Nabil al-Maleh: I reflect the marginalized Syrian to the rest of the world

I would like to begin by going back to the very beginning. Lets look back at the early years of your childhood. Certain events, or small incidents that still strike you.

I was born in Baghdad to a middle class family. We lived there for a couple of years then moved back to Damascus. My parents came from two different backgrounds and both instilled me with important values. My mother’s side leaned towards involvement in politics and public affairs. She came from a well-known family, al-Ghazzi, and was a relative of Said and Fawzi al-Ghazzi (two of the founding fathers of the Syrian Republic). My father belonged to the working class; he came from a technocrat family of hard working and educated people, lawyers, doctors and so on. This combination led to my automatic involvement in politics and public life, while maintaining my independence and work ethics. I was lucky to live my childhood and teen-age years in the 1950s in Syria, and it was only natural to get involved in the region’s upheavals. Those early years of my life particularly shaped me. The world around me was a fertile arena for dreams to flourish and ambitions to bloom. My generation had a common dream; we all dreamed of a better tomorrow. We had the luxury of dreaming of a better world, and we all wanted to make a difference. It was a generation that had a say and was involved in the changes and events that shaped our country’s history. We felt that our presence and participation made a difference, and so our dreams grew bigger. The country’s dynamics and the upheaval influenced our development, we found ourselves as kids who were immersed in all that was taking place not just in the country but in the entire region. We would sometimes walk in demonstrations with-out really knowing the cause behind them, yet still we would feel involved in making the events that were taking place around us. Again this strengthened our involvement in public life. I remember an incident from my early childhood that really affected me. It plaid a great role in creating the person you see now before you. I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I was at a park with my family. I wanted to ride and play on the swing, but there was another boy riding, and there was a police man – soldier- with him, who obviously was taking care of him. The soldier did not allow me to ride, and when I insisted, he slapped me on my face. That was the first time I ever got slapped—the rest of the slaps were metaphoric and not physical ones. This incident and what I felt inside after being struck on the face created a permanent haltered towards the any military force. It made me hate authority and authoritative figures. It gave me a very early realization of how it felt to be suppressed. How demeaning it was to be denied the right to stand up and defend yourself. That was the base and the foundation of my connection to the marginalized human being, the unheard one. I remembered very well that I was burning from inside with anger, and I snatched some sand from the ground and threw it with all my power at this soldier’s face. That was the first time I ever confronted a per-son and openly refused to accept the status quo. I’m still holding those bits of sand in my hands, throwing them back at the face of any authoritative figure I encounter, refusing to surrender. I’ve been throwing sand against such people ever since. Anyway, I was a very active teenager. I worked as a writer in one of the newspapers, and I made sure I go through the ad-ventures I chose, and they were mostly political. I was a leftist. I held leftist views, but I was never part of any communist party. I could not tolerate the idea of me being inferior to some superior party leader. I had no material possessions, no fortune nor a prestigious position in society, yet still I felt like the richest man on earth. I was a free person. My freedom was worth all the possessions one could own. My life was, and still is an ongoing adventure, I still feel the exact same way I felt back then. I feel like a 20-year old man with dreams and the entire world to explore. I am still young at heart. I traveled to study in Czechoslovakia at my own expense. I went to Prague, where I continued writing and drawing. They were my way of expressing myself, yet I was studying physics and nuclear sciences. We read an announcement at the university asking for stunt actors. My friends and I auditioned, to earn extra pocket money. What fascinated me in this field was the director; a man who was able to put all those elements, people and tools together to create something so meaningful. I decided right then that this is what I want to do in life. I want to become a director. I applied to Film Academy FAMU. It was very competitive, but it seems that I was good enough to get accepted. I changed my major, my future and the course of events in the story of my life. I had to be original; I had to be creative, new and different, it was not even optional.

Even though you hated dictators and rejected all forms of authority, you were only attracted to the most authoritarian figure in a movie setting!

That’s an interesting observation. Carry on, what’s the point you’re trying to make?

Sometimes the things we hate in the world outside are a reflection of what we hate in ourselves. Let’s look back at those early incidents, isn’t it possible that part of you was unconsciously attracted to a director’s power and authority? Don’t you think that you’re practicing it now, I mean you write your movies, you choose the cast, you have the final word, I see so much authority, and traces of some dictator!

