with a strength that functions as the building block of their communities. Kechiche captures every minute detail of Slimane's family, their quarrelers, superstitions and qualms through a series of long, overlapping dialogues courtesy of late, great American filmmaker Robert Altman. Perhaps the most intriguing element of the family's loud verbal exchanges is the language they use. Kechiche's spontaneous, largely improvised dialogue is not the customary romantic, chic French. Slimane's community has developed a language of its own, forging a unique dialect of a distinctive sound that injects French with common Arabic idioms difficult to translate or modify. Slimane's extended family meet up every Sunday for a family gathering at Souad's house. Souad's signature dish, couscous, is essentially a tool to preserve their identity as much the language they created. Kechiche uses his dominant close-ups that persistently linger on his subjects faces to paint a different portrait of an often clichéd setting. There are diminutive, underlying hints at the snobbery and racism of the French bourgeois, most prominently during the last act of the film, but it's not a primary concern of Kechiche; it's simply another detail of the family's daily life. The family openly chatters about sex, el ein (envy), food and different perspectives on love. Religion is never even approached, exhibited occasionally in language and the family's organic traditions. There are no veiled, oppressed women facing discrimination in Kechiche's films, no clash between the two cultures. On the contrary, the film subtly traces the differences between Slimane, his women and the second generation. After 35 years, Slimane has failed to fully integrate with an often unwelcoming society. On the other hand, his women and children have fully embraced their new homeland with arms wide open. The voluptuous, confident and sparkling Rym acts as the clear bridge between the two cultures, armored by the liberty and sense of possibility France has granted her while maintaining the original roots that render her the unique character she becomes. Underneath the family drama lies a thought-provoking character study of a man searching for a role in a place that doesn't need him, a grand examination of failed masculinity. Slimane hasn't accomplished much in his life. His absence in the Sunday family gatherings isn't as missed as it should be. The overriding sentiment of impotency and uselessness that consumes the quiet, alienated Slimane thwarts him from making love to his girlfriend, of defying the low expectations his children set from him, of wearing the alpha male cloak that doesn't seem to fit him any longer. Slimane buys fish for his family members every week, a subconscious effort to assume a role, the requirements of which he no longer meets. His lengthy, last endeavor to save face, to justify the trails of his entire life, to reassume a role he hasn't played for ages, may eventually prove futile, overdue and ultimately fatal. Kechiche eschews traditional editing for a different, elusive one. Several plotlines and revelations are abruptly presented without an introduction or sufficient background information. His handheld, shaky camera often feels like a peeping Tom, spying on his characters, and listening to what each one of them is saying behind the other's back. Kechiche constantly defies expectations of what his film will evolve into. He never sticks to his main plotlines, dropping many developments in the process and allowing his characters to drive the story forwards instead. The young Tunisian immigrant directs his audiences into several directions until he leaves him to determine the destination. I left "Secret of the Grain with a sense of exhilaration. Kechiche's third feature is an original, audacious piece of celluloid that challenges the pre-held notions of art films. I emerged immensely entertained, filled with a strong desire to revisit this world again. "Grain is the kind of film critics long to write about it. As fun as it is to trash films and laugh off the insipid crimes dozens filmmakers unleash every week, the zest and excitement of attempting to present a good argument about films like "Grain we passionately adopt, to try to convey the ideas and feelings we wish the viewers could share as well, is simply incomparable. "Grain will be pulled out of theater next Wednesday. Forget anything else screening now, the new Arabic blockbusters included. This is one of the best movies of the year, a film every reader of this publication needs to watch.
