Nehad Selaiha looks forward to the opening of theatres at the end of Ramadan I could never understand why theatres have to close down during Ramadan. But for years, it has become something of a tradition. You can have plenty of music, singing and religious chanting, a wide choice of local and foreign movies and a surfeit of television drama in the form of rambling, circuitous serials of varying quality; but no theatre. It is as if live, representational (i.e., dramatic) performances have in them something intrinsically opposed to the spirit of the holy month or irreconcilable to its general festive atmosphere. One is tempted to think of this strange phenomenon in historical terms as a hangover from the days when live, representational practices were still rooted in magic and pagan rituals, or from the time when theatre decided to sever its connections with religion and go secular. A simpler and more mundane explanation would tell you that it all has to do with money: a way to make people stay at home and watch the expensively produced serials and the scores of commercial ads that go with them. But, whatever the cause, the fact remains that for years and years we have had to put up with theatreless Ramadans. In August, a number of very good and quite successful productions, including Fifi Abdou's smash- hit, Rawayeh, opened and had to close down after only two or three weeks, some on account of the Cairo International Festival for Experimental Theatre (to make the venues available to guest performances from 1-11 September), and others on account of Ramadan. Most of these, together with some of the few small productions especially concocted for the CIFET, are scheduled to reopen on the first day of the Bairam feast and run for as long as audiences care to see them, or a new production dislodges them from the stage. Of these, judging by box-office receipts, the show that seems destined for the longest run is Fifi Abdou's Rawayeh. It was really a masterstroke on the part of Ashraf Zaki, the head of the state theatre organization, to rope in the talents of this magnificent, highly popular and very expensive star of oriental dancing and put them on show for the delectation of the common people at very moderately-priced tickets. For the whole of August, people nightly flocked in thousands to Fatma Rushdi Floating Theatre in Giza, making Rawayeh the most lucrative state theatre production ever in terms of revenues. Intended as a spectacular vehicle for Abdou's art, exuberant energy and overwhelming stage presence, Rawayeh makes no pretence of being anything else. To say that the plot is hackneyed, the characterization threadbare and the dialogue very sketchy, allowing for plenty of adlibbing and on-the-spot badinage, would be quite beside the point in this kind of spectacle. It would be more to the point to complain that Fifi's appearance in the first part of the show was over delayed, making the anticipation quite intolerable, or that we did not get enough of her dancing in that part, or that some of her costumes did not show her to advantage and could have done with a better design. One could also say that by dint of her age, looks and personality, the great artiste did not quite fit into the romantic part of the struggling young dancer, harassed by a powerful, corrupt business man, then rescued and carried to safety and fame by a young and handsome theatre director. Many years ago, when Fifi was a lot younger (and thinner), she convincingly starred as the voluptuous, middle-aged seductress in a stage version of Salah Abu Seif's famous movie Shabab Imra'ah (A Woman's Youth). Another great dancer, Taheya Carioca, had given a stunning interpretation of the character on the screen and, compared to it, Abdou's stage impersonation was quite impressive and creditable. A plot of that kind would have been better suited to her now and would have forestalled a lot of the vicious, critical sarcasm levelled at the play. But since the audience seem quite willing to make allowances and go along with the pretence, loving and passionately applauding everything they see and hear, who cares for a few nitpicking critics? When they accuse Ashraf Zaki of having turned one of the state-sponsored theatres into a cabaret and frittering away the tax-payers' money, he simply says that he is actually giving the tax-payers more than their money's worth, since very few of them could afford to see Fifi in the flesh unless she worked in a state-subsidized venue. Besides, he is determined that the state theatre should cater to all levels of society and not just to the taste of a small, intellectual elite. If you don't like Rawayeh, he says, there is plenty of 'serious', 'highbrow' drama at other state venues. I do not know if you can call Ahmed Halawa's Betloumouni Leih (Why Blame Me), another state theatre production which opened at Al-Tali'a theatre in August and will become available after Ramadan, serious or highbrow. If by 'serious' you mean something grim, intellectually