An interview with Palestinian director Elia Suleiman about his new film »Yadon Ilaheyya« (Divine Intervention), his second feature film, which was shown at the Cannes Film Festival competition

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] You are now completing work on the film »Yadon Ilaheyya«, which you filmed in Israel - in a context that, to put it mildly, is more than ever one of terrible crisis. What do this project and the experiences you had while shooting of the film mean to you?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] Once the film is finished, I will understand better the full implications of the story we have filmed, especially in view of the historical moment and the events that form its context: Israel, the September 11 attacks, etc.. At the moment, I am still too much in shock as a result of the relationship between the film script and the events that occurred during the shooting, because you could say they are both set in the same location. It is as though we were seeing the fulfilment of what Paul Virilio predicted not so long ago with regard to war and film, and, what's more, in relation to the present-day phenomena of acceleration. With things as they are at present, I ask myself, for example, to what extent there can still be a form of artistic intervention that is able to escape the precipitateness of events, when I have experienced precisely the opposite with this film. So the pressing question is: is the situation I have just experienced determined merely by the present circumstances, or do I have to prepare for the radical impossibility of anticipating events, in view of the unprecedented acceleration affecting the history dealt with in my films. Everything is proceeding at a huge speed - a crescendo of phenomena of invasion and the realisation of globalisation processes -, making the inescapable question how we can find out where we go from here. That is what I am concerned with most at present.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] In »Yadon Ilaheyya« (Divine Intervention) you return to various locations from your earlier films. In what way was the situation during recent filming different from that of previous films?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] While filming »The Arab Dream« - which was much easier for reasons involving both the film project and the context - I was in Jerusalem. In other words, I was in a place that, artistically speaking, could only induce feelings of claustrophobia. Every form of aesthetic endeavour there quickly came up against restrictions, which was difficult to tolerate, especially at a time in which a new form of fascism was taking over. I had just filmed »Chronicle of a Disappearance« and was in an advanced state of mental exhaustion. Even now, I am not sure whether this state was the result of the feeling of emptiness you usually have after finishing shooting - after all, this film had taken a considerable effort to make - or whether it came from the context in which I was working back then. But one thing is sure: that I had to keep fending off interferences, at the same time real and in the imagination, that had a direct influence on this location, halfway between the directly imminent historical events (in their most tangible, concrete material reality), and the cosmic, or, shall we say, poetic considerations I had to take into account in order to make this film. I had reached such a degree of saturation that I began to write a text that later became an element in the film. What this text shows is the impossibility of any real thought in a sphere where that with which you are confronted no longer has anything to do with reflection, echo, or potential for transformation of any sort. In other words, here it is the abstract definition of what fascism is, and nothing but that.

In fact, this depression lasted even longer, and then one day it was over ... At least, I think so, because since than I've made a few more films! My »conclusion« was that, despite everything, a kind of hope remains; that different possibilities of reflection exist along with the possibility - however slim - that a change could take place.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] How is the present situation in this regard?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] That is another question I think about: How can you say you are anticipating events? How can you anticipate when we aren't even granted the chance to wait; when the enemy is in the process of »writing« the trauma, turning it into history; and when we don't even have the chance to record the direct effects of this? That is the question that ceaselessly »haunts« the story of the script for my last film. Incidentally, it would be possible to enlarge the scope of the problem by looking at it more globally. I really believe that we have reached a historical moment in which we are compelled to live under »regimes of a fascist democracy«, as I call it, or, to put it another way: under democratic fascism. Each individual still goes to the polls, and puts his/her vote in the ballot box in a completely democratic fashion. But the only purpose of all this is to confirm the authority of a regime that seems extremely undemocratic. People do vote, but without any discrimination, without allowing themselves to exercise their free will, and all this for the benefit of a ritual that permits mass murder, so-called »cleansing operations«, etc..