And you definitely have a point! But let me put it this way; let’s say you are a painter. Ok? And you have an image in your head. You are the only person capable of transforming this image into colors and lines. You will not allow anyone to distort this image, and you want to be in full control of the paints, pallet and the tools you’re using to get the outcome you have in mind. In other words, you’re a dictator over the image you have in your head. As a movie-maker, with a movie bursting inside of me, a plot running in my head and the characters living within me, I can’t but be a dictator when I’m bringing them out to life, and I have to make the most of the tools at hand. No one understands the creation I have in my head more than I do, and unless I guide the people around me and pay attention to all the details, I will never be able to bring those images within me to life. To answer your question, yes I am a dictator but only when it comes to giving life to the ideas that I have in my head. I am very democratic when working with people, I listen to all that they have to say, yet at the end, I only do what is best for the realization of this idea. And I assure you Hala, it is not the authority that attracted me to the director’s role, but the abundant tools he has around to express himself. Did I answer your sly question?

Yes, and we can go back to Prague now!

Ok, back to Prague! I continued my studies, graduated and returned to Syria. The situation was different from when I had left. You can say that movies were the only things that weren’t censored by the time in Syria. I started on my first film, The Leopard which actually initiated what later became a trend that distinguished the rising movie-making industry in Syria. This differentiated Syrian movies and saved them from falling in the trap of imitating the two most influential schools, that of Egypt and East European cinema, where many of the Syrian director had studied.

The 70s were of great importance to me. The work I did in the 70s was extremely important in my career. In the 80s, I received the second slap in my life. Time was repeating itself, putting me trough the same situation I went through when I was a kid. I was at the peak of my success, and left Syria for good, I never wanted to go back there again. The slap was so painful, and again I felt helpless, as I could not defend myself.

I left Syria to the States, where I lectured at Texas University and then California University. The plan was to stay there and teach. I stayed there for almost a year and a half, but then I had to end my academic career. I just didn’t want to end up as a university teacher, it is not what I wanted to do and the academic career did not suit me. I was exhausted, and creativity suffered at this phase in my life, it was totally blocked and numb, almost dead. I left the States with my wife to Switzer-land. It was beautiful, calm, peaceful, perfect, irritatingly perfect; too perfect for me. I could not tolerate living there. I needed the crowed, daily hassles and human fuss. Those chaotic insights fed my soul, they made me feel alive and most importantly, they inspired me. So I left again with my wife. We took the car and like gypsies, we moved from city to city, from town to town, we traveled for seven months across Europe in search of a home, a place to be-long to. We stopped at Greece, and decided to stay there for two months. We rented a house there and it took us ten more years to move out again. Don’t ask me ‘why Greece?’ I really don’t know! My wife and I never found an answer for this question, but I guess there is something that bonds people of the Mediterranean. I got back on track, and started writing and working again. The idea for my new film The Extras, was ready by then. I was heading to Egypt in search for funding. I went to Syria in-stead and decided to try Syria once again.

True, but it is impossible because I only have one motherland and I belong only to this one country. I’m a fish, and Syria is the only water I know. I need to belong to a place, to be part on an entity. I need Syria.

I keep asking this question repeatedly, how important is it to belong to a place? Don’t you find this notion of belonging to be limiting and restraining? Wouldn’t you prefer being a citizen of the world rather than a certain country?

Let me make this clear, I was raised in Syria and my earliest memories are of Syria. My history, my dreams and my values are intrinsic with the values, history, streets, buildings, and people of Syria. It is where I learned to speak, love, write and live. All those bits and pieces that I’m made of—the mosaics of my identity—are made in Syria. Also Syria is associated in my mind, until this day, with dreams, because my dreams are the dreams of any average Syrian, and I cannot relate to anyone or anything more than that. It is not just about the land. It is the years, despite everything, and no matter what happens, I cannot delete those years my past. I am a product of this culture and I reflect it to the world. I can only belong to one place. I can never be number two, or number one, or any number in France. If I’m to be something, then I should be it here before anywhere else. My reward comes from its people, I am recognized only through its people. I can relate through its people with the entire world, I reflect its people to the world. I can be number two in Syria, or number one, or even number ten. But I can never be number two in France, But don’t you feel that living abroad provides better exposure to all the advancements in the world of movie making, and brings better connections with other movie makers and producers, which , whether we like it or not, are essential and extremely important?

