Farewell Abu Antar

A pure brute and petty thief, Abu Antar roamed the streets of Damascus with his friend and former prison mate, Ghawwar. Tall and muscled, with his famous tattoo – a skull on his right arm – he coined famous phrases in Damascene dialect, like “Batel” (which in English roughly translates into: Hell No!).

Abu Antar and Ghawwar sought small achievements in their small world, being a decent meal, or a room to spend the night. When that failed, they would provoke a fight with passer-bys, to be dragged to jail by mediocre cops, a favorite venue that Abu Antar often called “home.”

Abu Antar, who loved to dance and was surprisingly soft – often aroused to tears by sentimental moments – had no agenda of his own, blindly following his friend Ghawwar and going to great lengths to help him win the heart of his beloved, a hotel owner named Fattoum. He never stole to make a fortune, and loved picking fights with weak people, especially when they peaked at his wife, Um Antar. Ghawwar advised him often to “count to ten” before taking out his knife to strike at people, and Abu Antar would comply, “One, two, ten!”

Abu Antar – played by pioneer actor Naji Jabr – was born in 1971 in an old Damascene neighborhood called Haret Kul Min Ido Ilo, a lawless alley were ordinary people solve their problems on the spot, without waiting for police intervention. He died of cancer at a hospital in Damascus, on March 30, 2009.

The character of Abu Antar died at the young age of 38 while its creator, Naji Jabr died at the age of 69. The death of Naji Jabri, one of the giants of Syrian Television, forced me to change my editorial for Forward Magazine. I wanted to write about Abu Antar, a character my generation of Syrians had grown up with through memorable black and white comedy classics like Sah al-Nom (Good Morning).

For nearly 20-years, he purposely stayed away from television, working daily as a stage actor in low-budget productions, billing under the name Abu Antar. A younger generation of Syrians re-discovered Naji Jabr in different form since the 1990s, starring in historical dramas like Ayyam Shamiyya (Damascene Days) and al-Khawali, made by the creator of the immensely popular Bab al-Hara. Towards the end of his life, Jabr tried escaping the Abu Antar stereotype, playing the role of an honorable quarter boss, known in Arabic as “qabaday.” He ultimately failed, and in his final hour – everyone mourned him by his popular stage name, saying: “Abu Antar has passed away!”

Naji Jabr’s agony is one felt by most actors who create a popular character that begins to dominate them, and which in as much as they try, can no longer escape. Duraid Lahham faced it with Ghawwar, just like Charlie Chaplin did with The Tramp, and both Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy did with their legendary comedy duo, known on every corner of the globe. Jabr felt, like all of his colleagues, that people like Abu Antar more than they liked Naji Jabr.

The character of Abu Antar limited his abilities as an actor, since any serious role – a banker, a father, or journalist, for example – were off-limits to Naji Jabr. Audiences throughout the Arab World would accept him in no other form, no matter how hard he tried.

This generation of Syrian actors – the founders of modern Syrian art – were “strugglers” because they walked into a profession in the 1960s that was frowned upon by most people in Syria. An actor was seen as synonymous with clown; no respectable family would let its son work as a clown.

Jabr originally came to Damascus from the high hills of the conservative Arab Mountain, back in the 1950s. He worked as a stage actor, then took mediocre roles in TV throughout the 1960s until he broke to stardom with Abu Antar in Sah al-Nawm in 1971.

Filming and broadcasting were done simultaneously; there was no room for rehearsal or re-shoots. Acting mistakes therefore, could not be fixed and were broadcasted live to audiences in Syria.

Having never studied acting, Naji Jabr learned the job through trial and error, perfecting it through experience before getting a chance to star next to famous names from Egyptian and Lebanese cinema, in the late 1970s and early 1980s. While writing this editorial, Damascus laid Naji Jabr – Abu Antar – to rest. He will be missed by four generations who grew up repeating his famous phrase, “Batel” which is now entrenched in the Syrian dictionary.