At its 46th edition, held from November 12 to 21, 2025, the Cairo International Film Festival paid tribute to Mahmoud Abdelsamie, one of Egypt’s greatest cinematographers, by presenting him with the Golden Pyramid for Lifetime Achievement Award — a distinction honoring a life devoted to the image and to the transmission of knowledge. As part of this tribute, the festival organized a masterclass entitled “The Art of the Image: A Masterclass with Mahmoud Abdelsamie,” moderated by film critic and programmer Ramy Metwally, in the presence of Hussein Fahmy, CIFF President and long-time friend, along with a large audience of students, technicians, filmmakers, and journalists who came to listen to a master of visual storytelling reflect on more than half a century of practice.
A pioneer of vision and light
Born in Cairo in the early 1940s, Mahmoud Abdelsamie graduated from the Faculty of Applied Arts in 1966. From the very beginning of his career, he devoted himself to cinematography, shaping the light and frame of more than two hundred films and documentaries over the decades.
He is regarded as the first Egyptian cinematographer to step onto the battlefield, camera in hand, during the War of Attrition in 1969 and later the October War of 1973. These experiences profoundly shaped his relationship with light, visual truth, and the memory of reality.
Early on, Abdelsamie rejected the rigid conventions of traditional film production. At a time when Egyptian cinema favored fixed cameras on rails and static lighting, he embraced free movement — a handheld camera, a breathing shot, a living frame. What was initially seen as rebellion would later become one of the cornerstones of modern realism in Arab cinema.
Alongside his work behind the camera, Abdelsamie dedicated much of his life to teaching at the Higher Institute of Cinema in Cairo, where he trained generations of cinematographers and directors. He also chaired the Cairo Film Society, an institution devoted to preserving Egypt’s cinematic heritage.
A masterclass rooted in transmission
During this session titled “The Art of the Image,” Mahmoud Abdelsamie reflected deeply on his career and his philosophy of visual creation. The event unfolded as an open conversation, where the cinematographer revisited key moments of his artistic journey and the lessons learned from decades of experimentation.
Hussein Fahmy: a filmmaker lost, an actor born
He began by sharing a little-known episode from his early days:
“In 1968, a man called me and said, ‘My name is Hussein Fahmy.’ He was supposed to direct a film and wanted me as his cinematographer. We started preparing the project, but one day he called back and said he was giving up. He had been offered an acting role — and he accepted. We lost a promising director with a unique vision,” Abdelsamie said with a smile, “but we gained a great actor.”
Handheld freedom: reclaiming movement
He then spoke about his early fascination with movement and experimentation:
“I was among the first to use a handheld camera. We had been taught that a camera should always rest on a dolly. But I got tired of that. One day I decided to change everything — I shot with a handheld camera and a different kind of lighting. The director fired me. But a professor saw the footage, praised it, and showed it to his students.”
Light: the first curiosity
Abdelsamie recalled that his fascination with light began in childhood. “As a boy, I would watch films and try to understand every shot — how it was made.” He built a homemade box projector, and an uncle found him a piece of film negative to project on a wall. “That curiosity never left me,” he said. “Over time, I learned that you must photograph a subject with purpose — you must understand why you’re doing it. Whenever I read a script, I needed to grasp its meaning. And if I couldn’t, I discussed it with the director.”
He spoke at length about a project particularly close to his heart — a film about Palestine. The director, he explained, was half Egyptian and half Saudi. “Someone had advised him to give me the script,” Abdelsamie recalled. “I read it carefully and discussed it with him in detail. I realized that some scenes did not convey the meaning he intended.”
This was more than a technical discussion; it was about how images express — or betray — an idea. “I showed him that certain scenes lost their power because they were set in the wrong location or at the wrong time of day. The location is part of the meaning, just like the light. Morning light isn’t the same as evening light, and a scene filmed from a different angle tells a completely different story.”
