‘Arab,’ ‘Islamic’, or ‘Middle Eastern’ art are all terms used interchangeably. Despite a wide variety of contemporary artistic practices in the region, artists from the Middle East are consistently labeled with ethnic and national markers.
One of the most revealing moments of the recently concluded Ramadan TV season occurred in the new Egyptian series, Don’t Turn Off the Sun. A newly-wedded young wife finds out that her husband is having an affair with his male friend; a liaison that ultimately leads to the dissolution of their marriage. The most telling aspect of what was potentially perceived as a provocative move from the series’ makers was the fact that it didn’t stir any controversy at all.
Yemenite pop music has seen a resurgence. The band A-Wa (pronounced “ai-wah,” informal Arabic for “yes!”) and their infectious blend of Yemenite folk, electronic, and hip-hop music can be heard all over the world—from Cairo taxi cabs to Dubai pool parties and Parisian nightclubs. The band, whose mission is to elevate Yemenite music on the international stage, is composed of three Israeli sisters of Yemenite heritage.
Art has long been both an instrument for openly engaging in dialogue as well as an agent to force an overdue conversation. The installations of international artists, such as Dawn Weleski, Jon Rubin, Ai Weiwei, and Theaster Gates, all engage with social issues and help introduce new perspectives or dialogue. The fusion of art and socio-political commentary thrives especially in the Middle East, where unrestricted criticism of both government and cultural norms can be seen as heresy.
The road to Haraniyya, a formerly rural area just beyond the Giza pyramids, is now an eight-lane highway flanked by red-brick buildings packed and stacked as if designed by some demented cubist. But take the exit, cross a canal and tucked behind a wall of residential towers, the Museum of Adam Henein exists in magical contrast, a verdant stronghold of living art, and one of Cairo’s hidden treasures.
She was a fearless trailblazer who spurned the comforts of Victorian England for a life of adventure and accomplishment, including extensive exploration through uncharted Arabia in the uneasy last days of the Ottoman Empire.
Letters from Baghdad: The Extraordinary Life and Times of Gertrude Bell, a documentary from New York-based filmmakers Zeva Oelbaum and Sabine Krayenbuhl, opened earlier this month in New York City, and will roll out to other major centers through July.
The cinema has long been a contested space in Egypt. Following its nationalization in 1966, a formerly flourishing film industry ran steadily downhill and movie theater operators were subjected to censors’ increasingly puerile whims. The only independent company allowed to operate was Misr International Films—founded in 1972 by Egyptian director Youssef Chahine (1926-2008)—to produce, distribute, and exhibit films while coincidentally enabling the state to posit itself as an indulgent patron of cinematic art. The annual state-run Cairo International Film Festival (CIFF, est.
The Middle East’s descent into chaos has been accompanied by a growing threat to the region’s historic sites. The breakdown of states and growth in extremism have exposed these ancient sites to looting and destruction. The drivers, however, are varied. Extremist groups like ISIS profit from the smuggling of antiquities, but there are also religious motivations. Extremist movements such as ISIS and al-Qaeda, which adhere to a strictly puritanical view of Islam, perceive heritage sites, including Islamic, as a sinful distraction from faith.
The long, turbulent history of Lebanese cinema is one fraught with financial precariousness, thwarted potentials, and colonialist impediments. Fighting for decades to break away from the hegemony of Egyptian cinema, Lebanon finally came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, reaching a peak with a series of hugely popular mainstream flicks that included the popular Rahbani/Fairuz folk musicals. The rise of what was once deemed as the most exciting Arab cinema at the time proved to be short lived, coming to a premature halt with the outbreak of the Lebanese Civil War.
Countless films have been made about the Lebanese Civil War, the dominant subject of Lebanese cinema for the past 40 years. But in Vatche Boulghourjian’s striking debut film Tramontane, he wanted to tell a different story and tackle the lingering legacy of the civil war.
Director Jamal al-Moosawai wanted the new National Museum of Oman to be a space that grows and expands with its knowledge base, and is in tune with ongoing archaeological discoveries in the Arab country.
The result of a ten year collaboration between the Ministry of Heritage and Culture, the Royal Estate Affairs of Oman, Jasper Jacob Associates (J.J.A.), and Arts Architecture International Ltd (A.A.I.), the museum’s blend of the traditional and the contemporary, as well as its high-tech research facilities, make it unique in the region.
To be a cinephile in Tunis is a patriotic act. Tunisians came out in droves to last year’s Carthage Film Festival, which occurred a day after a terror attack targeting security forces.
“Everyone came out in defiance of the situation, to show their solidarity and love of cinema,” Tunisian journalist and festival staffer Yosr Hazgui said.
A different kind of horror descended upon Beirut with the opening of Maskoon Fantastic Fest, the Middle East’s first film festival for horror, fantasy, action, and science-fiction.
The brainchild of Abbout members, Lebanon’s most prominent production house, Maskoon was an attempt to expand the scope of genres undertaken by the local industry. The festival was held September 14-18.
Leila Sansour is an acclaimed filmmaker, best known for “Jeremy Hardy versus the Israeli Army.” She returned to her hometown Bethlehem to document the detrimental effect of the wall on the city and its people. She discusses her latest film, Open Bethlehem.
The following interview was edited for style and clarity.
MEI: Tell me about the genesis of this film and project, and your inspiration for it?
Ongoing conflict is robbing Iraq of both its future and its past by stripping the country of its tangible cultural heritage.[1] The Islamic State, as part of its strategy, is deliberately seeking to erase all aspects of Iraqi identity which compete with its own dogma. Iraq’s cultural heritage faces additional threats in the form of illicit looting, vandalism, government neglect, and political infighting.