Mahmoud Kaabour talks films

"Place your dictaphone close to the wall to get better sound quality," says Mahmoud Kaabour after I introduce myself.

The alfresco area of the coffee shop is filled with an overpowering concoction of lively banter and aromatic brews, all mingling with the coruscating rays of the morning sun.

An ideal setting for a relaxed conversation; unfortunately, not ideal for a recording. The instrument will pick up every syllable of excited confab from the nearby tables, including lingering laughter and toddlers' shrieks. Perhaps I didn't look convinced at the documentary filmmaker's advice. But who am I to argue? Unplanned and unscripted settings like these are his everyday workspaces.

Kaabour adjusts his black framed glasses, settles himself into his chair and tells me he'd rather fight shy of personal topics. "I'm not comfortable talking about my personal life - not because I'm secretive, but because I think my work is a lot more worthy of people's time. I'm sociable and throw dinner parties. However, I don't think my party photos have to be carried in magazines."

Nonplussed at his verbal posturing, I wait for him to continue. "When an artist creates a body of work that is of high significance, people should concern themselves with that work, that legacy. One should not delve to find out how he lives his daily mundane moments or what he has for breakfast,"

To demonstrate his viewpoint he speaks of the documentary film I Am Cuba (1964) by Mikhail Kalatozov, the opening film at last month's Mahmovies!, a free public film series at The Jam Jar that he curates. (The theme Black & White Glory highlighted historic achievements in black and white cinematography)

"I don't know what Mikhail's quirks were, and frankly, I'm not interested. For me, he is a person with a sharp eye and strong communal abilities. He was invited to Cuba for three years to make a film that could engage the entire population of the island," he says.

Kaabour, the managing director of Veritas Films in Dubai, has always vocalised his opinions, whether they held him in good stead or not. An example is the way he reacted to the flagrant suggestion of adopting a nickname because his employer felt that his name may elicit unfavourable reactions among clients. Kaabour refused, and quit the video library where he held a part-time job eight years ago.

After all, a name is more than an entry in a passport. It is inextricably linked to one's identity, and if besmirched, can cause distress. Kaabour's refusal to truckle to his employer's offensive request validates this familiar premise.

This premise premiated Jhumpa Lahiri with the Pulitzer Prize for her book The Namesake which charts the journey of one man whose name didn't quite synergise with his cultural, social and individual identity. In Kaabour's case, the obverse is true. He takes fierce pride in his patronymic name - the name of his late grandfather, who was a renowned Lebanese violinist.

Ironically, on the evening he quit, he saw a news brief on TV where the name Osama was repeated several times. It got him thinking: how difficult it must be for those who have that same name.

His angst led him to find such people and make a documentary titled Being Osama - commissioned by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation - that won four international awards and was aired on 12 international channels.

As our conversation segues into his associations with film, a subject he has been passionate about since he was a boy, his tone becomes remarkably audacious. He was seven when he acted in his maternal uncle Nasser's film school project.

"As a film student, my uncle would write scripts and make films after school. I was charmed by the idea that someone could make films for homework instead of trying to ace a paper," says Kaabour, who fulfilled his dream and attended film school where he made his first film, Andante Amarevole (Italian for Slowly With Sadness), a tribute to his grandfather.

The "eulogy" shows Kaabour struggling to play the violin like his grandfather did, but he fails due to social and cultural norms. At one point, he gives up and places the instrument on his grandfather's grave, only to pick it up in the next frame.

"The film won awards at a university-level festival. It shows the impact my grandfather has had on our family," he says.

I notice how his rejection of my earlier attempts to prise out his personal life has thawed. He says he is currently making a documentary film Teta, Alf Marra (Arabic for Grandma a 1,000 Times) on his 83-year-old grandmother along with other commercial projects.

"I want to tell her story and convey my grandfather's influence on our lives. She is the embodiment of an era past, and the last surviving member in an old part of town in Lebanon. She cooks a recipe that takes a day and a half; nobody does that anymore. On a recent visit I saw her taking her white linen from the clothesline - the whites dancing in the air, and so I set up my camera. It was a beautiful moment. As a filmmaker I am trained to seize the best of reality," he says.

Reality is what drew Kaabour to documentary filmmaking. "Being able to tell a profound human story is the most magical thing about this art. A good documentary brings you as close as possible to a person, not a theme. There isn't a theme that hasn't been done before. Filmmakers and writers will always write yet another love story. But the more human the story, the more likely it is to appeal to everyone," he says.

I, ME, MYSELF

Interest in filmmaking in the region is rising. We have big film festivals and events, but we have yet to establish a system for film funds, bursaries and grants. My frustration stems from the lack of film-commissioning bodies in this region.

I also made films in sign language on two of the winners who have impaired hearing and speech. It seemed humane and sensitive to make a film in their language.

I believe very few books lend themselves to a film script. No Country for Old Men by American author Cormac McCarthy is an example of how one can. The same can be said for the titles by American author Paul Auster. Do you know why? Because these books are based on action. A movie script is based on action - what people are doing, not what they are feeling. It is the actor who brings those aspects to life.

Crime and Punishment by Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky is an example of a book that should have been left to the imagination of the reader rather than allowed to be illustrated by a filmmaker. Dostoyevsky used several pages to describe one particular setting, and in the movie, it was condensed into one shot. Let's just say I won't be the next filmmaker looking for a book for my script.

Freedom of information - music or movies - is being inhibited by copyright laws. I agree that there should be regulation, but to a certain extent. I don't think all great ideas should be placed in a vault and opened only when money is presented. Before Walt Disney trademarked Snow White, the story was a folk tale retold over the years. For my next season of Mahmovies! in January 2010, the theme of the opening film is on the same worrying issue - copyright.

It could be on an issue that gnaws at me so much that I wake up and decide that I want to make a film with it. For the last two years, I have been fraught with worry concerning my grandmother's failing health. The way I coped was to turn the camera on and capture as much as I can. Film is a way I deal with things that are personal, social, even introspective.