“You can work on the Moviola,” she suggested.
“No. The problem is that I wouldn’t be able to work anywhere or at any time. Don’t you have a screenplay?”
“It’s just general outlines. Everything else is here,” she said, pointing to her head.
“Not even a list of shots?”
“I have one that won’t be of any use to you. It consists of numbers and symbols.”
“The only option left then is for me to make a list for myself. I’ll write down what is in each shot using the Moviola.”
“But the film has six sections plus the introduction.”
“It will be a nuisance, for sure, and it will take some time. But it will put me completely inside the film. But I only have one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That nothing I write will be modified except with my agreement. I understand the demands that cinema imposes, and I will try to conform to them as much as I can. But I won’t accept any attempt to distort what I write for the benefit of one faction or another.”
“That is your right. When can you begin?”
I looked at my watch, then said: “Now. We’ll try it with the introduction.”
I put on my jacket and we went down to her office. The projectionist followed us, carrying the metal canisters containing the film, and we helped move them to the editing room. With skilled fingers, Antoinette took care of fixing the sound and film reels in place. Then she handed me some blank sheets of paper, and after putting on her glasses, she turned out the light. I pulled up a seat beside her, then took my pen out of my pocket.
The first dark, distorted shots followed one after the other. The title of the film appeared and I put pen to paper without taking my eyes off the small screen. I started recording what I saw.
General nature scenes. Snow covers the peak of Mount Lebanon. Cedar trees stick out from the melting snow. The foot of the mountain is covered with abundant green. Mulberry, fig and orange trees. A stream of water beneath a walnut tree. The sun’s rays sparkle on the surface of the water. Small green tobacco shrubs. Brown tobacco leaves on pieces of cloth along the edge of the road. Beside them, farmers in white clothes and baggy pants. Goatherds. A transistor radio on a donkey. Fairuz sings: O bee-eater bird!
The road stretches out, ascending to a large palace perched upon a hill. On a wide balcony sits the bey in rustic clothes, with a short tarbush at an angle on his head. Nearby are a number of his enforcers awaiting his orders.
The road cuts through a village. Dusty chalk and low houses. In front of one of them an old man sits cross-legged on a stone bench, smoking a nargile. A shop with a number of wooden tables, around which several young men are playing a game like table football.
The village at night. Youths in shirts and pants make their way along its streets carrying torches and shouting: “We want union, union now! Nasser, Nasser, show us how!”
Fairuz sings: I loved you in the summer, I loved you in the winter…
Fairuz sings another song notable for its fast, Western beat.
The song was in Lebanese dialect, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I indicated to Antoinette to replay it, and she stopped the reel. She put her hand out to a wheel connected to the Moviola spool, and slowly moved it. The film played in reverse.
The song seemed familiar to me, but I still couldn’t make out the words. After a moment, I realized why it had caught my attention. The melody was from a popular Western song. The mix of Lebanese dialect and Western dance music seemed strange.
‘‘The song is called ‘Days Gone By’,’’ explained Antoinette.
I nodded. The film rolled, and I began recording again.
Hamra Street in Beirut. Chic glass-window displays. Signs sticking out over the sidewalk. Slick fast cars. Glittering lights. Jewelry stores and pinball arcades. Mink coats. Luxury movie theaters. Mini-, midi- and maxi-skirts. Dim red lights on the side streets. La Dolce Vita café. Cafés scattered along the waterfront up to Pigeons’ Rock. Unbelievable crowds. The ghutra headcloths of Gulf Arabs and white gallabeyas. Half-naked blonde girls parading on a stage.
A poster with these words fills the empty screen:
Lebanon Tourist Casino
Presents Every Evening
The Finest Mezzes and Best Oriental Dishes
Fully Prepared to Cater to All Special Requests
And another poster:
Lebanon, Oasis of Freedom
Fairuz’s angelic voice: Visit me once every year; you must never forget all about me.
Beirut Airport. A plane coming from Africa, with a mix of Africans and Lebanese disembarking. A stout Lebanese man in a white suit with a bald head. His belly bulges out over his pants inside a white silk shirt. His sideburns reach the middle of his cheeks. He is carrying a Samsonite briefcase. Nervously, he follows the progress of a big cardboard box being carried out of the airport.
A metal dais rises nearly a meter off the ground. It spins around, carrying large electrical appliances: a Westinghouse refrigerator, a Moulinex blender, a Hoover vacuum.
An empty modern car spins around on the dais.
A man’s voice in a theatrical tone and a rapid delivery: “Enjoy the good life with the new sports car. Five speeds. Computer-guided steering, fuel consumption and engine testing. With a digital radio, sun roof and cassette-deck radio.”
A young man in modern European clothes. His hair wavy and soft, carefully coiffed. He looks like a young European in every way. He sits on the same circular dais, and it turns around quickly, with him on it. The dais stops suddenly, causing the young man to face the camera. He puts his hand up to his jacket collar to show us the tag as he beams with pride.
The façade of a furniture showroom. A middle-aged woman in a modest coat. Her hair is covered with a colored scarf, its ends knotted under her chin. She has her face up to the glass to look at the objects on display. Her eyes move back and forth between the stainless-steel kitchen, the different kinds of pile carpets, and the Louis XIV sofas.
Other women like her rummage through piles of different clothes sitting on wooden carts in Sahat al — Burj Square.
Adjacent shacks made of tin sheets. The ground is filthy with traces of waste water. Children in scruffy clothes carry colored plastic tubs in their hands. The tubs are filled with water from a public faucet that supplies every shack.
A woman washes clothes in a puddle of water pouring from a broken water pipe.
Photos of Gamal Abdel Nasser on the walls of the shacks.
Fairuz’s voice: I waited for you in the summer, I waited for you in the winter…
A magnificent palace surrounded by an expansive garden flooded with lights. Groups of men and women in evening clothes. The dance music that was used in Fairuz’s song, “Days Gone By”.
An advertisement fills the screen: Lamb intestines are a dog’s favorite food. We’ve prepared them for you in several ways to suit various tastes.
Hamra Street at night. A girl in white jeans crosses the street. The camera focuses on her thighs, zooming in on them. Her pants are extremely tight. The camera zooms above her thighs. The details of her body are clearly shown: her curvy hips and cleavage.
The glass display of a clothes shop. Perfectly manufactured mannequins of women and girls in sheer and colored negligées. A number of young men stare at the displays. The young men are wearing embroidered shirts and platform shoes. Their sideburns are long. The general air about them reveals that they are working-class, or generally poor.