Seemingly against all odds, Syrian filmmakers have created a vibrant and diverse national cinema that holds its own on the world scene. From documentary filmmakers such as Omar Amiralay to veteran feature film directors such as Oussama Mohammad, Mohammad Malas, Samir Zikra and Nabil al-Maleh, Syria has produced a vibrant, intelligent cinema that takes risks both cinematographically and thematically.
All this talent was on display in New York for the past two weeks as part of a festival called "The Road to Damascus: Discovering Syrian Cinema," which was held at the Walter Reade Theater and organized by Arte East in collaboration with the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

For the first time in history, the American public was able to see - all in one place - a wealth of comedies, historical epics and political dramas made in Syria. So unprecedented was this showcase that Arte East - a prolific non-profit organization whose goal is to exhibit the works of artists and filmmakers from throughout the Middle East - is now going to tour the festival all over North America. Under the rubric of "Lens on Syria: Thirty Years of Contemporary Cinema," this line-up of films will travel next to Chicago, Ottawa, Vancouver, San Francisco, Washington and Portland.
The festival's curator, Rasha Salti, says that "of all the 'Arab cinemas,' if that category has any value, Syrian cinema is one of its best-kept secrets, but also the most mature, individualistic, independent-minded and accomplished."

As a result of these qualities, perhaps, the festival in New York, which ended late last week, was well-attended throughout. Over 80 people came together on May 7 for a roundtable discussion on Syrian film with Amiralay, Mohammad and up-and-coming documentarian Diana al-Jeiroudi. Their talk revealed much about the diversity of both subject matter and theoretical concerns in Syrian cinema.

Richard Pena, program director of the Lincoln Center Film Society and one of the major forces responsible for having brought the festival to fruition, moderated the discussion and emphasized the need for a broader understanding of Arab culture.
"That's why I believe these cultural initiatives are very important," he explained. "They allow us to see the range of opinion in the Arab world about all sorts of issues, as well as let us discover some new and challenging works of art."

Salti is even more emphatic on the role such cultural initiatives can play in the U.S.: "There are larger questions of geopolitical representation and culture, namely the superficial and tragic demonization of an entire region and its people, their 'writing off,' so to speak, from the world map of humanity as poles in the 'axis of evil.' Most Americans, it is true, still possess only the most rudimentary knowledge of Arab cultural achievement, past or present. One woman I spoke to after a well-attended screening simply shrugged and said: 'Who knew they made such good films in Syria?'"

While Egypt, for example, produces several hundred films a year, Syria produces at most only four or five, and those all fall under the censorious eye of the National Film Organization.

A Soviet influence is palpable throughout these films, as many leading Syrian filmmakers trained at the prestigious VGIK film school in Moscow. What has emerged from this unlikely coupling of Soviet and Arab culture is a fascinating auteur-based school of film which undermines and criticizes the very system that funds it with surprising frankness and ease.

Allegory and irony are ever-present, as so many means of evading state censors. Still, despite such techniques, some films - especially Amiralay's documentaries - are still strictly verboten in Syria.

Oussama Mohammad's "Stars in Broad Daylight" (1988) opened the festival and in a sense encompassed many of the themes affecting Syrian society as a whole and Syrian film in particular. This ingenious film tells of Khalil, a town patriarch and bully who tries to marry off his sister against her will and another woman to his brother - both are in love with other people, of course.

Khalil's only motives are to consolidate his control of the village and enrich himself in the process, all through the perverse imposition of his will on others. This allegorical tale is a brutal critique of patriarchy, traditional values and the subservience of women in such a societal paradigm.

In the film, large posters of one of the wedding singers plaster the city walls - reminiscent of the ubiquitous posters of Hafez al-Assad in real-life Syria, and an emblem of the personality cults that fuel dictatorships.

In this clever allegory, Mohammad demonstrates how the brutality of Assad's rule (and the human impoverishment it brought about) are reproduced metonymically throughout society. Just as one of the brides in question has been raped, so has society. Khalil not only turns a blind eye to the event, but indirectly encourages the practice by suborning all other concerns to this quest for control and power.
Omar Amiralay holds a unique place among the world's documentary filmmakers. Born in Damascus, of mixed Circassian and Lebanese origin, Amiralay employs irony to unprecedented effect in order to undercut the very system that he is meant to be lauding.

In "The Chickens" (1977), which was censored in Syria, Amiralay takes viewers into one of Assad's failed agricultural schemes to have Syrian villagers raise chickens. Not only are the economics of the project off, but the plan also becomes a get-rich scheme for the villagers, who otherwise have little hope of improving their standards of living.

By the end of the film we have almost as much contempt for the villagers as for the Syrian government itself. The last scene is a particular stroke of genius, as the villagers' speech turns into the clucking of chickens. The implication is hard to miss - the villagers are no better than the livestock they keep.
In "Film Essay on the Euphrates Dam" (1970) and "A Flood in Baath Country" (2003), Amiralay exposes the disastrous effects of 35 years of Baath rule on Syria, as exemplified by a failed dam project whose very engineering details were incorrect from the outset.

Another festival standout was Nabil al-Maleh's "The Extras" (1993), which again encapsulates so many issues pertinent to Syrian society, while at the same time touching on universal themes including love, freedom and the ineradicable human desire to create.

All of the action takes place within a single, small apartment that the protagonist, a car mechanic and aspiring actor and director named Salem, borrows from a friend so he can spend a few hours alone with a pretty young widower, Nada.
Unlike the mechanic, the widower is filled with fear: fear of being seen, discovered, spied upon. In Assad's Syria, fear can become a character all its own. Salem does everything he can to allay Nada's fears, including putting on a play for her - something she has never seen before.

But at one point, a secret service agent knocks on the door to enquire about a blind oud player who lives next door. The agent returns toward the end of the film and beats Salem, as well as the oud player. Humiliated by the experience, Nada flees the apartment, never to return.
In this completely self-contained, perfectly told tale, we again meet up with familiar themes such as the government's abuse of power and the subservience of women, even within the great capital itself.

The acting in "The Extras" - whose cast includes Samar Sami, Bassam Koussa, Mohammad al-Shaikh Najib and Wafa Mouselli - is uniformly superb. Maleh deserves credit for pulling off such a successful film with such low production values.
"The Road to Damascus" festival was a meaningful first step in broadening American knowledge of Syrian culture. It didn't draw huge audiences, but it was certainly a positive indication that with the correct support and marketing, Arab culture can begin to make inroads in even the toughest of markets.

" I wish some kind of pan-Arab fund could be set up so we could see new Arab films, artworks, get novels and poetryi n translation, enjoy dance troupes, etc., on a very frequent basis," said Pena. "Unhappily, this kind of cultural promotion seems to be a very low priority in the Arab world."

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