Bearded bells

The bearded mother

A legend in Lebanese theater, Rafic Ali Ahmad buys me a shisha at the notorious Rawda Cafe and talks about his life.

You’re something of an icon in theater…

Well let me tell you, I act alone and people who act alone typically run three or four shows. It’s often an intellectual show. I’ve held four plays, one man shows, and with each one I’ve met with great success. I was able to carry them around the world with me. This makes me happy. I was able to create a popular theater out of this style. I like that my audience will have anyone in it from the highly educated to the everyday theater goer.

What do you feel gives you this edge?

They believe me. When I had the spot with UNIFIL [United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon], a lady came up to me and said: ‘UNIFIL chose well. It’s not that you’re an actor. It’s that people believe you.’ These are the type of words you hear with your heart, not your ears. When I have a play all the Lebanese come, irrespective of their religions. The topics I choose are heartfelt – the emotions of a father, the problems of the youth, the discrepancy between parents and children. My grandfather spoke to my father and my father spoke to me. But I can’t speak with my son. There’s a different education in place.

You’ve succeeded where other actors failed…

In one of my plays I say I don’t have a tribe. We’re a bunch of tribes, aren’t we? No matter how educated we get, or how far we travel, we’re all just a bunch of tribes. I have no tribe. I’m from a village and in my village we plant an olive tree for every child that is born. I have a lot to talk about – why should I play Shakespeare when there’s so much here to talk about? People still believe me and I still have a good name. This makes me fulfilled.

I’ve noticed that people always associate your name with one particular play, The Bell. Why is that?

It was shown at the right time. I staged it in ’91, as soon as the east and west border fell. I didn’t talk about the war as such – I talked as a Lebanese citizen who lived in the south, a father who lost his son during the civil war. I lived in west Beirut and staged it in the east. When I took on the role of a woman and cried over my deceased son, the women in the theater cried along with me for their own sons. They loved this woman, with her white beard – even makeup is a lie sometimes. I get up and say : ‘I’m Rafic Ali Ahmad and this is my white beard. But this woman I’m playing, she’s hurting.’

What is your favorite place in Lebanon?

Wherever I’m sitting down and happy. Anywhere that gives me a moment of clarity. And Beirut is life and civilization, a meeting place of humanities.