It is an intriguing film because of its original position in the field of Flemish film production. This is not some attempt at a standard technical finish that’s devoid of aesthetic politics. It is a clearly defined boundary, an emphatic style within which the entire film must develop. This is an unusual (almost suicidal) road for a young (Flemish) filmmaker. His colleagues are out to make attractive films that people will consider solid and professionally made. Films that are able to attract official subsidies, but only lead the public to believe that “we” might one day be able to make one too. 

“It’s a sort of acrobatic distance, here in Hedda Gabler, that makes you hold your breath in suspense (the acting is wonderful!) until it should be released by laughter. There’s a spluttering retelling of a wildly unlikely story, a kooky imitation of melodramatic conflicts, a travesty of critical unriddling, offering this extremely slow, calm countercurrent full of rapids and waterfalls.”

Met Le chantier des gosses (1970) verwezenlijkte autodidact Jean Harlez (1924) zijn grote droom om een langspeelfilm te maken in de Brusselse Marollenwijk. Met kinderen uit de buurt en een zelfgebouwde camera improviseerde Harlez er het verhaal van een stel straatjongens die hun stuk braakliggend speelterrein verdedigen tegen de landmeters en ondernemers die er een sociale woontoren komen neerpoten. Hoe deze “eerste Belgische neorealistische film” tot stand kwam en uiteindelijk ontvangen werd, leest als een even spectaculaire als schrijnende strijd. 

Het is voor mij niet eenvoudig om me de lange geschiedenis van Le chantier des gosses voor de geest te halen. Ze vloeit dikwijls over in de mijne, de onze, aangezien ik de vrouw ben van Jean Harlez. In 1956 vatte Jean het plan op om met eigen middelen een langspeelfictiefilm te draaien in een volkswijk. Hij wou gebruik maken van de (omgeving van de) Marollen als decor en de wijkbewoners als acteurs om het verhaal te vertellen van een groep kinderen die een braakliggend terrein uitkiezen als ontmoetings- en speelplaats.

“But I’m going to reveal a military secret to you that I haven’t revealed to anyone else, because the Tricontinental is as dear to you as it is to me. Thus, your interview will not be like others. People wonder why Heiny Srour has always been a pioneer, a groundbreaker, both in substance and form, why she has always gone off the beaten track. Why, in all of Arab cinema, was she the first to shoot in Dhofar and, also, to go to Vietnam? Why has she been innovative in various domains? The reason is that I was fortunate enough to be born in Lebanon, part of an ultra-minority, unrepresented in Parliament. That immediately offers you a wide-angle view of the world, which the Anglo-Saxons call ‘strategic thinking’.”

All this to explain why I have compulsively found myself making films that are so much more difficult to make than those of my male colleagues.

Yet, Leila is not an anthropological journey but a survey of mythic and symbolic protest. Through her “eye” comes a search for political character in a Lebanon now permanently stained by the massacre of Sabra and Chatila; caught in the throes of bitter civil war; Israel’s “backyard”. Leila prods these moments of loss and discovers ghosts of a very different life before the wolves.

Woman, Arab and... filmmaker. A viable situation? If so, some questions: Is there even one Arab filmmaker who has provoked an explosion of scorn for asserting in front of Marxist militants – don’t laugh – his desire to become a filmmaker? Is there even one Arab filmmaker who was forced to hide from his family that he wanted to make films? Is there even one Arab filmmaker who was called mad by X number of producers for having dared to propose to go and film a guerrilla war? Is there even one Arab filmmaker who has been told from the cradle that he fundamentally wasn’t a “creative” being? To inspire the works of others, fair enough! To write novels dealing with “feminine” subjects is allowed, but barely so (and reluctantly, by the way). But to take the camera in order to talk about human dignity (especially when insisting on women’s liberation), about national dignity? Oh, no, lady! That’s men’s business.

A year later, when the Germans had lost the war and the concentration camps were liberated, the Allies photographed and filmed the camps, the survivors, and the traces that pointed to the millions murdered. It was above all the images of piles of shoes, glasses, false teeth, the mountains of shorn hair that have made such a profound impression. Perhaps we need images, so that something that is hardly imaginable can register: photographic images as the impressions of the actual at a distance.