Sean McAllister » Page 14

Author: Sean McAllister

Documentary Filmmaker from Hull, England, specialises in giving the voiceless a voice

On the road

Nizam woke in a shock. I was drinking from a bottle of water that suddenly made a loud crack. “Good morning darling! How are you today”, he smiled in a cute Arabic way. Before I could respond he took off to find some coffee, I grunted after him.

The bastard had kept me awake half the night with his Arab style snoring. I would reach over and tickle his Arabic stubble, he would sit up momentarily then fall back to sleep. 6 hours earlier we’d pulled off the road into a dark parking-lot following a one hour run-around at the Bulgarian and Turkish border. At 02:30 am it was time to sleep. We had the last night-cap from a bottle of bad Bulgarian wine and quick puff on a broken cigar. I joked to Nizam that our cars flat-bed seats were like airline ‘business class’ but for free. He boringly pointed out that the difference was that we were parked at the side of a road and not going anywhere.

We were losing precious hours. The plan was for 40 winks but 6 hours later I’m watching the sun rise over beautiful fields of sunflowers, an inspiring start to our late day.

Nizam returns with 2 cups of undrinkable ‘so-called’ Nescafe. “Darling you do look beautiful today.” He smiles and hands me the muddy coffee and pokes at an empty cigarette box. I yawn scrubbing bottled drinking water into my yoghurt stained trousers; an accident from last nights meal at midnight on the motorway. “Let’s hit the road we have 1000 kilometres to drive to the Syrian border.” 3 hours later I am looking for Istanbul but we seem to have passed it. “Fuck I wanted to see it.” It was 20 years since I was last here. We seemed to have missed it. We carry on the long road to Damascus.

Nizam looks at me thoughtfully. “So what is it that is drawing you back to Damascus Sean?” Before I can answer he continues his train of thought.. “You know I feel like I’m one of your disciples, I’m one of your followers on this mission, I’ve pissed off 3 women to be you on this journey and I don’t know why. It felt important to be with you. I believe in you even if you doubt yourself at times. I’m sure St Paul had similar doubts on his travels. I feel like St Nizam following St Sean on his journey of discovery on the road to Damascus.”

I suddenly feel a huge responsibility for him. He cancelled a Bulgarian holiday planned for next Tuesday with his wife and daughter to be with me. I say I hope we find something, someone, that we can call a film to make this painful venture worthwhile. Nizam smiles. “No it is already worthwhile we are together on this adventure and we will find whatever we find. But I feel a force pulling you to Damascus like St Paul had all those centuries ago.” I ask him what he thinks it is that is drawing me back. Nizam pauses, “I think it is the hummus. You haven’t stopped talking about it since your first trip. Shit that sounds shallow”. “No not at all food is great” I reply, “It is life and life is precious”. I wonder to myself if part of St Paul’s mission was also for the Damascus hummus.

We are low on supplies and pull up at a service station, Nizam returns with a bottle of wine and a packet of fags, it feels like a modern scene from the bible…

The journey begins, and we awake to find the car is missing

We awoke to find the car missing. It took 3 hours to find the clamping station and we had to pay 20 quid to get it back.

Then we drank coffee in a cafe, keeping a keen eye on the car whilst making plans for the day. Soon it was time to leave but somehow the car was clamped, we made another call and in 5 minutes a man arrived, he asked for 5 quid and we were free again.

So here I go again, this time with Nizam as my co-pilot, on a 26 hour drive through Bulgaria, Turkey, and across Syria to Damascus. St Paul had his conversion on this path, and now St Sean is looking for his. After defending the persecuted gypsies of Bulgaria I got robbed by one of them in the street last night. The fuckers. That’s my bleeding-heart liberal charity work done for the year.

