Author: Jill Marucut
The Arab Film Festival enlightened the Writers Guild of America in Beverly Hills this past weekend with an unusual program.
Despite being a relatively small-scale production, the festival drew a diverse crowd. In a way, the beauty of the festival came from its stark contrast with American culture.
The featured films, which varied from humorous to compassionate to somber, all had one thing in common – they realistically portrayed the Arab political environment, rich culture and complex history.
In an attempt to reach viewers, the festival prompted audience members to delve deep into their own subconscious and destroy all preconceived notions of Arabic life.
Depictions of the Arabic city lifestyle were haunting, even depressing, for attendees. “Marina of the Zabbaleen,” is a documentary that follows a poor family in a garbage recycling village in Cairo, Egypt. It provoked many whispers of, “Oh my God” throughout the audience.
The documentary was filled with horrific moments. Viewers couldn’t stifle their reactions to a child having her tooth pulled out without anesthesia, or to a family getting evicted from their home. At one point, while several children got crucifix tattoos and citizens dug through trash, some people in the crowd had to close their eyes while others gaped at the screen in shock.
As I walked back to the theater lobby, a middle-aged woman passed by me saying, “Wow […] I don’t even know what to do,” as a side-note to no one in particular.
While the attendees were worried about maintaining a comfortable standard of living, the poverty-stricken subjects of the films were worried about holding on to a place to live.
The festival’s lack of glamour created a humbling experience for the viewer to truly absorb the unmerciful reality in the films.
A volunteer explained his respect for the festival by saying that it stood as a contrast to the “fake Hollywood films that had happy fantasy endings.” I couldn’t agree more. The festival’s films, 11 feature-length and four shorts, all celebrated tradition while portraying a theme of rebellion and rising above injustice.
The festival also evoked a spirit of optimism. The documentary “Twelve Angry Lebanese,” a loose adaptation of “Twelve Angry Men,” followed the development of a one-year project to transform 45 inmates into actors. The project served as an alternative form of therapy for the men, and it instilled within them a sense of accomplishment, unity, motivation and happiness.
In contrast to the response to the “Marina of the Zabbaleen,” reactions to the film wavered between good-natured humor and sympathy. When the prisoners were interviewed about their feelings, aspirations, regrets and crimes, the house was silent and captivated.
However, once the prisoners became actors, the audience couldn’t help but laugh as then men discovered their entertainers within. This humor heightened audience attachment to the inmates as they learned to accept one another.
To fully appreciate the festival, attendees needed to re-format their minds, to withhold assent to the notions about Arabic culture that are consistently promoted by mass media and to instead trust what lay before them – the truth and reality supported by people and companies eager to change society and embed a sense of activism within all. In reaction, many of the festival participants seemed to experienced strong emotions varying from anxiety and sympathy to optimism and hope.
The Festival was unique, enlightening and touching. It glorified Arabic culture and created an education platform by which people could analyze something the typical Angeleno is unfamiliar with.
The event left me questioning: When will more fair portrayals of Arabic culture leave the screen of these films and become a reality?
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