Life around me here in Beirut is full of stories that make good film material.
When I traveled to America for a couple of months, I thought I will be away from stories and able to transform them to written treatments, synopses, and proposals. And although that was the case most of the time, there is still one pressing story that happened there and haunts me here.
I am already involved in many film projects from producing to directing to co-producing, etc…
The question is; when does the filmmaker decide to stop seeing the stories around and finish the tales they started to tell? Or do they? I wonder.
Once more I come back to my space. Not because I have something specific to say.
Months have passed by, life happens fast these days.
Beirut has become a very busy city. I never imagined the city can take more people than before but today it has for real taken in hundreds of thousands of refugees. The streets are crammed with cars from Syria and the sidewalks are always busy around Hamra. If you ignore the faces and the looks, you’d think this is a very popular tourist destination. You’d think this is the pearl of the east or the Switzerland of the Orient. But it isn’t. “This. Is. Sparta!”
I have not succeeded in my quest to build a relationship with the city. I love my places here. Places that connect me to my passions really. Film, Coffee, Writing, People, Theater, Food…Video Chico, Cafe Younes, De Prague in the mornings, Gulbenkian in the evenings, and my mother’s kitchen whenever I am hungry.
But I don’t have a connection with the place, with Beirut. And, in a way, I like that.