Martina Melilli’s Love Letter to Libya

By Victoria D’Amico

My Home, In Libya, is Martina Melilli’s love letter to her culture– or specifically, her
grandparents’ culture, as refugees forced out of Italy’s Libyan colony in 1970. In collaboration
with Mahmoud, a young Libyan man communicating with Martina over texts, the two are able to piece together a picture of Libya that today, is completely unrecognizable. Martina’s
grandparents lived in Tripoli under and post Italy’s period of colonialism, where the country
yearned for independence but found relative stability. Decades later, Mahmoud lives in the same Tripoli, at least physically; however, finds himself in a country of disarray in the aftermath of the assassination of Muammar Gaddafi. The film not only navigates the audience through these two periods, but gives them an opportunity to evaluate Libya’s political climate through history. This documentary styled by a series of found photos, text messages, and footage, charts the course of Libya’s independent culture and where it finds itself today– an attempt to showcase both the negatives and positives of this progression.

But where does this style of filmmaking fall short? With its quiet ambience and collages,
the aestheticism of the piece often comes between what the film is trying to convey. Melilli’s
collection of photographs and handwritten notes tend to romanticize a dark time in Libya’s
history– this can be attributed to the fact that in these moments, she is looking at Libya through
the context of her gradparent’s relationship. Her grandparents, who identify more so as Italians
than Libyans. Furthermore, as Tripoli is explored through these montages, little to no context is
given in order to adhere to the soft style of this kind of documentary filmmaking. The voiceover
of the grandparents discuss how they met each other, their home, and moving to Italy– it is not
often they speak of the civil unrest that came with living in a colonized country. This starkly
contrasts the perspective and photos we get from Mahmoud– visuals of the deaths of children,
descriptions of the feelings of bombs, the reality of government censorship and dictatorship.
However, while the information is vastly different, it is presented the same; fitted into their text
messages to keep Melilli’s aesthetic. The style almost makes it hard to perceive this information
as serious as it is, especially when there is such emphasis on how difficult it was to get that
information in the first place. In addition to this, the back and forth between Melilli and Mahmoud depicts a flourishing relationship between the two, but at moments, there are messages included that add more to the dramatic flair than to the story of an ever-changing Libya.

Yes, it is necessary to show the softer sides of their relationship– in a way, it also sets up
a parallel to humanize Libya’s history in comparison to Mahmoud’s reality. Furthermore,
Mahmoud’s reality has a dichotomy to it; spliced between death and destruction, the audience
sees moments such as his graduation. When presented in the form of text messages (or photos
with no context) the significance of these moments, good or bad, blur. In a way, these moments
are not comparable, and in being compared, their severity lessens and meanings change.
Ultimately, the style of the documentary trumps the exploration of Tripoli as an ever changing
country– making it a beautiful documentary to watch, but one that feels hollow at times.

Corruption, Women, and Stereotypes in Hiya Fawda

By Gracie Garrison

The film Hiya Fawda, Arabic for “It is Chaos,” truly earns the meaning of its title.
Directed by Youssef Chahine and Khaled Youssef, Hiya Fawda is a commentary on the corrupt
government and police systems in Egypt. Director Chahine is quoted by The Columbia Dispatch
stating that the film “is not about torture, it’s about the repression and corruption that prevail in the Egyptian authority.” Its major themes reflect Egypt’s political situation at the time, while also posing a commentary on the strength of the women in that society. The depiction of Egyptian culture throughout the film also works to combat common Hollywood stereotypes of Arab nations, namely portraying them as ‘desert people’ with the lack of cultural advancement.
Hiya Fawda’s central purpose as a text works to reveal the corruption that can stem from
‘one bad apple’ within an institution. The opening scene of the film features protests in the
streets, as police lock away protesters for no lawful reason. The almost-likable villain, Hatem, is
the personified representation of this police corruption and brutality. He ravages the town, taking advantage of his powerful position by taking money for ‘favors,’ as well as locking away anyone that he wishes without lawful reason. His control and influence not only over the town, but within the police force, allows him to act as he pleases, as seen in his dungeon of hidden
prisoners as well as his violent beating and torture of the prisoners. Gordon states that Hatem
“presents the real rot of society” (107). He shows how one ‘bad apple’ within an institution, can
bring so much harm to society.