convoluted, emotionally taxing and generally heavy on the digestion, then Why Blame Me is definitely not. If 'serious', on the other hand, describes something urgently topical that touches people to the quick and voices many of their unspoken thoughts and protests in a lively, humorous manner, then it is. As a biting political satire on life in Egypt today, presented from the perspective of the proverbial 'little man' in a series of bittersweet, funny sketches, it comes across as a highly colourful, extremely vibrant performance. With a live, traditionally- costumed oriental band, delicious old ditties and witty popular songs, and charming scenery, it also boasts a lot of deftly handled marionettes playing side by side, in admirable coordination, with the human actors. The night I watched it, there were many children in the audience with their families; and while we grownups appreciated the serious intent of the show and savoured its bitter irony, the youngsters loved the marionettes and laughed uproariously at Halawa's grotesque caricatures and clever antics. Another 'serious' state theatre production you can take the whole family to after Ramadan and be sure everyone will enjoy is Al-Ghad theatre's (Love Story). Slightly adapted from Akmal Al-Din Ihsan's Arabic translation of Nazim Hikmet's Turkish classic Legenda o Ljuby (Legend of Love), the play examines the meanings of love, art and beauty in relation to death, then sets in conflict different kinds of love, concluding in the end that selfless love of one's country and people is the strongest, noblest and most enduring. Though intrinsically a play of ideas, philosophically reflective in orientation, the Legend of Love, as adapted and directed by Hani Metawe', is easily accessible to ordinary spectators and quite enchanting to watch. The conflict of ideas is translated into vivid, convincing characters, passionate, stormy relationships and difficult choices, and the whole is cast in the mode of a fairytale, complete with singing trees and talking objects, and given a legendary atmosphere. Somewhere in Persia, in the distant past, a young and fair princess strikes a bargain with Death, represented as a horribly disfigured stranger, in which she trades her youthful looks and beauty for the life of her beloved younger sister. When the two sisters, princess Mahmana, the ruler, rendered ugly and aged by her sacrifice, and the radiant princess Sherine fall in love with the same man -- Verhard, the most talented sculptor in the land -- their sisterly love undergoes a severe test. When Sherine and Verhard elope and are brought back, princess Mahmana offers to consent to their marriage if Verhard gives up his art and volunteers to dig a tunnel through the nearby 'iron mountain' so that the water of the pure spring behind it can reach the city, as all its wells have gone dry or putrid. Her intention in this was to test Verhard's love for Sherine and save her relationship with her sister by separating the two lovers. But in doing this, she unwittingly leads Verhard to discover another nobler and selfless kind of passion -- a passion stronger than both his love for Sherine or his art. When after ten years she relieves him of this condition and asks him to go back to the palace to be united with Sherine and resume his vocation as artist, he refuses to give up what he started. The task may take him another ten years to accomplish, and by that time he and Sherine will have aged and his art will have rusted; still, he cannot relinquish it now that he knows the life of his country and people depend on it. At this point, Death reappears; he had furiously resented the immortality Verhard claims for his art, the beauty of the two sisters and their affectionate relationship, and had intrigued to turn Mahnama into the instrument that will destroy all three. Realising his defeat, he revokes the bargain, restores to Mahnama her youth and beauty and carries away Sherine. But painful as the fact of death may be, Mahnama (beauty) and Verhard (art) can find relief in their new faith and attain immortality by putting themselves at the service of their people and country. This charming moral tale was so beautifully executed, with fine actors, fine costumes and exquisitely detailed sets, that even the children in the audience found it fascinating. I myself was quite delighted to see Iman Imam, who last year won the Best Rising Actress award at the Egyptian National Theatre Festival, starring here as Mahnama and acquitting herself quite admirably in a difficult and emotionally complex part. In support, Sami Abdel Halim as Death and Ayman El-Sheewi as Verhard gave masterly performances, and so did Mu'taz El-Sweifi as the vizier in love with Mahnama who cannot forgive her robbing him of the pleasure and happiness her beauty used to give him. Rawayeh, Why Blame Me and Love Story are what I advise you to see in the Bairam holiday. All are state- subsidized and lots of fun. As such they will be both easy on the pocket and light on the digestion.
