Desert Drama

I presumed that someone had neglected to inform the producers of Ouyon Alia (Alia’s Eyes) that my skin is the colour of freshly poured milk. Evidently, my undeniably Arabic name had been enough to convince them that I would be perfect for a walk-on part as a Bedouin tribesman. But as this is an epic Ramadan TV series, the scenes are being filmed right up until the eve of the holy month; time to assess precise racial characteristics is not exactly in plentiful supply. Indeed, it was less than 48 hours after the initial contact between NOX and Arab Telemedia Productions (ATP) that I arrived on set. Ah, the whirlwind of showbiz.

The scenes in which I would be featured were being filmed in Wadi Rum, the spectacular desert valley in Jordan’s mountainous south, and getting there required a horribly early start. The NOX crew drove down to Aqaba the night before, negotiating the cornea-roasting nightmare of three-plus hours on the same roads as Jordanians who refuse to dip their headlights. Laying on the hotel bed, pondering how on earth I was going to pull off my role during the next day’s shooting, I was confronted by rings of yellow light every time my eyes closed. Not great preparation.

My wake-up call was set for 7am, and of course the hotel reception staff were annoyingly prompt. I slithered out of bed and down to breakfast, where the show’s production manager, Hazzaa, introduced us to the world of Ramadan TV.

The drive to the television set was better than the previous night’s, mainly because we could actually see where we were going. Hazzaa was obviously eager to get us there and drove considerably faster than his rental Mitsubishi was, at this point in its battered life, meant to go. But I was still able to take in the breathtaking views etched across the skyline. In fact, staring out of the window of a front-wheel drive sedan, clearly inadequate for both our speeds and the terrain, the job of filming was the last thing on my mind.

That changed instantly, however, as we came out of a bend and were met by a pitched tent and two large trailers. Looking at the crew hovering around the two trailers, evidently wardrobe and make-up, I began to panic about what the hell they were going to think when they saw me donning my costume. Some genuine Bedouins were curiously eyeing all three of us, and I wondered if they might take offence to my interpretation of Joe Bedouin.

After a couple of minutes of aimlessly following Hazzaa around the trailers, he led us into wardrobe and introduced us to two of their make-up artists, who were both Iranian. We gestured to one another, shook hands and exchanged broken “marhabas”, the likes of which I hadn’t heard since Classical Arabic language classes at my English university. We were then introduced to one of the drama’s lead actors, who had come to get his beard done and his skin darkened.? When Hazzaa told the actor, beard half applied, that I was going to be actively joining them on set, he gave a rather curious smile followed by a very genuine laugh and immediately after announced that it would be great… At this point I can’t pretend I quite shared his enthusiasm.

My colleagues had now left the trailer and were being led to the set while I was about to get all donned up in traditional Bedouin garb. The wardrobe technician seemed to be blind to the fact that I was incontrovertibly un-Bedouin-like, and enthusiastically kitted me out in an outfit worn by sheikhs, “abayya” and all. I’m not sure if he was simply unconcerned about my health or if this was actually what I would wear had I been a Bedouin 100 years ago, but several layers of clothing and desert heat don’t, I can tell you, mix well.

Just as I left wardrobe another actor passed me by. She was blackened with make-up that looked more like Kiwi shoe polish than skin darkened by a lifetime under the desert sun. It at least convinced me that they have something that would cover my pasty complexion. So I sat down in the make-up chair waiting to be transformed into an early 20th century desert dwelling nomad. As I watched my complexion change and a rather dashing scar added to my left cheek, I couldn’t help getting a little caught up in the anticipation of appearing on camera for a television drama. I was beginning to realise this was actually a pretty big deal.

Emerging from make-up and stepping into a car that took me to the set, the grins and smiles that greeted me were at this point open to interpretation. My driver was a local Bedouin – whose knowledge of the area and no frills four-wheel drive pick-up was proving indispensable to the crew – gave me the thumbs up and said I looked great. At least, that’s the sentiment I assumed had accompanied the thumbs up; this city-dweller didn’t actually understand a word he said.

As we drove, or rather bounced, towards the set, I had another chance to take in the sites, only this time my traditional outfit, make-up and hata-wa-agaal gave me a sense of what it was like to actually belong here. I just wanted to get out and wander around for while. Unfortunately, by the time we reached the set I was so rattled I just wanted to keep my breakfast down.