The main female characters in Hiya Fawda, portray feminine resilience and strength.
Nour, a teacher at the school, longs for her headmistress Widad’s son, Sharif. However, Nour is
sought out by Hatem, who has an unhealthy obsession with her. Nour rejects Hatem over and
over again, never giving into his perverted charms. However, Hatem tricked Nour and
subsequently abducted her, he then beat her senseless and proceeded to rape her. Nonetheless, when Nour awoke, she picked herself up, and figured out how to get home. When Widad and Nour’s mother understood the gravity of the situation, they later led a riot in the streets to go and capture Nour’s rapist, capitalizing on the town’s hate for Hatem. For women to be leaders of this riot is significant, revealing their strength throughout the film.

Throughout Hiya Fawda, typical Hollywood stereotypes of Arab cultures are combated.
The thriving cinema scene in Egypt was originally coined the “Hollywood of the Orient,” as
stated by Schochat (23). Yet, as seen in Hiya Fawda, typical stereotypes of ‘desert people’ as
portrayed in the West, are discredited. Themes of Western culture are not borrowed, and
Egyptian identity is established. Widad’s role as a respected mother for Sharif resembles family
cultures and values in the society. Also, Sharif’s girlfriend can also be seen as a representation of Western culture. Her short skirts, promiscuous lifestyle, and disrespectful attitude could be
attributed to views of the West (Marshall). Hiya Fawda combats stereotypes and creates its own
narrative culture.

Works Cited
“Chaos, This Is.” IMDb, IMDb.com, 28 Nov. 2007, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1085799/.
Hiya Fawda. Directed by Yousef Chahine and Khaled Youssef, 2007.
Joel Gordon. “Chahine, Chaos and Cinema: A Revolutionary Coda.” Bustan: The Middle East
Book Review, vol. 4, no. 2, 2013, pp. 99–112. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.1163/18785328-
13040201.
Marshall, Lee. “Chaos (Heya Fawda).” Screen, 11 Sept. 2007, http://www.screendaily.com/chaosheya-fawda/4034520.article.
Schochat, Ella. “Egypt: Cinema and Revolution.” Critical Arts 2 (1983): 22-32.
Staff Writer. “New Film Exposes Abuses by Police.” The Columbus Dispatch, The Columbus
Dispatch, 27 Jan. 2008, http://www.dispatch.com/story/news/2008/01/27/new-film-exposesabuses-by/23340236007/.

LION of the Desert

By Thais Garcia

Lion of the Desert” is an epic masterpiece that seamlessly weaves together historical
narrative, character dynamics, and stunning cinematography to create a captivating and
emotionally resonant cinematic experience. Directed by Moustapha Akkad, this film not only
delves into the struggle of the Libyan resistance against Italian colonization, but also excels in
portraying complex character relationships against the backdrop of the beautiful, vast, desert
landscapes.

At the heart of the film is the indomitable Omar Mukhtar, portrayed with gravitas by
Anthony Quinn. Mukhtar’s character is the linchpin around which the film revolves, and Quinn’s
performance brings to life the resilience, wisdom, and spirit of the leader that faced
insurmountable odds. The character dynamics are expertly crafted, paralleling Mukhtar’s
mentorship of young fighters alongside his bond with the fellow rebels. Mukhtar’s interactions
with his fellow rebels are enveloped in a sense of camaraderie/friendship which showcases the
ability of the human spirit to find hope in times of hopelessness. Oliver Reed also delivers a
chilling performance as the sadistic General Rodolfo Graziani. The relationship between
Mukhtar and Graziani is a study in contrasts, showcasing the clash of ideologies and different
forms of “masculinity”. Not only do the two clash on the battlefield, but also in the psychological duels that they initiate which explore the complexities of power.

The cinematography is also very striking in the film as it focuses on the vast Libyan
desert. I previously have compared this cinematography to the novel Blood Meridian or an
Evening of Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy. In the novel, nature becomes its own
character as it is unrelenting and consistently testing the resilience of the main characters. The
vast and unforgiving Libyan desert becomes a character in itself, its landscapes serving as both
a backdrop and a metaphor for the enormity of the struggle faced by Mukhtar and his
companions. The film captures the harsh beauty of the desert, using its ever-shifting sands and
vast horizons to mirror the flow of the resistance against the Italian invaders. The
cinematographer, Jack Hildyard, employs a mix of wide shots to emphasize the grandeur of the
landscapes and intimate close-ups to capture the raw emotions of the characters. The play of
light and shadow in the desert scenes adds a layer of visual poetry. The choice of location and
the seamless integration of practical effects further contribute to the film’s authenticity,
immersing the audience in the historical setting. The action sequences, choreographed with
precision and intensity. Showcase Hildyard’s ability to capture the chaos and brutality of war
without losing sight of individual struggles of the characters. The use of practical effects, such
as real explosions and practical stunts, adds a visceral quality to the film.

