In her Heliopolis salon, where the scent of coffee mingles with the fragrance of memory, Elham Shahin welcomed us after her return from Los Angeles. The room was unmistakably hers—walls lined with vintage film stills, shelves adorned with trophies and accolades, each whispering tales of an artist who waged the battles of art with unwavering conviction. We spoke about her recent role as jury president at the Hollywood Arab Film Festival, her performance in Seed El-Nass, and her comeback to radio after two decades.
What did it mean to you to chair the jury at the Hollywood Arab Film Festival?
It was a mix of pride and responsibility. Being invited to preside over a jury in the heart of Hollywood—the world’s cinema capital—wasn’t just an honor for me, but for Arab cinema. It felt like we’ve moved beyond simply submitting our films to global festivals; we’re now contributing to the conversation and shaping standards.
What was your impression of the films in competition?
I was truly impressed. The films showed maturity, boldness, and a fearless approach to storytelling. They tackled taboos and reflected reality with strong cinematic tools. Some of them hit me hard, like a mirror reflecting both our dreams and our wounds—not just stories, but statements.
Was this experience different from judging at Arab festivals?
Absolutely. At Arab festivals, I’m on familiar ground—I understand the audience and cultural nuances. But in Hollywood, the challenge was greater: to stay rooted in my identity while engaging with a global lens. I wasn’t just an artist there—I was representing the Arab woman, the intellectual, the cinematic voice.
Was there a specific moment that moved you during the festival?
Yes, during the screening of a short Palestinian film. The standing ovation lasted over two minutes. It wasn’t just applause—it was recognition of a cause, a collective grief, and a glimmer of hope. That’s the power of art—it can say what politics never can. One truthful image can shift perception.
What stood out to you about the young filmmakers there?
Many were Arab students of cinema in the US. Their films were fresh, passionate, and deeply connected to identity. The dialogues around them were thoughtful, and the festival became a bridge—linking communities and reconnecting generations with their cultural roots.
Do you feel festivals like this can truly support Arab cinema?
It’s a step forward. It’s not enough for our films to be screened—they must be understood, critiqued, and appreciated. The Hollywood Arab Film Festival is a platform for cultural dialogue, not just recognition. We don’t need flattery—we need real engagement.
How would you describe this stage of your artistic journey?
I’m more at peace, but the fire still burns. I watch everything, I get excited about new talents, and I still want to make a difference—even with a word, a gesture, or being part of a sincere festival. That’s how I stay alive in art—not just alive.
You had two major roles this Ramadan. How did the audience respond?
I was in the TV drama Seed El-Nass and the radio series “El-Giran Liba’daha.” Each came with its own challenge. In Seed El-Nass, I played a controversial character. “El-Giran Liba’daha” marked my return to radio after more than 20 years—it felt like coming home.
Let’s talk about Etemad El-Hawary in Seed El-Nass. The character sparked strong reactions.
I despised that character more than any I’ve ever played. She was mentally unwell, full of inner scars, forced into early marriage, deprived of education, and humiliated throughout her life. That bred bitterness. But from an acting standpoint, she was a goldmine—full of layers and challenges. That’s what any real actor lives for.
Some critics found her emotional outbursts and loudness excessive. Your take?
That loudness was a mask—her weakness trying to pose as strength. She was broken inside, desperate for attention. Even her eccentric clothes and jewelry weren’t vanity—they were a cry for acknowledgment.
Did you consult psychologists while preparing for the role?
No need. Etemad exists in our reality. I’ve seen her in the streets, in communities. With my life experience and years of acting, I drew on real people I’ve encountered and built her from there.
Weren’t you afraid the audience would hate her?
Not at all. That’s the sign of success. When the love I’ve earned through past roles turns into glares on the street, I know I’ve done something right. They’re not hating me—they’re hating the truth in the performance.
You’ve often played mothers—even to older actors. Was that ever awkward?
Never. I played Hussein Fahmy’s mother in “Al Embrator” and Hisham Selim’s in “Al Harafeesh,” and I never hesitated. I’m not chasing the stereotype of the glamorous heroine. I seek the soul of the character. Acting is a love affair—not a status ladder.
What pulled you back into radio after such a long hiatus?
The script. “El-Giran Liba’daha” is a soul-stirring work, centered on values like love, forgiveness, and solidarity. It’s presented with gentle simplicity, and that kind of depth always draws me in.
What’s your take on the rise of 15-episode series?
I prefer them. They’re more focused, more authentic. Unlike 30-episode series, which sometimes stretch too thin, these feel tighter and more honest. And frankly, 20-hour filming days? That’s brutal—it’s not humane.
Finally—where is Elham Shahin heading next?
Wherever the truth is. To cinema that dares to question. To festivals that recognize talent, not fame. To films that confront rather than flatter. And to an audience that understands art isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity.
