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Youssef Chahine’s film Bab El Hadid (Cario Station): An Egyptian classic that makes for uneasy viewing

January 25th, 2010 | benjamin

The thing that impacts you most about Chahine’s Bab el Hadid (Cairo Station) is not the stark and passionate cinematography, nor is it the brutality at the heart of the film and its main character, disabled newspaper seller Qinawi, played by Chahine.

What is really disturbing is how Chahine winds Qinawi’s violent lust into everyday sexuality.
Qinawi spends his days at Cairo’s Central Station, selling newspapers, but most of all watching the women that surround him, whether passing through on journey’s, pose in stockings for newspaper advertisements, or, like him, making their living at the station. Qinawi is in particular Hanuma (Hind Rostom), the drink seller, who is already engaged for Farid Chawki (played by the actor of the same name), and who laughs off all of Qinawi’s ineffectual advances. As the summer heat bears down on Central Station, Qinawi’s infatuation boils over into a dangerous obsession.

I’ve never seen a more genuine, nor sobering portrayal of lust. We watch Qinawi as he watches erotic dramas unfold that he will never be included in, as he paws over newspapers freshly saturated with erotic Western imagery and pastes them on the wooden walls of his pathetic shack. We also watch him watching others, station workers lusting after and gently harrassing women as they pass.

What makes the film unique, for its heritage anyway, is the occasional attention Chahine gives to the women who are the object of his and others’ lust, women who live their lives constantly buffeted by the desires of men which reach out initially from the watching eye.

Chahine takes this everyday activity, watching, desiring, lusting, and shows how easily this spills over into violence. We not only see the women he desires, but we see the intensity of his longing growing until it completely consumes him and he is only a violent hunger barely contained by a thin membrane of skin and basic sociability.

But it is not just looking which is the problem, rather it is the lack of reciprocity, the looking without looking back. When Qinawi’s fantasy – of marrying Hanuma, building her a house by the sea, giving her children – is about to be punctured forever as she readies herself for marriage he decides to murder her. This fantasy is doomed to failure because it is impervious to the desires of Hanuma. It exists in spite of what she desires, not because of it. Its failure only feeds anger into Qinawi’s succession of lascivious fantasies.

This eventually drives him mad and in the film’s conclusion he is straightjacketed and sent to an asylum moments before he would succeed in marrying Hanuma. But what is really disturbing is that Chahine sets his madness on a continuum that begins with the desires of ordinary men. For what sets him apart from the other men gathered at this nexus of human interaction? The men around him are able, ocassionaly at least, to satisfy their desire. Qinawi, with his broken body, pride and masculinity can not. Otherwise they are not that far apart.

Qinawi’s violence began in his desiring eye. Chahine ventures that looking, an activity at central to the way men express desire – all men, not just sadistic lunatics – in fact commingles with violence and hatred and for this reason, Bab el Hadid makes for uneasy viewing.