In conclusion, Lion of the Desert is a cinematic triumph that intertwines historical
storytelling, nuanced character relations, and breathtaking cinematography. Anthony Quinn’s
portrayal of Omar Mukhtar and the characters with which he interacts elevate the film beyond simply retelling history to creating a connection between the audience and the story. His
performance truly makes the film a timeless exploration of the human spirit in the face of
adversity.

Exploring the Depths of Humanity: A Review of “Cairo Station” by Youssef Chahine

By Antoniah Etienne

The film “Cairo Station” (1958) is a powerful critique of the human condition, set in the
bustling streets of Cairo, the capital of Egypt. It explores themes such as love, obsession and
social marginalization, as well as the complexities of human relations and urban life. “Cairo
Station” is primarily concerned with the social hierarchy and economic inequalities that exist in
Egyptian society. The film follows the story of a disabled newspaper vendor, Qinawi, who falls
in love with the beautiful soda vendor, Hannuma. Qinawi’s obsession with Hannuma is a
metaphor for the despair and loneliness of those who are considered undesirable or insignificant
in society.
The cinematography of “Cairo Station” is one of the most impressive aspects of the film. It
captures the atmosphere of the station and the chaotic streets of Cairo, with Chahine’s skillful
direction that immerses the viewer in the chaos of urban life. The film’s use of long shots and
close-ups creates an intimacy and tension that draws the viewer into the characters’ inner
turmoil. The film also offers a nuanced look at gender and sexual politics in Egyptian society.
Actress Hind Rostom plays Hannuma, a woman who challenges traditional gender norms by
asserting her autonomy and self-determination in a patriarchal society. Hannuman’s interactions with the protagonist, Qinawi, as well as other male characters, serve as a reminder of the difficulties that women face in meeting societal expectations while also asserting their autonomy.
While “Cairo Station” is undeniably a compelling and thought provoking film, there are a
few things that could have been better conveyed. One of the most glaring issues is how the
character of Qinawi (the disabled newspaper vendor in love with Hannuma) is portrayed. His
obsessive behavior serves as the film’s central theme, but some critics argue that this
one-dimensional portrayal of him reinforces negative stereotypes of disability and mental illness, detracting from his character’s complexity and detracting from the movie’s exploration of social marginalization. The subplot of Hannuma’s relationship with Abu Siri (her fiancé) is also underdeveloped and lacks depth. Hannuma and Abu Siri’s relationship is overshadowed by their central romance, leaving viewers with questions about what their relationship really means and how it fits into the larger narrative. A more in-depth exploration of Hannuma and Abu’s relationship could have added to her character’s depth and provided valuable insight into the dynamics of gender and power struggles within Egyptian society. “Cairo station” is an engaging and visually stunning movie, but its shortcomings prevent it from achieving its full potential as a thoughtful exploration of human relationships.
In conclusion, “Cairo Station” remains one of the most important Egyptian films of all time.
It’s a captivating tale of urban life and social marginalization. The film’s characterization of
some characters and sub-plots may not be as insightful as it could be, but the film’s overall
themes of love, lust, and social injustice strike a deep chord with viewers. Despite its
shortcomings, ‘Cairo Station’ stands as an example of how cinema can inspire thought and ignite dialogue about the complexities of the human experience. As we navigate through the
ever-changing world of modern life, the lessons we learn from “Cairo Station” remain a reminder of the constant struggle for dignity and a sense of belonging in a world full of difficulties.

