Behind the Lens: An Insight into My Favourite Ahlulbayt TV Productions

In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful

I'm writing this blog for a number of reasons:

1. To examine my personal evolution as a television producer at Ahlulbayt TV, looking at some of my favourite productions that I had the honour of personally planning, filming and editing
2. To perhaps give a small insight into the lessons I have picked up whilst working within this job title, for the benefit of the reader
3. To remind myself of the qualities of what I consider to be a relatively good or successful production, and to push myself to adhere to these qualities in future productions at the channel
4. To perhaps give some (what I feel are) tips to those that work in production, are aspiring to, or are interested in.

It begins with the introduction of the Canon 5D camera to the channel.  A HD photography camera, it is small yet powerful, making it easy to carry around, yet giving filming a gorgeous degree of quality.

Death (Zahira Mamdani & Sheikh Mohammed Al-Hilli)

Simplicity has a special place in my heart, and it can be found with this first production. The idea is simple: a lecture about death, mirrored by a graveyard visit with nothing more than a camera & a believing sister. The graveyard visit is, at its foundation, a sight and sound production, which essentially means just that, shots of nothing more than sight and sound to tell the story. Sister Zahira's trails of thought act as a personal touch into how we, as youth, can relate to the idea of death, and death is here presented via the shots of the graveyard. The shots of the graveyard are not at random at all, it begins with establishing the area as eerie and quiet. The final shot, of a seemingly doomed grave, shows that there is a continues evolution of the reminder of death throughout the episode. It tells a story in itself, using nothing more than sight and sound. I opted to open the episode with no soundtrack, using the silence of the graveyard to set the tone for the episode. Sheikh Hilli's lecture begins uncomfortably out of focus, which continuous the theme of uneasiness set with the opening shots. The lecture in itself provides the necessary "academic" or "Islamic" info needed to understand the concept of death. 

Three Days with Ahlulbayt TV (Ahlulbayt TV Crew)

The filming of this short production was far from ideal. Without a foundation element of storytelling, it proved to be a bit of a nightmare to edit. Every production, before being filmed, generally needs to have a structure in place beforehand. Whilst some people can work the opposite way, I found that with this, it was difficult to create a narrative. Thankfully, there was a narrative in place: the channel's move from South London or North-West. I spent a number of days (a few hours each day), literally just filming behind-the-scenes of anything and everything, and filmed the set-up of the channel in Brent Cross. Whilst the set-up had somewhat of a narrative - that being a move from A to B, which included packing up in Croydon, going to Brent Cross, clearing up and setting up - the lead-up to this had no narrative in place. What made this successful was the voiceover. It sets the scene, narrates the story, keeps it short and sweet, provides facts and figures where necessary, and concludes it. using the footage that I had, I created a narrative that made it seem like I began early in the morning with looking at what's taking place in different parts of the channel (executive meeting, producer editing, technician mixing, marketing fundraising etc), giving the impression that we are following a narrative automatically, as we are following progress over the course of a progressing day. Night comes, the live show kicks in, and the crew begin to pack up. We begin with the next day in the morning, the clearing up of the new studio, the setting up of the new studio, and end with the live show at night. Originally at a length of almost half an hour, I cut it down to 11 minutes, keeping it short and sweet. What I learnt here, is that a good-looking shot (something that you've filmed and therefore cherish) is useless if it is 1) not relevant to the narrative, and 2) drags on, forcing the viewer to lose their interest.

Graduated & Unemployed (Hussain Makke & Rahab Kazmi)

Whilst a bit long, there is one thing that makes this worth watching: watching an unemployed graduate hand out CVs in Central London whilst mic-ed up. It's pure reality, and we find here that reality makes good TV. When Hussain walks into a store, and the camera spies on him from outside, it creates a sense of unexpectedness: the viewer is unaware to what could happen. It's a whole new world, anything could happen. And whilst it's a segment that isn't the majority of the episode, it makes the episode what it is. The interview with br. Hussain, which is the foundational element of the episode, looks beautiful. Instead of being shot in a studio, on a chair, we are outside in the open, and each question he answers is in a different location on University campus. However, it is far from random. Firstly, there is a distinct pattern as to where he is being interviewed. His surroundings don't jump from a certain surrounding to another that is completely different. A garden-looking area remains a garden looking area for a number of questions, the only difference is the difference in shots and angles. Beyond that, what I learnt here is how easily cutaways can be done and how much they provide to the episode. The cutaways do not always have to relate specifically to what is being said. As long as the cutaways in themselves tell a continuous story, it doesn't baffle the viewer. The story of the cutaways here is beyond simple: Hussain is walking around his university, from location to location. Moreover, every time his interview is in a location, the cutaway is in the same location. Furthermore, the cutaways show him moving from location to location, allowing the audience to understand why he is being interviewed in the location that he is. It doesn't need a detailed explanation, but as long as it can be explained on-screen, the audience understand it. It's not just about what looks nice. Everything on screen has to have a meaning behind it, a purpose.