As a movie maker, I need two things: inspiration and financing. Inspiration comes from here, from Syria. Nothing inspires me more than the people here. But I don’t stop here, I need to travel, and I always travel, not just to search for producers or meet with directors, but also to learn new techniques, get inspired by different cultures. I need to be modern and to have all the advanced cinematic tools, because they will help me express myself better. So to answer your question, yes it is not that easy, yet it is not impossible. You need to keep your connections with artists around the world, stay updated with all the happenings in the world of arts and to attend conferences, festivals…etc

I liked the expression you used, inner Mosaics. Tell me a bit more about the external one, the mosaic within Syrian society, the diversity. I heard that it in-spired your upcoming movie, right?

It is beautiful, the diversity here in Syria. I am currently working on the movie “The Sacred Crystal,” which summarizes the story of the Eastern Gate of Damascus. It has 10 Christian churches for 10 different sects, 3 mosques and 3 Jewish synagogues. You have different sects that live there in harmony. They are all part of a bigger family, like a crustal that has many faces for the same heart. This diversity in Syria amazes me. If I were an architect, I would have loved Dubai, I would have felt its vibes, but as a director and a moviemaker, I feel the human pulse. I am back to Syria, and I am happy here. I feel alive, and the dynamics of the city ill me with youth and energy, I am constantly evolving and always renewing myself. I feel that my career has just begun, and there is so much more for me to do.

Though I don’t believe in dividing one’s life to stages, let us, for the sake of argument, think of yours as a book, the 1950s and 1960s were the ‘dreams’ chapters.

Yes, the dream of creating a better world. Big dreams.

The 1970s through the 1990s were:

Dream clashing, and realizing that the dream was an illusion.

So what’s the name of the current phase?

Realizing that I cannot save the world, but I can at least save my soul.

You know it is funny, because in a way you feel that the world was somehow ending the first phase for you. I mean looking back at history, the first Prague Spring occurred right after you left the city. It must have been something! I find it quite metaphoric, being a leftist who has studied in Prague. Such an event right after graduating is surely symbolic, don’t you think?

I was in Europe when I heard the news. Of course that was a turning point in the world’s history, and one of the falls that ended the Soviet Union. It was a great stab for every leftist. It was a cultural shock for me, and it left me wondering whether it is still possible to create the world I dream. That was the first clash.

Exactly! The most disastrous and painful one. It was such an important twist in his-tory, and it had a tremendous impact on me.

Especially that you were living abroad, right?

Yes, specifically that, for the humiliation and the pain that Arabs living abroad felt after this war was unmatched. You are al-ready grieving for the loss, and the dreams that you had were all killed and massacred. Your ideas and idols; they all clashed. You had to deal with the pressure of all fingers pointing at you for being the loser. And you know what is even worse? Of all the les-sons this war has taught us, the only one we took was getting used to failure. We fail to understand the lessons of history.

That’s not a very optimistic view. How sensitive are you to all the political events that currently take place?

I’m extremely sensitive, particularly to the situation in the Arab world, it has a tremendous affect on me. I am disappointed to the heart. I mean I would have never thought I’d live to see the miserable situation I’m seeing now during the 21st Century. The harmony we once had disappeared. During my days we used to ask about one’s political ideologies. Look at us now. We are immersed in those religious wars like the medieval days. Our only concern now is to make a living. They narrowed our interests, killed our dreams and we are left with the burden of trying to make ends meet. Those big common dreams we used to have no longer exist, and every person is immersed in his own burdens that keep pushing him downwards until he no longer sees beyond his own shadow.

I can see this transformation in your movies as well. In The Leopard the focus is on big dreams. Whereas the lens zooms really deeper in The Extras, and digs closely into the human being. Your lens seems to be zooming, and getting closer to the human being. We can al-most see the souls of your characters on screen. You’re right, I am at a stage where I really think it is about time I go deeper, and penetrate this inner world. I really try to understand the phases that we pass through. Through The Leopard I discussed great revolutions, large landscapes, masses of people, yet eventually I began to zoom in, and delve into the human being. I started to get into the human soul, to try to under-stand it. An entire world exists within us, a beautiful one, despite the trash and the rubbish that everyone keeps throwing over our souls hundreds of times a day. I just want to reflect on those dreams that I have.

I want to understand the average person, to restore his massacred dignity, because he is the bases of our society. He is full of potential; a potentials artist, a potential thinker, and also a potential terrorist. It is the force beyond him that turns him into something. I want to be the voice of those average people, the marginalized ones, who exist on the margins of life, are burdened with their daily quest for survival. Those whose dignity is hammered hundreds of times a day, and whose dreams are faced with tons of walls. So many obstacles that they eventually lose the colors of life, and get used to living in black and white. I want to reflect their soul on screen.