My Home, In Libya

By Bryks Chiapco and Anna Guernsey

A captivating example of documentary filmmaking, My Home, In Libya paints an
emotionally charged portrait of the atmosphere in Tripoli through the eyes of Italian director
Martina Melilli and her friend and collaborator, a Libyan resident named Mahmoud. Released in
2018, the unique structure of the award-winning film arose, in large part, from several logistical
conflicts in Melilli’s planned narrative structure. A key expository element from the onset of the
film is Melilli’s primary goal: to better understand and reinforce her heritage and ties to the
historical Italian-Libyan sociocultural relations that her family had experienced. This reexamination of the past begins with her grandfather, Antonio Melilli. Representing one of the
many Italians expelled from Libya around a year following the success of Muammar alGaddafi’s coup in late 1969, his memories of life in Tripoli before this point present an
interesting contrast between his first-generation experiences and Martina’s own childhood,
which was spent entirely in Italy. Using a collection of maps and photographs regarding
Antonio’s earlier life and frequently visited locations in Tripoli, as well as interviews with him in
certain parts of the documentary, Martina initially uses these media sources as the sole means by which Libyan life is presented before Antonio’s departure.
As more information related to Libya’s multicultural background is revealed, it becomes
clearer that relying on photographs alone is not a sufficient means of exploring either Martina or Tripoli’s past and present. This prompts her to turn to a creative solution: contacting a resident of Tripoli to assist in documenting the city’s current state. Mahmoud, a mostly faceless individual who is instead presented to the viewer through his text conversations Martina, is nevertheless an incredibly compelling collaborator (and, over the course of the film’s runtime, a trusted friend).
The gradual deepening of rapport and friendship between the two also allows the film to explore the shared history of Italian and Libyan culture, often manifesting itself through Mahmoud’s admiration for Martina’s heritage and Martina’s reciprocal longing to return to Libya.
Inability to visit Libya due to militias throughout the country, and specifically in Tripoli,
led to difficulties in Melilli’s discovery of her grandparents lives before being relocated back into
Italy. Throughout the film, Melilli tries to define life in Tripoli in the 1970s through the stories
provided by her grandparents, while also providing insights of modern-day Libya through
Mahmoud’s videos and his experiences with militias, power outages, and deaths. Mahmoud
sends Martina videos of the streets surrounding where her grandparents lived in Tripoli, and she recounts the place they used to live as they look through the footage he sends to Martina.
Having presented the series of older photos of her grandparents during their time in
Tripoli, Martina’s choice to uncover the truth about life in Libya through the eyes of Mahmoud
is a powerful creative choice that allows the audience to vicariously experience these new
insights from Martina’s point of view. A notable example of this effect is observed when
Mahmoud explains to Martina how a ship of refugees that attempted to leave Libya sank; in this
case, he was also able to supply Martina with photos of the bodies that had washed up on the
shore. This detail is included to portray the circumstances of Libyans and how even leaving the
country has its difficulties regarding militias and governmental power. Additionally, Mahmoud
also expresses his desire to leave Libya to pursue a career in nuclear engineering, a process made near-impossible during the filming of the documentary. This motivation is a key factor in his continual efforts to send Martina media whenever possible, as he later states his desire for her to distribute his images, accounts, and their friendship to as wide a global audience as possible.
Later in the documentary, electrical power begins to be shut off in Tripoli and Martina is
unable to reach Mahmoud; he later mentions the lack of foreign press reporting on current events and the state of society in Tripoli. Many societal disruptions occurring in the Middle East are not reported on or discussed in other countries around the world, which intensifies and isolates preexisting power struggles in countries like Libya. Martina aims to inform the audience in her own direction of the condition of Tripoli under the control of militias.
Due to the crime, civil unrest, and violence in Tripoli in 2018, Martina noticed the
struggles of Libyans in Tripoli, but only because of the little information she was able to receive
from Mahmoud. Due to lack of foreign press broadcasting the conditions in Tripoli, Martina was
unaware of the power being cut off and the murders and war occurring throughout the city.
While the text conversation mentions the inconsistency of electricity being inconsistent
throughout the film, the dramatic culmination of this problem appears in what can be considered the film’s climax, as incoming messages from Mahmoud disappear suddenly and completely.
Based on the creative and technical choices made regarding the visual presentation of My
Home, In Libya, the primary function of presenting Martina and Mahmoud’s communications so
prominently is to balance the inherent geopolitical and cross-cultural content of the film with an unmistakably humanized relationship at the center of organizing and distributing these themes.
By contrasting her grandfather’s memories of Libya’s past with Mahmoud’s account of Libya’s
present, Martina succeeds in weaving together the universal themes of nostalgia and longing with the immediate geopolitical factors that tie Mahmoud’s life to her own, even an ocean away.

