Rediscovering a Musical Icon
As an admirer of the legendary composer Mohamed Abdel Wahab—who I prefer to refer to simply by his name, devoid of any titles such as 'the musician of generations,' as none can truly encapsulate his greatness—it has always struck me as odd that I would deliberately avoid the operetta 'Al-Watan Al-Akbar,' despite my profound affection for all his other patriotic works. For years, I shunned the operetta composed in 1959 and premiered in January 1960, amidst the dreams of Arab unity and the short-lived union between Egypt and Syria. This piece has since evolved into a musical icon of the Nasser era, serving as the fundamental theme for television and radio coverage of Arab summits and political programs focused on regional issues.
The excessive repetition of this operetta in public consciousness often obscures the exquisite details of the artistic work itself, especially when it morphs into a token of disappointment in the collective memory. In such cases, it can become, at best, a 'trite cliché' accompanied by feelings of disillusionment, discomfort, and even sarcasm. This might explain why I instinctively changed the station whenever 'Al-Watan Al-Akbar' came on, despite its lyrics transcending narrow political ideologies and abstaining from directly invoking Abdel Nasser’s name, thus granting the anthem a longevity that resonates even today. Yet, here we are, 67 years later, still searching for ‘the victories of his life’ and ‘the glory that cloaks our banner’ from Marrakech to Oman, from the Rock of Gibraltar to the Strait of Hormuz.
Film as a Reflection of National Sentiment
I never contemplated these sentiments until the brilliant Abdurrahman Shawky, the writer and director of the film 'Al-Qissas,' compelled me to listen to 'Al-Watan Al-Akbar' multiple times throughout the film's narrative, culminating in the jarring choice of this operetta for the closing credits. The moment felt painfully poignant, though I could not discern whether it was due to its delicacy or its intensity. The film won the Golden Tanit award at the Carthage Film Festival last year and is based on autobiographical stories that Shawky derived from the tale of his Egyptian father meeting his Austrian mother. From the very first scenes, it becomes apparent that he aims to ensnare you in a state of bewilderment: does the narrative stretching from the 1960s to the 1980s glorify a specific era? Or does it mock all eras? Or perhaps it seeks to expose your feelings towards specific events that altered Egypt's history, revealing endless contradictions that now seem absurd, yet at the time, they created trauma for entire generations.
Unlike the magnificent works of Mohamed Khan, Atef El Tayeb, and Khairy Beshara, which meticulously documented their era through the music of radio and cassettes, news bulletins, and the banter of program hosts, the soundtrack of 'Al-Qissas' serves as the primary engine of the narrative, brilliantly utilizing an extensive discography that encompasses dozens of works: 'The Anthem of Freedom' (I was compelled in your silence), 'Nasser, We All Love You,' 'The Rising Generation,' 'Al-Watan Al-Akbar,' and 'Oh, How Long It’s Been, My Weapon,' among others that mark the Nasser era. In a delightful surprise for fans of the seventies musical experiences, Shawky surpassed 'Zahma Ya Dunya Zahma' as the easiest sonic expression of the 'Open Door' era, opting instead for the remarkable works of Samir Al-Iskandarani, Mohamed Nouh, and the Tayba band of the Imam brothers, featuring songs such as 'Habibti Dosa,' 'Ya Salat Al-Zin,' 'The Nightingale Sang,' and 'The Two Little Birds.'
In a veiled message to 'the younger generation' from his own, the film's narrative aligns with the footballing trajectory that highlights the disappointments of Zamalek and the loyalty of its fans against the backdrop of the music from the film '4-2-4' by the talented Mohamed Helal, featuring the voice of Samir Ghanem, reverberating 'The ball is round.' The grand musical structures overshadowed the protagonist, played adeptly by Amir El Masry, who unwittingly learned to play the piano and traveled to Austria in hopes of excelling in it, only to return to find that 'the era of anthems has passed,' as he articulates in a significant scene, ushering in a new era where everyone sings, further diminishing his opportunities and leaving him trapped in a government job that perhaps does not befit someone who once—albeit accidentally in a restroom—met the legendary pianist Vladimir Horowitz. The musical selections from the seventies reflect a diversity and richness rather than decline or chaos, illustrating how these successive defeats did not prevent this simple family from experiencing moments of happiness, as embodied in scenes featuring Nelly Karim, Valerie Bakhner, and the rest of the cast, even as the characters endured loss, deprivation, humiliating comparisons, and the fear of retribution sparked by a spontaneous remark made by the protagonist's father, who was always hesitant, before a television camera in the 1960s, and another offhand comment made by the Austrian heroine in a talk show during the 1980s.
While Abdurrahman Shawky did not delve deeply into the protagonists' relationship with authority, nor did he reference direct confrontations, emphasizing that the family is an ordinary, apolitical entity on the margins, the soundtrack played a pivotal role in cleverly guiding questions and messages with an unprecedented depth and intelligence in Egyptian cinema. Amidst these melodies, an impossible love story unfolded, dreams were born, and nightmares haunted us. Under the weight of their heaviness, fears spread and lies were unveiled, oscillating emotions between sorrow and humor as they reflected on what transpired.
As reported by shorouknews.com.