Islam & Art (Ali Fadhil)

Here, I take the previously touched-upon concept of cutaways to an extreme, and its effects are thoroughly entertaining. It's probably my favourite structure for an episode, because it's not time-consuming, and the way it comes off is fantastic. Simply, an interview with Ali Fadhil about Islam & Art. It has all the things you'd hear in such an interview: Islam, art, history, personal experience, etc. I filmed this and edited it. Away from the interview, I decided to follow Ali as he travels to Norway to recite (this was filmed by Hassan Nawwab, not myself). We began in the airport, followed him to Norway, watched his groggy morning, him practising  and, finally, him reciting. Due to the blessing of a ton of footage, I literally overlayed it upon the interview in the Final Cut timeline, trying to avoid shots of the interview as much as possible. Here, we have created two narratives. In the background, we have the audio, and the occasional interview shot of Ali discussing Islam & art. On screen, we have the narrative of him travelling to Norway to recite. It gives the episode a diversity that makes it educational yet entertaining, and personal, yet educational. The shots of him in the recording studio toward the end break up the narrative a bit, giving it a further diversity. However, I opted not to conclude the narrative till after this. We see Ali being called up to recite - and then suddenly it cuts to him in the recording studio, on a completely different day, in a different country. This creates a sense of "you'll have to stay to the end to see the story finish". Another touch that I feel was effective, is that we begin with Ali reciting a wonderful nasheed, but only a glimpse of it. Half-way through, we hear him practising it in the car, again but a glimpse. At the end, we hear the nasheed in its entirety. This gives the episode a sense of, again, narrative: a distinct beginning, middle and end.

Roses & Innocence (Multiple)

I won't take too much of your time, so I'll be brief with this one, but I feel it's important to touch upon. Here we have a sensitive topic: the American anti-Islam film. We can do a serious documentary on it... but that's boring. Here, I opened with a news report, setting the scene. However when the episode opens, we seem to go completely off-topic: preparing to give out roses for P. Mohammed (pbuh). It's almost sight & sound once again, but with a calm, soothing soundtrack, and brief interviews that allow us to understand what is going on. We then cut briefly to a protest against the film, before going back to the narrative of the roses, as they are being handed out. Coupled with the serenity of the soundtrack and calmness of the narrative, the roses story makes a point - purely through editing - that there is a way to spread the message of Islam, and a way to react to Islamophobia. In addition, watching the reality of them hand out roses is, again, entertaining, because we are unaware of what will happen.

Muslim Space (Salim Kassam)

This is probably the closest to a typical documentary you will find on this blog. What I thoroughly enjoyed about this production is that it took no more than a few hours to film, and shows that as long as you plan ahead of yourself, and have a narrative structured in your mind, you can pull off a great documentary in short space of time. We have here the setting: a nationwide ABSOC get together. How do you turn it into a documentary? Simple: you ask a question. And for 40 minutes, you seek the answer to this question. The question we began with is: "Is there a need for Muslim space in Universities?" What we find here is that we are immediately challenging the whole idea of the event. And that isn't a bad thing. In television, challenging an idea is the best way to understand it. Salim Kassam goes through a number of interviews, each shot in a different setting, but in the same location. Here, the challenge is to utilise your location in such a way that it consistently looks good, yet is consistently changing and evolving, therefore it never gets boring. Meanwhile, again, there is a clear narrative progressing. Salim Kassam begins completely sceptical of the need for Muslim space at university. Every interview effects his overall opinion, but raises enough questions to make the following interview just as interesting. One thing that's very important to note: the conclusion was clear to me in the beginning, we weren't setting out to bash the idea of ABSOC. The conclusion I wanted was simple: Muslim Space at university is a good thing. But to say it is boring. What makes a good documentary isn't your point, it's how you reach it. And here, we reached it by beginning with complete scepticism, and watching this evolve into the conclusion.

