Of Brooms and Filmmaking
Print this Page- By Susan Miller-Coulter
- Country: Jordan
- Dates of Service: 2006-2008
The cast of characters for our final day of filmmaking was 15 teenaged girls, two mini cams, two teachers, a filmmaker, and a volunteer. We were almost finished shooting footage for the documentary we were making on water usage, which was my final project as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Jordan. We climbed onto a small shuttle bus on a blazing hot morning and roared off for half a kilometer, pulling up at the souq, which is the name for all the stores and produce markets on the Shar'a Iraiisi, the main street of Deir Abi Seid, Jordan.
Our checklist included release forms for interviewing "people on the street," the permit from the police allowing us to film in public locations, and water, except that only two girls brought water.
The girls got off, did a last camera check, and a few of them entered a fruit and vegetable market. Hiba, who showed remarkable aptitude for filming, started panning on the produce while the permission form was being signed. "What do you know about the water problems in Jordan?" Amal asked the clerk. Then we went to the local dukhan, or supermarket. Because we couldn't find the owner, or any clerks, we interviewed the janitor. I went to the local public health clinic to find the qabila, or midwife, with whom I've worked on breast cancer screenings, but she was away on a pilgrimage to Mecca, so we wound up in the pharmacy, interviewing a niqab-covered pharmacist, in front of the medicines. A niqab is a full face veil worn by some Arab Muslim women. Last we went to the district office of the Water Authority of Jordan for the Governate of Al Koura. The mudeer, the director, was in.
He wasn't exactly expecting us because no one had been able to get his office number, but he was great, if a bit flustered. A sub-group of filmmakers cleared his desk of clutter in a business-like fashion while he endured an angry barrage of citizens complaining about the weekly water being too late, insufficient, or being billed incorrectly. Just when we thought people would stop coming and the interview could proceed, more would arrive. Hiba put a table on top of another small table to prop the mini-cam for a better angle and readjusted signs and pen jars on the desk. The last angry water customer finally left. I leaned against the door so no one else could come in. We closed the windows and turned off the fan for better sound, inducing an instant wet heat wave. By 11:00 a.m. on this July 14, it was already in the low 90s in this airless room, but the director answered the questions and offered to take us around to see the springs where our water comes from, and the pumping stations which distribute it. I hoped we would do that, but not for this film. Due to budget and time constraints, this was our last day of filming.
Next stop, my house—or, more particularly, my kitchen sink. Part of the narrative of the film is a shot of someone's hands washing dishes, leaving the water running full force. I watched a bit anxiously as they filmed and re-filmed and more and more water poured uselessly away. The filmmaker was my house guest, and in all the heat we both needed at least one shower a day. Last year I ran out of water one hot summer weekend. It was not pretty.
The following day we assembled at the high school, excited to download and "capture" the footage in a special film-editing program that had been installed on a school computer. During the training period when the girls learned how to use it, everything was perfect, but on this day nothing worked. We called the office of the Royal Film Commission in Amman; no one there was free to talk with us. So instead of actual work on the film, we talked about the structure and narrative of the film, but finally, we had to call it a day, and we went home. When the IT guy from the Royal Film Commission called that evening, he diagnosed the problem immediately: "You used the camera on high definition; you should have used standard definition." We were dumbfounded. Why would a professional software program not be able to read both types of tape?
Nadia, the filmmaker, finally went to Amman with the cameras and returned with all the footage transferred on to several DVDs. Excellent idea, except the school's old computer had no DVD reader! Next solution: run a network cable out of the main computer room to Nadia's laptop, and transfer the footage to the school computer. Oh, the network cable from the school is not the right kind of network cable? Off we went to a computer store in Irbid, for them to make a special cable. Now we could see some film, but there were large patches of corrupted footage that looked like vibrant confetti. We connected our third, back-up camera's tape for viewing. However, that camera and the computer refused to be friends; the computer refused even to admit that it was connected to a camera. Each day we eked out some precious footage, but with log jams, delays, and outright refusal to function on the part of every piece of equipment. Every solution generated a larger and more intractable problem. By now, Nadia and I were starting to feel like the sorcerer's apprentice: chop a broom, and two non-functional brooms spring up demonically; chop them, and four new demons emerge.
The plan had always been to have the girls edit the film, and the three girls who signed up for this, Amnah, Sujood, and Nancy, were totally unflappable. They kept working while Nadia struggled with the technical issues, and I brought water, juice, sandwiches, and desperate jokes. Then the program and entire computer crashed. It was devastating. Long minutes of anger and perplexity ensued, after which a kindly broom was born, a magic broom on which to fly us away. We decided to take the computer to Amman, to the office of the Royal Film Commission, for their resident tech geniuses to salvage our footage.
Happy ending? Not quite yet. The editorial group of Amnah, Sujood, and Nancy asked to be included. In the culture of Jordan, three sixteen-year-old girls feeling empowered enough to ask this was amazing, just amazing. It was worth the whole enterprise. The following morning three teenaged film editors, a filmmaker consultant, a volunteer, and a computer with its own paid seat set out for Amman on the 8:00 a.m. bus.
Soon to be a major motion picture? Stay
tuned.