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] Some concrete examples?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] There is no lack of examples, unfortunately! Take the example of Israel, or that of the United States... Let us be clear about this: September 11 was the best thing that could happen for the American government. Thanks to this event, it now finally feels it has the authority to put on »Armageddon« again, but this time live. And, in principle, that is precisely what it has been working towards for a long time. As far as Sharon is concerned, it's a completely different matter: he is the model of a completely fascist specimen, a revanchist... I had to think of him today, especially under the aspect of his pitiless brutality: first of all the way he looks, of course, but then also his way of talking, which could come straight from a bad cartoon. I asked myself what bizarre species he could possibly belong to... Finally I had it: In reality, Sharon is a bat. But not just any old bat: one from a hybrid species, a sort of mutant, the result of unknown genetic manipulations carried out secretly in unimaginable laboratories. An emancipated bat, if you like. Incidentally, it has blown itself up so much that it is as fat as a cow. Yes, that's it: Sharon is a cow vampire that no longer needs to make an effort to keep its balance, and who manages the miracle of being able to compromise itself in public. In short, he is the reflection of what fascism has become today: there is no need to hide, or advance in disguise, no need to invent justifications for the atrocities that have already been committed, or to feel a sense of shame. Incidentally, the vampires of today are also able to suck blood around the clock, like the monstrous cow-bat in my fable. The only difference from a real bat is that this little animal has something almost charming about it, while in Sharon's case ... (laughter)

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] Don't you have a feeling of claustrophobia any more?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] Yes, I do, but ... after a while, the events that occurred while I was making the film started to overtake the story I had worked out for the screenplay. I had written it two years before these events; the centre of the story is set near a checkpoint. This checkpoint did in fact become the centre for the precautions that followed the event - precisely in the context in which I had planned to have the story in the film take place. What's more, in the film the situation reaches such a peak that it already borders on absurdity. And suddenly, something like this happens in reality! And in the meantime there is persistent silence on all sides accompanying the supposedly civilised reactions, which become more and more fixed.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] What do you mean by »supposedly civilised reactions«?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] I'm of course talking about Europe and the United States. The same goes for all the other countries that take it upon themselves to protect the security of the »civilised world« and to keep up the standards of modern society with a »human countenance«... Hence the tormenting question: »What are we actually talking about here?« It wasn't so long ago that there was a similar situation in Kosovo. You had the same feeling: How is it possible for there to be no one there trying to put an end to this blackmail? In comparison, even absurd theatre still trails a long way behind... For example, while I am talking with you here, Mr. Milosevic is being tried. Incidentally, who could imagine the same ever happening to Sharon? But let's forget that ... However that may be, you see that the sinister dramaturgy of all these events follows the same rules. We are asked to wait until the very last tortures have taken place, the very last murders and rapes, before the possibility of an intervention is considered. To keep up appearances, doubtless ... All of this suggests that there is now a true continuity that all »big powers« have resolved upon. But this continuity consists of considered silence instead of the concrete reactions you would actually expect in the face of so many tragedies. You would have to be really blind not to see that all this verges today on a sort of euphoria that is completely mad. Considering the events of September 11 and what preceded them, as well as all the ruthless phenomena globalisation has produced, I think it is high time to see all these happenings as what they really are: parts of one and the same puzzle, a puzzle that has led to the morbid mannerism, cowardice and cynicism that characterise all too many countries' attitude to this injustice and horror. So while we experience an exponential growth in these injustices and this flagrant horror - and I'm not just talking about Palestine, but equally about Africa, Latin America etc. - do we notice something? The countries that are profiting from this situation are not sending an alarm signal, something they should consider. Instead, we are seeing a cheerful silence, or at least an attempt at legitimation whose aim is to strengthen the continuation of this kind of attitude. It can also be said that it would be easy to become a prey to paranoia nowadays. How can you not be affected by a kind of terror when you see the chaos that is our historical situation? And how is it possible not to see that this is the backlash resulting from a negligence that no one wanted to know anything about? And there is not the slightest sign of any alleviation. In fact, at the moment it rather seems that the aggravating factors are on the increase ...