Karbala Video Diaries [Part 1] (Myself, Rebecca Masterton, Ali Kassar)

I was in 2 minds about including this and concluding with it, as it is an episode that will leave the viewer in two worlds, but I can't deny it's one of my personal favourites. It grabs a contemporary concept - video logs/diaries - and utilises it. With a tiny HD Canon camera (a family camera), we literally just recorded our thoughts and progress over the course of our Muharram Iraq journey. The challenge here, again, was building a narrative, but it didn't prove too difficult as there was already a foundational narrative: the journey of the Ahlulbayt TV crew to Iraq, to broadcast Karbala, and come back safetly. The key with editing was deciding what was important. Just because something was funny or looked good, it was useless if it didn't contribute to the narrative. There are a few things people will definitely feel uncomfortable with in regards to this episode, for example sound quality can be often bad, some shots are worryingly too close. But that's the idea, and you may disagree with me. It's not meant to be a skilfully filmed documentary. It's literally meant to be a compilation of video diaries that tell a story, which is an art in itself. What struck gold here in my opinion, was the realism. Everything is real. We laugh, we cry, we worry, we tire, we ponder. And it's all documented. Definitely one of my favourites.

End

The above is literally just a brief examination of what I've picked up at the channel, and my insight into what makes a good production. Everything I've learnt, I have done so via experience. I hope that if you are working in production, aspiring to do so, or just interested, you enjoyed my thoughts.

Beautiful Iraq

In the name of God.

There's something about these historical figures that doesn't leave you. Old, almost ancient names like Ali, Hussain & Abbas, sit within the fortitude of millions, a foundation that not even the distractions of the West can seem to burn out. Something I've noticed, many aspects of religious belief can be easily eradicated from daily life of youth who move to the West, but with whatever they may falter in, this Hussain, this Ali, this Abbas, are always a red line that can not be crossed. Keeping this fact in mind, it is due to these personalities (and for whatever reason, beyond every difference and division, beyond the political and the perceived religious scope) that you have the eyes of the most random people shedding tears and wailing for not being given the chance to visit a grave and a shrine in a country half-way across the world. Whatever Hussain is, whatever the religion is that surrounds him and whatever the realities of life are, this historical figure can make a Pakistani young man with a culture crisis (is he Pakistani or is he Iraqi? If he's Pakistani how does he speak Arabic? If he's Pakistani why does he have that big Najafi nose?), born and raised in the famous Western city of London, long to be in a desert land amongst the desert Arabs next to an ancient shrine that sits in the endless desert. It is a wonder that such a land far, far away, can be so embedded into the heart of a man who has only heard of it.

After years of waiting, longing, failed Visas and tickets, failed trips and friends who failed on me, I think one day I suddenly broke through the proverbial cracking point (I cracked, basically). My mind-set took a 360 degree turn. If my Visa failed, I'd search for an alternative. If no friends would come, I'd go by myself. It's a lesson to myself first and others after me, when someone has that true longing to visit that land of dreams, nothing on Heaven and Earth would stop him.

With such determination I painted a picture that I'll never forget. A Pakistani who has left the UK three times (Pakistan twice & France once), who speaks broken Arabic, I was left to stand and wander in that ancient city of Najaf at 4am in the morning all by myself. And I loved it. I dream about it, that place, that land, that dust. Is it truly anything more than Heaven? It's the most beautiful answer to that begging question, "When will I go?"

What was most staggering to me there was the morality of the people. Whilst awareness of the red line between right on wrong in Iraq is, to be frank, varied, the overcoat hospitality is unbeatable, especially in the months of mourning that are Muharram and Safar. People grab you apologetically if they brush past you, they'll smile and joke with you even though they may be old and you young, they'll look into your eyes with the respect given between long-time friends. In regards to the deeper believer, Iraq is a place where you can find the worst of people, but when you find a man of respect, faith and humility, you will never see a man like that anywhere else in the world. It's something to envy, living in the West in a world of opportunities, to be that man who is truly rich, having conquered himself.

The begging question: how did you react to the shrines? I'll leave that to my poetry to depict.