The director, convinced by these observations, reworked his script. “He changed several elements according to my suggestions — mainly the locations and times of day. Those details make all the difference. The light changes, and it must show on screen.”
Abdelsamie said he has always approached scripts this way — by translating them into images before shooting begins. “When I read a script, I imagine it shot by shot — the camera movements, the texture of the light, the shadows falling across faces. That’s why I can’t be just an executor.”
Not all directors welcomed this approach. “Some appreciated that a cinematographer helped build the film’s meaning. Others didn’t. They wanted me to do as I was told, without discussion. Those directors never called me again.”
He added that he often went to the cinema to observe audience reactions: “I wanted to understand how spectators perceived certain scenes and images — how they felt the light. It helped me improve my work.”
A Rebel Woman (1986): light as inner language
Discussing Imra Motamarrida (A Rebel Woman, 1986), Abdelsamie explained that light must always reflect the logic of a character’s state of mind. “If someone gets up at night to go to the bathroom or the kitchen, the light should be soft — they’re going back to sleep, it shouldn’t wake them. But if a character wakes suddenly because someone’s knocking on the door, the light must be harsh and bright.”
For him, light is never decorative or merely aesthetic. “Light depends on place and time,” he insisted. “It’s not chosen at random — it follows the rhythm of the body, the tension of the gesture, the emotional state.”
He described his process simply: “I never decide on lighting before understanding the scene. I first study the location, the natural light, the time of day — then I adapt.”
The Hunger (1986): inventing light
Abdelsamie then recounted one of his most memorable experiences — El Gou (The Hunger, 1986).
Filmed under limited technical conditions, the production became a true laboratory of invention. “Lighting the small shops was crucial,” he explained. “But we didn’t have enough equipment. So, I decided to remove the ceilings and replace them with white sheets. Daylight reflected and spread evenly, creating that natural brightness across the faces.”
What began as a practical necessity became a stylistic signature. The result impressed French critic Marcel Martin, who, after the screening, asked to watch the film again and meet the cinematographer and the lead actress. “He told me he couldn’t understand what Souad Hosny was saying — but her eyes spoke. Then he congratulated me, saying it was rare to feel time and night so vividly.”
This memory, humble yet profound, sums up Abdelsamie’s philosophy: beauty born from limitation, invention from constraint. “That day,” he said, “I understood that light is not just a tool — it’s an emotion.”
Experience as learning
He emphasized the importance of experimentation and practical knowledge. “What matters most isn’t what you learn at the Institute. It’s what you discover over the years — finding solutions, inventing new methods. You need imagination, passion, and a deep understanding of light and camera movement.”
On many shoots, he said, he had to improvise with minimal resources — simple makeshift fixes that ended up working perfectly.
Filming the war
One of the most striking moments of the masterclass came when Abdelsamie recalled filming on the battlefield with a friend:
“We were among the first to go and shoot during the war. We took a camera and went to the front. We saw horrible scenes. We were in underground trenches. The ground shook under the explosions; buildings were collapsing. Israeli soldiers were close. I filmed the canal, the soldiers, the wounded, the dead.”
Then, in a quieter voice, he added: “I filmed what I saw — without a director, without a plan, without preparation. The only goal was to record and bear witness.”
A lesson in perseverance and transmission
As the session drew to a close, Mahmoud Abdelsamie summarized a lifetime of cinema in a single question: “What do I film? Where? Why?”
“These are questions I asked myself too late,” he admitted. “When I began teaching, I finally understood everything I had done throughout my career — all the progress, all the learning.”
That simple, lucid reflection encapsulates a life built on research, experimentation, and the desire to pass on knowledge. For Abdelsamie, light is not a technical device but a language — a way of thinking and feeling.
By honoring him with the Golden Pyramid for Lifetime Achievement Award, the Cairo International Film Festival celebrated not only an exemplary career but also an artist who spent his life filming truthfully and sharing his vision with the generations that followed.
Neïla Driss