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] What does it mean to you to make films in this context and under these circumstances?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] In a certain regard, every film is a sign of a particular sort of hope: the hope for change or for the possibility of transformation. But I should like to add that each film also stands for a form of necessity, or even urgency. Now, in the context in which I made the film, the following thing happened to me: the questions raised by the script were given a terrible answer by the historical events. This could not have been predicted, and as a consequence of the directness of this shock, these questions were resolved, and resolved in such a way that the small amount of leeway the film still had - at the time when it was still only a project whose outline I was writing - was destroyed. When confronted with such a collision, you despair... It's like when I turn on the television these days and find myself shouting: »But what the devil can I ...« Potential reality, aesthetic and artistic expression find no response to the immediacy of the events, no way out, and remain fundamentally powerless. It seems to me as though no artistic production, even if it succeeds in reporting on the power of the explosion and on the upheaval, can change their course. You are then left with a vague cynicism: namely, admiration of the aesthetic quality you have achieved despite everything, and of the traces of this failure. And that is terrible, of course... The feeling that dominates after such an experience is despair, pure despair, but also rage. Every day that I spend working on the special effects in this film, I am in despair: I despair when I get in a plane to go to Germany, where some of the picture editing is being done; when I return I despair about where I am to find the energy in myself to be enthusiastic and to give my attention to the whole movement, the tempo of the film, etc.. And, of course, I hope that I am wrong. I hope that my statement contains a certain exaggeration. But I won't know whether the film has the capacity to ask the right questions until it is finished. That is the only room for hope that I have at the moment.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] What does the world of this film consist of?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] Your question allows two different levels of discussion. The first has to do with the things I have just mentioned, and the second is connected with a subjective point of view, that is, with my feeling as regards what the film might have achieved - which is, however, only a feeling... I am concerned with the fact that the presentation of history existing in Palestine and Israel today is opposed to any democratic reading. The pictures I make from one film to the next do not have any centre - they are, in a way, liberated from one. When I put them together I always make sure there is enough room and scope for various interpretations. When I was making »Yadon Ilaheyya« I was worried that the spirit of fascism that has been dominant in Israel for some time now would not leave the necessary freedom for a democratic reading in line with the project's intentions. Today, to answer your question, it seems to me that I have actually managed to achieve what I was trying to do. That is the first answer.

The second answer is that there is hope. And for the sake of this hope, I will keep making films as long as I have the energy, in order to fight Israel so that it finally provides the space in which a democratic development is allowed to come into its own, conceived in such a way that it serves the citizens of a secularised world. It is this hope that I would never like to see diminish. Every film that I have made up to now was a sort of critical attempt to combat the systematic distortion in the media, annihilate the machinery, and destroy the authorities to which are linked the constructions of the narrations and representations providing a basis for the dominant ideology: an ideology that does not reveal its name. The difference between one film and the next is the way this is done. »Argument«, my first film, was made shortly before the outbreak of the Gulf War. It contains a number of counterpoints to the conventional way in which Arabs are portrayed, in Hollywood, for instance. »Homage by Assassination«, the next film, resulted from my reaction to the consequences of this war. This was already a pretty sophisticated work focusing on the characteristic narrative structures of what is possible in film with regard to the strategies of the media and, above all, television. With »Chronicle of a Disappearance« there has been a sort of shift, an opening that was to allow »poetic considerations« of a sort, as I already mentioned. From this point on, I freed myself of certain forms of, let us say, »frontal« strategies of intervention. I allowed myself more freedom, more room to breathe, more life. After this, I made »The Arab Dream«, which was the direct consequence, partly at least, of my life after »Chronicle of a Disappearance«, my life as a Palestinian living in West Jerusalem. This film gives a very precise account of the impossibility that I was exposed to then of looking at any pictures at all in a nation like this one, in a situation that was a hard test for me. Then came »Cyber Palestine« - but that's another story. To come back to the film I have just made: it is undeniably the main event in my career with regard to the difficulties I face to this day as a film director, especially as far as the construction and methods of narration is concerned. All of this is connected to the way the historical events have »infiltrated« or, in a way, »answered« the film script, when the filming was meant to be based on it.

Two more short anecdotes on this subject: at a certain point during the filming (which began shortly before the Intifada), I was busy editing on the set, which was near one of the dozens of checkpoints there now are in Israel. All of a sudden, the Intifada began. An ambulance came rushing up in the middle of the film decor that resembled the one used for filming, right down to the last detail. Another time I was just filming a sequence in East Jerusalem, in which a prisoner was to be killed in a police car while a tourist is asking the way to the sacred part of the city. Suddenly, the shoot had to be stopped: a bus drove into the street, full of soldiers. It stopped in front of the actor I had hired for the role of the policeman, and they asked him the way, because they thought he was a real sentry. I used the opportunity, and asked the actor discreetly to fetch the man playing the role of the Palestinian prisoner, who was wearing the appropriate costume, and tell him to give them the information. They could hardly believe it (laughter). So: reality constantly interfered with the film and vice versa, always suddenly and always in an amazing way.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] With the subtle difference that you fictionalise the world with your work, while all around you ...