The narrative style in your movies has changed as well…

Yeah, it evolved; it is part of me zooming into the human being. I no longer see a movie as a story, with a beginning and an end. I am actually against the story. I am more concerned with the spirit of the work I am presenting. Our life is a continuity of events, it is like a film that is full of events, each event leaves a scar or a mark; it has a trace on our soul. I like to study those traces, to zoom into them. I try to do that through my movies, and I need to use very advanced tool in order to express this.

Is humor one of those tools? I mean you address true sorrows, yet they always come across in the form of a light hearted joke.

Irony is definitely one of the important tools, when you inject humor in your work, and reflect tragedies through a sincere smile. We all reach a point where things get so bad, we find ourselves smiling or even laughing at ourselves. That’s very humane insight. I do address crucial and critical matters and very serious insights. Those insights are inspired by the simple people I deal with everyday, and despite all those broken hearts and suffocating souls, there is always a joke running between the people. I think our situation is miserable to the extent that you almost want to laugh at how bad thing are getting. I laugh at my-self, and I keep a sense of humor, this sense of humor keeps me alive.

“Compassion is a heavy Burden.”

Milan Kundera.

Right, from The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Your concern for human beings reminded me of this quote. How would you reflect on it?

You might be surprised to know that Kun-dera was actually my teacher!

You learned a lot from his book?

Not just that. He actually taught me a course on Art History at college. He was a professor there, and we were good friends, but I lost contact with him. Of course, I love his writing and his ideas and work in luenced the way I perceived things. I loved The Unbearable Lightness of Being, as well as all his other books, I also loved his latest work, The Curtain. Now back to the quote on compassion, yes it is a heavy burden. Compassion means accepting the other the way he is and feeling with him, and this is a responsibility, and so it becomes a burden. As an artist, I live my life trying to create a depiction of the image I have of the world in my head, a beautiful world of my creation. I belong to part of the world where suppression, oppression, demeaning-ness, brutality unjustified, and I cannot close my eyes and not see this. I cannot detach myself from all of this. I am part of this, and I need to reflect this. I also need to address this, and address the human beings involved. I always hated heroes. Throughout history, and in movies, they were always portrayed as sacred images with an unrealistic aura. I am only concerned with the marginalized people, because they are the real soul; the heart and conscience of everything. I want to be their voice, because I relate to them. I am marginalized myself, and I don’t have a say. I only have a tool and the means to express myself, and to make my voice slightly a bit louder, and I want to make them heard. I want to reflect their sorrows, their concerns, their dailies. My he-roes are in the streets. Here, in the Third World, a human being is dead by the time he turns 40. I swear, sometimes I feel that we’re back to the early 19th century, where going to concerts and the theatre was a luxury that few people could afford. So yes you are right and Kundera is right; compassion is a heavy person, because it makes you responsible.

But I don’t get it, what’s the point of trying to address the marginalized majority, and reflecting their image, and all the things you said, when the marginalized don’t hear you! Half your movies are not allowed in town, and the other half are not played in the very few movie theaters we have in Syria. This silent majority that you speak of can barely afford food and water, so buying your movies on a VHS or a DVD, or even watching them on TV is out of question. In other words, the only Syrians hearing you are those you are not addressing – the few who can afford it.

Oh don’t remind me, it kills me. You are absolutely right. But what can I do? I mean I will not stop trying to talk to them, and making movies is the only thing I can do. I try to address the people I admire and the people that concern me as much as I can. And you know what bugs me the most? The fact that my movies are screened in many countries, in Italy, France…etc and people really relate to them. The average Italian employee feels with the average Syrian person on screen, because they are both human feelings. All those people get to see my work and relate to it, and yet the one person I want to talk to cannot hear me. I was amazed at how people sympathized with The Extras when it screened in Italy, and France. And it makes me happy to see my movies screen abroad, yet the truth re-mains, I am not doing those movies for Italian or French viewers, I am doing them for the Syrian viewer, and what really makes me happy is seeing them screened here in Syria. Although the movies are not serving their main purpose, which is talking to the aver-age Syrian people, they are serving another purposes. I reflects an image of the human being, it breaks certain stereotypes, and it would be amazing if a an Italian viewer leaves the movies thinking, “well the Arabs are not all terrorists, and they can fall in love, feel sad and happy just like me! The image they have in their head is an image of our systems, the ruling systems, and not the actual people. There is a very unique side to Syria that many people around the world do not know, the Mosaics that shape the heart of the Syrian society are exceptional. The sacred arc in old Damascus is like nothing else in the world.