No one depicts the absurdity of daily life in occupation like Palestinian filmmaker Elia Suleiman

Films which dare to depict the prickly terrain of ongoing conflicts in the Middle East? A dime a dozen, no doubt. There are nevertheless quite a number of insightful entries on the matter(s): titles such as Persepolis, Restrepo, Syriana, The Hurt Locker, and Paradise Now among them. But none of these comment on the absurdity of daily life in occupation with an approach that’s at once burlesque, poetic, sobering, scary, and even funny. Thank heavens we’ve got Palestinian filmmaker Elia Suleiman to fill that gap.

The award-winning artist, whose “Palestinian film trilogy” slyly discredits politicians and their endlessly empty rhetoric, is in Montreal this week to present two of those groundbreaking features at the DHC/ART Foundation, as part of the non-profit organization’s ongoing exhibit, Chronicles of a Disappearance (read our glowing review of the exhibit here). His feature debut Chronicle of a Disappearance (1996) and his latest, The Time That Remains (2009), play respectively tomorrow and tonight at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.

Speaking with a passionate and sprightly Suleiman on the line from Paris, the man shares his desire to make films that address the realities of the West Bank, the Gaza Strip, and life in exile, without resorting to all the clichéd character depictions and simplistic Arab/Israeli dichotomies which most filmmakers shaken by the conflict seem to fall into. Instead, Suleiman’s stylized, semi-autobiographical films dig into the margins of everyday life and focus on a few impressionistic moments (or "tableaux") to convey his feelings of resignation, frustration, and even hope. NIGHTLIFE.CA spoke with Suleiman about his contempt for popcorn pictures, the promise of a new generation, and making films to protest against “the motherfuckers who destroy the world.” His words, we swear.  
 
 

One of your films, Chronicle of a Disappearance, shares its name with DHC/ART’s ongoing exhibit. But the parallels run deeper than that; the varied themes covered in the exhibit seem to tie into what you’ve portrayed on screen in your three features.
I agree. Every time this happens, and I’m not saying it happens all the time, but every time crisscrossing happens between what I aspire to do or did and contemporary art, it’s always encouraging. It reconfirms to me that I’m not solely confined to the arena of narratives, which can be very limiting.

Portrait of Elia Suleiman

You refuse to tell linear stories, and I get the distinct impression that narrative filmmaking bores you to the umpth degree. Am I mistaken?
Well, it not only bores me, it threatens my very existence. Especially in the very regressive state of the world we currently live in. When you start to tell linear stories, you can’t escape becoming a consumer of a product simply for moneymaking. In my opinion, there’s an absolute direct link between relying on a beginning/middle/end, and identifying with a certain character who solves all the world’s problems on screen… The examples are infinite. When you contain a film in a linear narrative, of course you are limiting a freedom of thought. That is exactly what I don’t want, because as filmmakers we want the participation of the spectator in the film, instead of having him/her lean back and simply watch a popcorn product.

Can these popcorn movies, as you describe them, have some sort of artistic merit, in your opinion?
Absolutely. Within the system, there are good craftsmen, for sure. There’s no denial. But I think the departure point to create a film or work of art that matters is to create poetic territories, and to take risks with that. I’m not denying the good quality of the commercial world, but I once said: There is the Bordeaux, which is in a way a convention, and has a kind of linearity. But great Bordeaux are absolutely great. No denying. But if you take a Bourgogne, well there’s quite a great margin from mediocrity to greatness. Just like bad experimental films can be awful, when the experiment is at its best, it is an absolutely unique bottle of wine. But I’m only taking about wine, of course. (laughs)

Still from Suleiman's The Time That Remains

When you released the tragicomic drama Chronicle of a Disappearance in 1996, you were one of the few artists interested in depicting the occupation from a more poetic standpoint. Over the past few years, I feel like we’ve seen a number of younger filmmakers broaden the range of perspectives on the conflict. Would you agree?
Yes. If we’re talking about a broader perspective or an alternative way of seeing, what I’m seeing more of now, as opposed to when I came out with my first film, when people either “fatwa’ed” or “taboo’ed” me in a couple of festivals for being a collaborator – for making, you know, a film about the Palestinians which has humour, which to them was an immoral border.

Today, there is an attempt by the younger generation to deviate from a linear narrative. This generation in their late twenties and early thirties is more exposed to cinema, they know more about it, they have references, and they’re trying to tell the story of their everyday life in a different way. And I think it might not actually be because we’re living in a better world, but rather that we’re living in a worse world, that it’s igniting these imaginations, as a way to face and deal with the mess we’re in.

Would it be fair to describe your body of work as a cinema of resistance?
Absolutely. When I make my films, I don’t feel as though I have to get up and take a sword and fight the enemy. I think that when someone makes a film, there is hope in the act itself, and by the cinematographic language that you use… That already is the protest. And the more hope, the more protest… and the more menacing we are to those motherfuckers who destroy the world. Sorry for the bad language there. I think it just fit in this case, because it’s nauseating, really, the way the world is being bought and sold over and over again. We need films to help people reflect on it all.

The Time That Remains plays tonight at 7 p.m. in the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts’ Maxwell Cummings Auditorium.
Chronicle of a Disappearance plays tomorrow, Wednesday February 8, at 7 p.m. in the same space, followed by a Q&A with Elia Suleiman
1379 Sherbrooke Street West | Free entry | dhc-art.org