But It is great to be moving on; away from the pastries, the white cheese, and the beautiful looking people. All very stunning indeed, puts us in UK to shame. I am uplifted by the spirit of the Art Hostel in Sofia and the wonderful people there – Finding the Art Hostel was like discovering a great secret wine, it was without doubt my best Bulgarian moment. Now we face the long road, with hope, fear, and trepidation in our hearts – filming all the way and giggling like small children on a day out to the seaside.

Easy hatred on the road to Damascus

The road to Damascus is getting harder. Waiting for my Syrian visa in Sofia is fun though, I have found a great place called The Art Hostel with a cool cave-like underground bar, a place for artists and the like to meet and drink. The other night I met an Aussie whose brother had defended a gypsy he’d seen being attacked by a 21 year old skinhead. In the fight the Aussie ended up killing the skinhead and now he’s in jail waiting trial for murder.

The skinhead was apparently from a good family and studying law. His right-wing beliefs were well known and fully acceptable here, such is the animosity towards Bulgaria’s 2 million gypsies. I shook the man’s hand and passed on my best wishes to his brother in jail.

Defending gypsies here isn’t cool. I’d called a student I’d met the night before a racist for his constant negative talk about them and he was insulted. It is different here he said. He told me that as an outsider I wouldn’t understand how they rob and mug people to make a living, but I said if you are a country of only 5 million with 2 million gypsies doing nothing, excluded, are they not a drain on the economy… would it not be better to try and include them more in your society?

The young Bulgarian student was angry, he didn’t care, he just wanted rid of them. I said OK why don’t you kill them all like Hitler did with Jews. Problem solved. No no he protested I’m not a racist. Later my Syrian friend Nizam shows me a flashing swastika key ring he bought from a nearby tourist shop, sadly it seems that here in Bulgaria the rise of right is more far-reaching than a joke novelty keyring.

St Sean, on the road to Damascus

Bollocks. The BBC just cancelled the ‘North’ season that had brought me back to Hull looking for ideas. Actually I’m relieved… I am now in Sofia waiting for a Syrian visa so I can take my own ‘road to Damascus’.

I am looking for the conversion that changed St Paul on his road. I want to find a film there and the strength to persuade the BBC to accept an idea which they rejected back in December 2008.

I’d opted for their (dual) offer of two films, one in Hull, and one in Libya but now I really doubt whether I can get the access I would need to make a film there (Libya, not Hull).

Furthermore I’ve no real idea why I want to make a film in Syria I just see a fantastic colourful film set in Damascus full of fun fear and freedom. A place where contradictions play themselves out in widescreen. Stupid things like democracy versus dictatorship. A place where thousands of Iraqis apparently have fled their new found freedom for the ‘safety’ of a dictatorship, where partying hard at the weekend is seemingly as important as the Friday call for prayer.

Sounds amazing to me but sadly not the BBC. Not yet anyway. So on the road I go.

The festival circuit

I was at the wonderful ‘One World Festival’ in Prague last weekend, it was great to see how big it has grown since my film ‘Settlers’ opened it in 2000. Sadly on my arrival I got an email from Samir (from my film ‘The Liberace of Baghdad’), he is now living in USA but wrote to say he has prostate cancer and will soon be undergoing 42 days of radiation treatment. That evening I sat by the grand piano in the foyer of the beautiful 1930s cinema and missed him dearly. I was in Prague to show my latest film ‘Japan; A Story Of Love And Hate’, the cinema was packed and it was voted the 4th favourite film by the audience the next day. Not bad out of 300 films.

Today I arrived in Porto, Portugal, and I am heading to small village festival (with my Japan film) just over the border in Spain. A place called Tui. But no-one has come to meet me, so I am on a bus trying to make my own way there.

I am getting flash-backs to the time I showed a film here, in 1998(?), I was with with Kev from ‘Working For the Enemy’ no-one showed up to meet us and no one came to see the film.

But, I tell myself, this festival is over the border in Spain… I just hope there is an audience at tonight’s 22:30 showing of my film – Mind you I don’t even know if I will be there yet.