Lebanese filmmaker Eliane Raheb on the war in Lebanon and Gaza, how nearly half filmmakers in Arab world are women, why documentaries remain a poor cousin of fiction films, and more
In the middle of the monsoon in Mumbai last year, award-winning Lebanese filmmaker Eliane Raheb was faced with a dilemma. Her new film, Miguel’s War, had just been selected for screening by the city’s KASHISH Pride Film Festival. Raheb had to make a difficult choice: either present the film herself or send the actor who played the titular character. In the end, Raheb decided to send Michel Jleilaty, who plays a gay man growing up during the civil war in Lebanon in the film, which had a successful premiere at the Berlin film festival three months before. Raheb’s films were not new to Mumbai. The Beirut-born director’s sophomore documentary, Suicide, on the Arab society’s response to America’s war in Iraq, had won an award at the Mumbai Film Festival in 2003.
Known for her powerful documentaries on the social and political tensions in the conflict-ridden Middle East like This is Lebanon (2008) about sectarian violence and the hugely acclaimed Sleepless Nights (2012) on the roots of violence in Lebanese society. In a wide-ranging interview conducted at the just-concluded El Gouna Film Festival in Egypt, where she headed the jury for the documentary awards, Raheb talks about her love for India, the current war in Lebanon and Gaza, the role of the female filmmaker in Arab society and why women directors are making more hard-hitting documentaries in the region. Excerpts from the interview:
Suicide, one of your early documentaries, was screened at the Mumbai Film Festival in 2003 and won an award. Were you present with your film?
No, I didn’t come. Suicide was invited and won an award. Growing up, I watched a lot of Indian movies. It was fun. There was a lot of singing and dancing and it was entertaining. I have always wanted to go to India. Another of my movies, Miguel’s War, too was screened in an Indian festival, the KASHISH Pride Film Festival in Mumbai, last year. Again, I couldn’t go. But the lead actor, Michel Jleilaty, attended the festival. The festival gave us the choice. They wanted to invite either me or Jleilaty. I told him to go because it was a gay festival and he was more happy to see how the film resonates with queers in India. He told me later it was an exciting experience for him. He said there was a lot of drama, emotions and outfits.
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What is Suicide about?
Suicide is a small film about the war in Iraq. When the United States invaded Iraq in 2003, there were many people in Lebanon, my friends and others, who were really keen to see what was happening in Iraq. They watched the images of war on television. One of my friends killed himself because of the violence he saw. I called the film Suicide because my friend killed himself and also because the act of invading Iraq itself was suicide.
Those Who Remain (2016) by Eliane Raheb explores the politics of land
How did your journey as a documentary filmmaker begin?
I studied filmmaking in Beirut. I was born and raised in Beirut, but my grandfather had a cinema in the Bekaa Valley in Eastern Lebanon, in a town called Zahle. The cinema used to screen a lot of Indian films back in the ’70s and ’80s. Subconsciously, the interest in movies started from my grandfather’s cinema where I spent a lot of time growing up. My first full-length film was the documentary, So Near Yet So Far, in 2002 about the situation in the region making the dreams of children impossible. The documentary came merely out of practice. It was out of instinct.
How are you responding as an artist to the war in Lebanon and Gaza?
It is a genocide by a monster that doesn’t care, doesn’t have any humanity. It lies all the time to give pretexts for bombing and destroying us. My problem now is not with this monster because we know it is a monster. My problem is with the world watching the genocide and allowing it to happen. It reminds me of the times of the Nazis in Germany. Now I can understand how the Nazis were able to do what they did. Because some people knew and didn’t do anything to stop it. Of course, there was the Second World War, but I am talking about the rise of such a monster. Every day, we hear part of my country being erased, destroyed. Nobody is doing anything to stop it. It is very sad.
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I am not in a hurry to make films. All my films are against fascism. I don’t wait for an incident to start reflecting. The people tell me their stories and most of the time I am talking about justice through stories. Now I have to see what will happen. I don’t like doing films that follow the war. I am not in that state of mind. I am waiting to process everything so that I can tell our stories, because I believe this is also a war of narratives — who succeeds in telling the stories and convincing people where justice truly lies, supporting those who are actual victims, not those who only pretend to be.
Your film Those Who Remain examines the politics of land.
The people who stay on their land are the real people for me. These are the people who resist in their everyday lives. I wanted to pay a tribute to a farmer I met in the mountains of Lebanon who was building his house and working with his hands. At that time, ISIS was active in the region and it was an act of defiance. And also a very big statement of political resistance. I am now hearing about many people who remain on their land in South Lebanon, under the mountains. Two days ago, they were bombed while picking olives. It is the season of olives.
I’m sure there are many stories like that of the farmer in Those Who Remain. The current war is not only against people but against diversity and biodiversity, because Israel, as a monoculture, resists diversity nearby. Israel wants to portray us as though we are all the same — as if we are all Muslims or all terrorists. But we are incredibly varied, with a beautiful landscape that is, in a way, a threat to them. The Israeli army is engaging in ecocide, destroying the environment. In southern Lebanon, they are destroying the land with phosphorus bombs. This is also a war on the land itself.
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How do you view the increasing role of female filmmakers in Arab cinema in telling stories of the region?
There are many women filmmakers in Lebanon today. The challenges they face are not primarily gender-based but stem from the country’s lack of support for cinema. Funding for films remains difficult, as there is no national film fund and limited access to Arab funds. Making a film — whether documentary or fiction — feels like a constant struggle. However, more and more women filmmakers are gaining recognition in Arab cinema, bringing fresh perspectives to the screen. Thirty years ago, female filmmakers were rare, but today, nearly half of the filmmakers in the Arab world are women, even in more conservative countries.
The documentary genre has shown a return in world cinema today, especially in the Middle East region.
Filmmakers are responding to the state of the world and sharing people’s stories. It is not easy for documentary filmmakers, and we must pay tribute to them for their hard work. Documentary filmmaking is a genre that has grown significantly over time, yet it remains the poor cousin of fiction films when it comes to distribution.
