As the movie industry swept the world at the dawn of the 20th century, Egypt led the way in bringing the new art form to the Arab world. The cinematic culture in Egypt was considerably shaped by western culture, not only because film as a medium originated in the west, but also because North Africa was largely under European colonial control. In reaction, this resulted in many regional filmmakers adopting a nationalist narrative.
From the 1940s onwards, following Hollywood and Bollywood's example, Egypt embarked on a so-called Golden Age of cinema. Over the next three decades, the country churned out high-budget musicals, comedies, and dramas. Despite facing substantial challenges following the nationalisation of Egyptian cinema in the 1960s by the Nasser regime, the industry's popularity and sway over Arab society remained strong. Even today, the Egyptian cinema industry remains the most influential in the Arab world.
Following the Golden Age, Egyptian cinema shifted its gaze from idealistic societal portrayals to more hard-hitting topics such as patriotism, “westernization,” class, and gender. As society and its portrayal in films evolve symbiotically, the question could be asked as to whether cinema mirrors society, or the other way around. Does art merely imitate life or does life, at times, imitate art?
Several critically acclaimed films of the 1970s and 1980s, such as Chitchat on the Nile, Alexandria, Why?, and I Want a Solution, formed part of the emerging “new realism” school of cinema. Directors like Salah Abu Seif, Shadi Abdel Salam, Atef Al Tayeb, Said Marzouk, and later Yousef Chahine, Mohamed Khan, Khairy Beshara used their work to address socio-political issues.
Although these films were far from universally feminist and at times represented women in a stereotypical way, there were influential works that addressed deep-rooted injustices against women. Said Marzouk's I Want a Solution (1975) criticized Egypt’s divorce and personal status laws. Atef Al Tayeb's A File in Vice (1986) portrayed the pinnacle of patriarchal control when three working women are unlawfully detained and tried for running a "prostitution ring," simply for attending a dinner party with a group of men. This film provides a glimpse of the social shaming women could encounter for deviating from the norms of the nuclear family in Egypt, where women enjoy limited social and legal independence. Other films highlighted prejudices against women in specific occupations, such as dancers in Watch Out for Zouzou (1972), or corporate positions in My Wife, the General Manager (1966).
The progress of this period was to be short lived, with the films of Nabila Ebied and Nadia El Gendy, two iconic female figures of cinema, marking what remains the zenith of female-led films. Although the Nasser regime emphasized the role of women in the workforce, implementing policies to ensure equal pay and reduce gender-based discrimination, prejudices lingered in attitudes about what jobs women should do. Over time, these prejudices were positively reinforced in cinema rather than reformed.
Between the mid and late 1990s, the landscape of Egyptian cinema began to shift radically. The industry was gravitating towards what was at the time unironically called “Clean Cinema,” which prioritized more censored content, rejecting supposed Western ideology, and endorsing conservative, religiously-inspired content. (Since then, critics have begun to use the phrase ironically, to criticise the censorious and prudish nature of much of Egyptian media culture). This trend either directly or indirectly perpetuated patriarchal perspectives about women’s status in Egyptian society, while criticizing previous films for showcasing women with more liberties and higher status. Conservative views are reflected in more recent films, such as the romantic comedy Taymour and Shafiqah (2007), where the female co-lead relinquishes her position as Minister of Environment to persuade her partner to marry her.
It is no secret in today's world that the ratio of female to male protagonists in films has dramatically declined. Women are cast to portray the mother, sister, girlfriend, or wife, but not as the protagonists of their own narratives. They are often depicted as passive, submissive, and exist solely to enhance the journey of the male character. This representation of women has had tangible effects on the society we inhabit, with a rising trend of gender-based violence, assault, and harassment.
Psychoanalytic film theorists like Laura Mulvey suggest that, due to the objectification of the female body in films, audiences begin to identify the patriarchal ideas implicit in narratives. This underscores the critical responsibility filmmakers bear for their depiction of female characters.
In my own career, I have been fortunate to play roles outside the stringent confines of the traditional and objectified female. However, I have also portrayed a sister, girlfriend, wife, and only led my story in independent projects that do not always see the light of day. I often wonder what I or anyone else can do to change the fact that only a handful of actresses will ever star in mass produced films and that our wages will always be less than our male counterparts, regardless of our status or fame.
The Egyptian film industry is not receptive to lectures on how to deconstruct the ideologies they perpetuate, and I do not want to sidestep the responsibility I have taken as an artist to tell stories that I believe are important.
I have recently concluded that the best approach is the “trojan horse” tactic. If stories about women are deemed threatening, it is perhaps unrealistic to dream of writing too many more of them. At the very least however, let us stop creating narratives that normalize domestic abuse, that portray oppressed women willingly accepting maltreatment, or shaming them for their choices. Let us not obsess over the woman, but let her not be flagrantly insulted either.
Instead, we filmmakers could strive to include women as parallel narratives rather than tools or catalysts for male protagonists. We could dare to ask in writing sessions and rooms questions such as “would any of the male characters act, walk, and speak like this?” Or, at least, not be told, as I once was, "do that or whatever you women do."
We could also draw inspiration from an older generation of filmmakers who aimed to tell stories about ordinary people – people who face personal struggles because of their class, culture, and gender. Perhaps with enough cinematic appeal, an equitable representation of female characters woven into narratives, the female lead can make a gradual comeback. Not to tell the story merely of someone's mother or wife, but that of a person. The recent Barbie film was a huge success in the west. Maybe one day, with enough people building “Trojan horses,” we will again be able to tell stories of injustices and oppression, confident in the belief that people will pay for a ticket to see it.