My Home, In Libya – Martina Melilli ★★★☆ ☆ 3/5

By Catelyn Chauncey

Following her own experience in human connection, Martina Melilli creates a
compelling narrative in her documentary, “My Home, In Libya.” The documentary is an
artistic dissertation that observes Melilli’s journey in reconnecting with her cultural
ethnicity. Through her striking visuals and cohesive narrative, Mellili brings viewers on a
journey of dissecting her Libyan heritage through her connection with a Libyan man she
meets online, Mahmoud.
The heart of Melillis’s documentary is the exploration of her cultural identity.
Melilli herself cannot visit Libya due to political unrest, so she speaks to Mahmoud
online, who currently lives in Libya. The movie is composed of 3 repeating scenes;
artistic shots of significant motifs, Mahmoud and Melilli’s text exchanges, and Melillis’s
conversations with her grandparents. This cycle composes Melillis’s story of cultural
reconnection. Mahmoud sends Melilli videos and photos of personally significant areas
of Libya and throughout these exchanges, they develop their friendship. At one point in
the film, Mellili and Mahmoud confess that they feel like the other is their only emotional
reprise. Mellili grapples with her own identity as a second-generation immigrant whose
life only exists in Italy because her Grandpa was forced to leave his birthplace.
Mahmoud’s experience with the declining political conditions in Libya essentially
mirrors her grandfather’s history in Libya. Melillis’s experience with cultural rediscovery
may be something that reflects many people’s experiences; often children of immigrants
and victims of political unrest will go through similar emotions. The documentary is very
strong in its portrayal of her experiences and the journey you are invited along to is very
compelling.
Melilli conveys this journey through the use of artistic cinematography and
visuals. Her composition of imagery brings you along for an intimate emotional narrative.
Melillis’s use of symbolism in her imagery captures the nuances of her emotional journey.
Scenes of the ocean appear repeatedly throughout the film. The ocean as a motif can
communicate many of the emotional themes seen throughout the documentary; hope,
discovery, fear, destruction, and limitation. Melillis fascination with the sea as a visual
changes its tone throughout the documentary, beginning as a symbol of her hope and
journey of discovery and morphing into an intimidating, endless expanse as Mahmoud’s
conditions worsen. The imagery of the sea both represents Melilli’s own emotions and the
physical divide between her and Libya. Melilli communicates all of these emotional
intricacies simply through the artistic nature of her film style. This all makes the
documentary a unique and captivating watch, as it all feels so incredibly intimate, while
also making the documentary visually compelling and aesthetic.
Melilli’s use of film as an artistic medium makes following her journey makes her
dissertation stand apart from other, more conventional, delivery methods. The film itself
creates a catalyst for self-reflection in the viewer; perhaps into their own cultural identity,
or merely the absorption of Melilli’s emotional journey. The entire film serves as a
meditation on how human connection builds our cultural identity.

Hiya Fawda: Justice Is Served?

By TAYLEY COTTON

Hiya Fawda is a melodramatic film that openly criticizes the corruption of the Egyptian law enforcement through the story of a preventable rape. Hatem is a pathetic, little man; he uses torture and other fear tactics to coerce people into submitting to him. His cowardice is satirical, and it slightly brightens the film’s dark themes. Unfortunately, this story does not have a happy ending; there is no justice for Nour. This blog post examines the concept of brutality through the satirical character Hatem, and how that demonstrates the corruption within the Egyptian government.

            The progression of Hatem exercising control over others throughout this film is nothing short of brutal. In his drive for power, the audience sees him commit heinous crimes. For instance, when Hatem is extremely angry, he tortures the prisoners just to feel a sense of control over himself. His methods for emotional regulation are inhumane. Later, it is revealed that these prisoners are being unlawfully detained. But the law enforcement officials protect each other, which reinforces the current corrupt system and allows for the continuation of mass police brutality in the streets. Eventually, the civilians realize they are much larger in numbers compared to the police force, which demonstrates the sheer psychological control that the police officials once held over the civilians. This in and of itself is brutal, as the systems that are put in place to protect people, instead, actively harm them.

Hatem’s brutality is also revealed when he abuses his power to kidnap and rape Nour. No one tries to stop him, because they know he will target them if they disobey his orders. Thinking he is not going to face repercussions for his unlawful actions, Hatem feels entitled to Nour’s body. As the next sinister events unfold, the audience is forced to see Nour’s helplessness. This part of the film is utterly gut-wrenching. Hatem’s crimes and the law enforcement’s unwillingness to hold one another accountable ultimately reflect a deep, systemic problem of the corruption of the government. While Nour’s rapist is dead, the same corrupt law enforcement is in power, and the corrupt system has not changed. There is no happy ending for Nour; her trauma is a brutal punishment for a crime she does not commit.

Hiya Fawda successfully demonstrates the corruption within the Egyptian government through Hatem’s brutality. While Hatem’s character is fictional and satirical, this film clearly portrays the government as an unjust power due to the law enforcement’s crimes of unchecked torture and rape and police brutality. Furthermore, Hatem’s character repeatedly demonstrates how the government deliberately endangers its innocent civilians without remorse, revealing that the government does not protect, but rather, it harms its own people. However, there is a sliver of hope for the people living under the Egyptian government. While the system itself may not change overnight immediately following Hatem’s demise, the people realize they are capable of demanding justice, as they are far greater in numbers. This sets the precedent for the people demanding change. It instills hope into and boosts the morale of those who dare to stand for what is just.

Works Cited

Hiya Fawda. Directed by Youssef Chahine, and Khaled Youssef, created by Nasser Abdel

Rahman. Misr International Films, 2007.