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] Of course ... But don't forget that, whatever reality you are trying to depict, you can never really bite into it! Reality is elusive; that isn't to be avoided. A very good example of this is the difference between a real checkpoint like those you see everywhere in Israel nowadays, and the one in film, which I want to be completely unmanned. You can of course argue further by asking »Why?« The most adequate answer I can give is that I am trying to describe violence using the emptiness and silence that really characterise it. As for the production process, I can barely say how I went about making this film: one script followed the other, overlying each other. In the course of my work, I realised that what I was doing was a sort of second »Chronicle...«: there is Nazareth, and there is Jerusalem. The only real effect that overlies this structure is the checkpoint, and a number of other structural similarities that can be picked up in the same way. In »Chronicle...« my father was physically present; here, he is depicted symbolically: the character of the director, played by me, recalls the loss of his father in such a way that you can't say if it derives from the script, a memory, or a flashback. My mother is also present in this film, but in the absence of my father. I did certain scenes in the same house, etc..

Stylistically and aesthetically there were references to documentary film in »Chronicle...«, and it played with the codes used in this sort of film, while in the new film things are presented more visibly and obviously, and in a more »acted« way. »Chronicle ...« mostly had to do with the reality as it was then, while the new film deals with the present time. In Nazareth, for instance, there is no longer the same historical reality of the ghetto as there was at the time I was making »Chronicle«: the continual nature of the repression imposed by Israel has resulted in a number of easily discoverable consequences, such as the radical prevention of any sort of economic growth. Or the fact that every cultural event at present is confronted by the phenomenon of being confined and suffocated; this goes for all Palestinians living in the region, without exception, and without them having any scope to move. This is the permanent policy of impermanence, a policy that Israel has always pursued; it is also the harshest in its effects and the most immaterial in its methods: it is also impossible to find individuals who, for money, for instance, could decide what is withheld from the Palestinians (with the exception of the cow-bat, who could easily imagine ordering all these people to be put on a bus, without a return ticket and without any sort of trial). In reality, it is something of a cumulative process that has been going on for a long time by means of a myriad of steps and in the long term establishes a reality that becomes more and more unbearable, even bordering on suffocation, so that people are forced into exile. The film is about this reality, which exists in Nazareth today, and this is what sets it apart from »Chronicle ...« to a certain extent. And in the last film there was a gentle touch, despite everything. Even my look, the way I interpreted my part, was like that of an observer, a voyeur or a sleepwalker, unfathomable: my eyes remained expressionless, and in this way mediatised the regard of the audience in the economy specific to the film. And all this in a way that dispenses with any subjective »investment«, so that the viewers have to make this investment themselves - without reimbursement of expenses, but also without prescription. When we looked at the rushes for the new film, I saw something very different, and, in a certain way, much more depressing in the way the character that I play comes across. It isn't as though I told myself consciously that I wanted to achieve this; I just noticed it when I looked at the shots and could see the difference, which was much greater than I knew or thought I knew.

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] When the last »chronicle« that you gave the public was one of »disappearance«, as the title says, what is the situation as regards the chronicle that is continued with other means in a context that, as you show, is not the same as it was back then?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] I think that what characterises the film beyond all the loss and disappearance is something that you could class as an imaginary intervention or »idea«, which is a way is much clearer. Here, it is enough to say that many resurrections occur, which are, you could say, fantasy victories of the director ...

[b]Christophe Wavelet:[/b] What can be seen in this case of the despair that you have already mentioned?

[b]Elia Suleiman:[/b] The despair affects the inner dialogue, so to speak, but it barely enters the poetic dimension that makes it possible for the film to be made at all. When I have finished the filming and editing and am on my own, this mixture of despair and anger overcomes me again, much more strongly than I can describe... That is also what I feel when I turn on the television these days - just like every Palestinian who lives outside this context and is a helpless witness to what is happening there today.

 

Translated by Tim Jones

 

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