★★★½: Supermarket by Mohamed Khan

 

Sadat’s dismantlement of the socialist economy in the 70s is now known as “الانفتاح", an Arabic term which roughly translates to “opening up”. But as Mohamed Khan’s Supermarket shows us, all that was opened were the gates to millionaires’ Al-Haram apartments, with French floorboards paved in corruption and Californian oranges dripping with immorality. Meanwhile, society’s “cultured” class, the classical pianist and the ballerina, are relegated to scraping by as a bellydancer and a bar entertainer. 

While this film might appear lighthearted in nature, as most commercially successful Egyptian films do (and don’t get me wrong, it does so with brilliant finesse: Aida Riyadh’s quirky mid-conversation pirouettes and Mahmoud Abdelalim’s uncharacteristic fascination with Beethoven convey the essence of working-class life with immense charm), there is much to be unpacked. 

What Khan does best is that he manages to convey message without resorting to direct dialogue, and while this is most prevalent in the final scenes, little moments are sprinkled throughout the film. By the pool, Dr. Azmy boasts about his Californian oranges while failing to mention that it’s the vodka which truly makes the juice so special. He is constantly emphasizing how hard work leads to success, but when Ramzy attempts to teach him piano through the “scientific method”, he gives up and goes for a drink instead. Towards the end, Ramzy passes by a woman driving in a Burqa and is comically startled, showing us that the perpetrators of the late 70s’ Islamic “revival” are only a lane away from the common man. After Ramzy loses the money he wasn’t even aware he had, he asks the little boy who robbed him, “There are 15 million people in Cairo, and you had to rob me?”. What goes unsaid is that yes, he did have to rob Ramzy, because in Cairo, those most deserving of robbery are not the type of men you can steal from.

The only criticisms I hold are not exactly avoidable flaws, but rather symptoms of the film’s time and budget. I wish the lighting and sound design was better, because combined with the admirable score, cadre, and plot, this film could’ve been elevated to a much higher standing. I felt like the middle segment focused on Nagla Fathy’s family was too long-drawn and repetitive, but according to my mother, that’s because the media I digest is faster-paced than anything that could’ve been made in 1990s Egypt.

It must be noted that the final scene is a hallmark of Egyptian filmmaking. Amira’s broken heel forces her to limp beneath the weight of her broken morality as she joins Dr. Azmy in an elevator shrouded in filthy cigar smoke, all while Ramzy watches their crooked ascent from the stairwell, his face shattered in equal parts disbelief and heartbreak. The film ends with the sound of his hysterical laugh as a passerby tosses him a sha3bi cassette to replace his classical one; no matter how hard the working class might try, we cannot climb the rungs of the social ladder without stepping on those beneath us, or discarding our dignity to lighten the load.


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