I approached the tent in which the crew were filming and introduced myself to the director, Hassan Abu Sha’aira and the actors, including emerging Jordanian talent Yasser Masri. Still dressed like a tourist attraction, I sat down to watch a scene or two unfold and do my best to figure out what exactly I’d be doing in my scenes. The director was clearly busy so I had my eyes peeled for any extras in the hope that I’d get an idea of what it is an extra does on a Ramadan TV series. No such luck. The scenes where tight shots with dialogue between only the main characters, and absolutely nothing else going on. It looked like I was just going to have to wing it. The director turned to me and asked if I was ready. I wasn’t, but I lied. He then followed with: “Do you ride horses?”, and the word “yes” came out before I could even consider what it was they wanted me to do.

I was relieved to find out it involved nothing more than riding a horse at only a brisk pace behind the tent in which the scenes were being filmed. The back of the tent was lowered so all the extras – made up of 30 or so gypsies dressed as Bedouins – and I would be clearly visible in the shots, giving the scenes a more authentic feel, and the look of a real Bedouin camp. As I sat on my horse, my faux leather boot-clad feet burning on the stirrups, I asked its owner what it was called. “Ra’ed,” he replied. It amused him to no end when I went on to tell him my brother was also called Ra’ed. It must have been a good omen though, because Ra’ed was a true professional; skirting across the sand back and forth he got a pat at the end of it all for making me look good.

After my scenes – all too brief, actually – I was applauded for doing a great job and was instantly offered the part of TE Lawrence (of Arabia) in another one of ATP’s productions currently being filmed across a couple of hills in Wadi Rum. In hindsight, maybe I did do okay, but at the time my thought was that I was about to make a very big fool of myself. And it was at that point that I made a conscious decision to just do my best – and more importantly, have fun. So that’s what I did. It’s a great thing to let your insecurities and inhibitions go, and that’s probably why many actors are rather inept when it comes to actually functioning in the real world. They’re so caught up in their celluloid lives on screen that they don’t know how to let loose off screen.

There wasn’t much going on between scenes. In fact, the scenes took so long to orchestrate that whenever an extra missed their cue or spoke off camera during filming, the whole scene had to be re-shot, which meant more time and money wasted. It got so tense that crew members would end up screaming profanities at anyone who ruined a scene, whether by accident or sheer carelessness. And that was without the less manageable aspect of the weather; several sand storms closed down the set, at least twice, until they had passed. 
I even saw the main actors leaning over their lunches so as not to get a mouthful of sand with their Popeye’s. That was quite a sight in itself: several gritty, armed Bedouins protecting their three-piece combo meal in the middle of Wadi Rum. Classic Bedouin drama at its best.

Just as the sun began to set, and with all my scenes completed, the photographer was eagerly taking advantage of the “golden hour”, clicking away at extras, actors and crew alike. But then Hazzaa received a phone call that immediately altered the mood: there had been a fire at the base of another one of ATP’s productions, Auda Abu Tayeh, and two of the four trailers had been utterly destroyed – taking with them the entire wardrobe being used in the series. At least no one had been seriously injured, but the loss of the costumes meant that the production would most likely have to be shut down. Remembering the fact that we were journalists first and TV actors second, we followed Hazzaa as he went to check the damage.

When we reached the set, less than a ten-minute drive from the previous one, the fire trucks were just leaving. Two trailers were left in utter ruins, twisted and contorted by what must have been immense heat. A number of the cast and crew were also in tears. Bedouins with belts of ammunition hugging and comforting each other was another surreal image for me to take away. The cause of the fire had been an electrical fault with the wiring, and the wind blowing through the canyon quickly escalated the blaze, incinerating the contents of the trailers before anyone had time to call for help. We suddenly felt like outsiders who had intruded on a family funeral, and we soon retreated. This was two months of hard work that had gone up in flames.

I had changed out of my costume just prior to visiting the burnt trailers, so when I returned the crew and actors with whom I’d filmed were shocked to see me out of character and in “civvies”. At that point, the director personally commended me on my acting. Not that I’d done anything more than ride a horse back and forth without making a cock-up of it. But it did fuel something inside me, encouraging me to try my hand at acting again should the opportunity arise.

So this Ramadan, when you’re nursing your full stomachs in front of the television with the family post iftar, keep your eyes out for a rather tall, scarred, and suspiciously pale looking Bedouin on your TV sets. You might just be seeing more of him next Ramadan.

For the full version of this article, see NOX 25