Baghdad's Cinemas Falling Casualty to War

Few Remaining Theaters Pull In Meager Audiences With Replays of Old Films

BAGHDAD -- He was the libidinous modeling agent afraid of commitment. She was the tango teacher searching for love. But all their heartache was forgotten in the final scene, as he reached for her hand and asked, "Shall we dance?" while the camera slowly pulled away over their festive Egyptian wedding.

"No, no, wasn't very good," Thiah Isan said dismissively, as the lights came on in Baghdad's largest movie theater after the recent matinee showing of "The Ladder and the Snake," an Egyptian film. "It's a story about love -- some boyfriend, meets a girl, she wants to get married, he doesn't."

"I am always lonely," he added.

In the capital of this warring country, where days beat to the percussion of bombings and gunfire and nights are spent locked down under a citywide curfew, Baghdad's remaining moviegoers are all lonely souls. The showing at the cavernous Semiramis cinema, with its 1,800 red velvet seats and two balconies, attracted just 11 people, each of them sitting by themselves.

"People like me are starting to feel ashamed of coming over here. Because of the violent situation, they think you are a carefree person if you go to the cinema in such conditions," said Ali Hussein, 49, a cosmetics wholesaler unemployed since his office burned down six months ago. "But some people feel more secure here than in the cafes and restaurants, which are being blown up."

Most of the city's once-popular movie theaters have shut down for lack of business. Those that remain open save money by replaying the same films. As with art and music and theater in Baghdad, going to movies is a cultural luxury losing out to the daily killing.

"There are more stories worthy to become movies in Iraq than there is oil in this country," said Ziad Turkey, the cinematographer of "Underexposure," Iraq's first post-invasion feature-length film. "But we don't have an audience. All that we have, the movie houses, are merely buildings. They are not theaters."

At Semiramis, in central Baghdad, moviegoers used to line up off of Sadoun Street to watch one of seven daily films, said an employee who feared to give his name. Now, in addition to the Egyptian movie, there are three choices: Jackie Chan's "Thunderbolt," Jet Li's "Hero" and Wes Craven's Baghdad-appropriate effort "Scream." All were released before the U.S.-led invasion in 2003. The owners can no longer afford to import the latest films.

So the Semiramis shows about 60 old films over and over again. Once open until midnight, it now closes at 2:30 p.m. Only three of its 10 employees still have jobs.

"Now, no one is in the mood even to watch a movie on TV because your mind is busy and tired," said the employee. "In a month or two from now, we will definitely be closed. What else can we do? By the end of the year, there will not be one cinema left in all of Iraq."

Iraq's film industry has languished for years, first under the censorship of President Saddam Hussein, then under the post-Persian Gulf War international embargo that prohibited the importation of moviemaking equipment. The three-year-old war and escalating sectarian violence have taken care of the rest.

"We are aimless, hopeless. Nobody cares about artistic activity. The most important thing is the foolish religious activity, and the activity of killing," said Qasim Sabti, a painter and the owner of the Dialogue Gallery in northern Baghdad, one of the few remaining gathering places for artists, actors and writers. "There is only black now. No colors. Nobody believes in the future."