After visiting the grave of the prince, Imam Ali, and praying the morning prayer, I wanted to, still by myself, head out and walk toward Karbala. This was all fueled by passion, the ability to wander a strange city and even attempt to make my own way to another. But it was inert, I had to get to Karbala. Every since I got to Gatwick (depressing airport by the way) the previous night, I had that image of the dome of a certain companion of severed hands, continuously playing on loop in my imagination. I wandered around for a bit longer, a bit unsure of where to go. I asked one of the workers in the shrine, who replied, in Arabic obviously, 'do you want to take a taxi or walk?'. I looked at him and threw my hand in the air, I'm walking it mate. (Obviously didn't say it like that). He held my shoulder, like a father holds a son, as if I was worth a million dollars of gold, and told me exactly where to go, and not to forget him in my prayers. There may be a tear in my eye now, but then, it was just a sense of relief and true, raw happiness in my heart. I'm in Najaf, and I'm going to Karbala.

I set out, and there's something about this 3-day walk that is just wonderful. The people that were setting out with me were just laymen who decided get up on go, nothing but prayer beads in their hands and sandals on their feet. No-one brings anything with them, families don't even travel together, whoever gets that feeling to go, he gets up and he goes. On the side of the roads sat old men with ancient speaker systems, covered in dust and sitting on mats, reading poetry and eulogies in mourning of the tragedy of Hussain. Voices of angels, yet none went by the names of Bassim or Jaleel, of Sayed Jassim or Sayed Hadi. Laymen, nothing more.

Alongside all those walking, set up across the desert terrain were thousands upon thousands of uncountable tents, mosques and marques. All booming latmayat with speakers so old that they were once admired by us in the '90s, and, more importantly, all giving out tea and newly cooked food. To call these offerings free would be an injustice, the men behind these offerings were begging the millions walking to come and drink from their tea, their water, and eat from their food. If they didn't just shout it out as they worked, they'd stand beside their tents and shout. If they didn't stand beside their tents and shout, they'd come into the street and stand in front of those walking, begging. One man would cry, "Step on my head, step on my chest, step on my heart, but don't humiliate me. Come and eat from our food." It was just a beautiful experience I cannot begin to explain, one that every single lover of Hussain deserves to embark upon. And there are millions of walkers, millions. There is no set time to leave and arrive, in the space of about 13 days many choose to walk, leave when they please and arrive when they please. Yet in the random time that I left, I found myself amongst thousands. All dressed in black, some alone; some with their wives and children; some carrying flags; some in wheelchairs; the young, the old; the married, the single, I could go on. What an experience, nothing can beat it.

After a few hours of walking like a soldier my feet were in pain, so I took a number of rests. Sitting down with a random Iraqi man drinking tea, I took great pride in walking from 8am-3:30pm and being half way there. Just to make sure, I asked him so, how long left? He answers, "yumkin fed tes'een kilomeetr." (Basically I've only walked 10% of the way). It was here I broke another proverbial cracking point. The tiring walk didn't bother me, I can rest and take my time if I wanted to, what bothered me is I wanted to see the shrine, and I wanted to see it today, before the sun sets. With that in mind I faced a dilemma, asking my inner-self a deep and serious question: can you really be pleased with yourself knowing you never finished the walk?

So about 5 minutes later I found myself in a Taxi, 40min away from Karbala. I waved at the driver and he just drove past, but he came back feeling guilty. After 5min of conversing (and he spoke no English but we got on pretty well), it turns out he was Karbalaei and hadn't been allowed back into the city to see his family for three days, as all the road were closed. However, I had the golden ticket: a British passport (don't try that at home, that was a pretty stupid thing to do, but it worked out for the best). In fact he was so happy that because of me he was able to get home, as we drove past the checkpoint where all cars were turned back he ensured that I'd first come to his house, he ensured that I'd eat his food (which turned out to be traditional Iraqi sheep's head, which I gobbled down) and then he'd take me to the shrines.

Entering the city, he rolled down his windows, saying 'smell that, that's the dust of Karbala'. I have never felt at home. What dust, what beauty, what wonder. I used to wake up and stand on the street, just breathing in her dust. Is there really any other place to call home? Honestly.

Upon entering his sitting room we had to rush out into a side room, as his wife was having a majalis Husseini. As we ate and spoke, I heard 10 minutes of passionate mourning (or, as I would really say behind the curtain of my formal internet grammar: all I heard was 10 minutes of wa7shi dega Karbalaei latom), before they all went home again. What a beautiful way to be welcomed into the city of Imam Hussain.

Once again, regarding the experience of visiting the shrines for the first time, that's for myself.

I've been to Iraq twice in the past 6 months, simply because I can't bare its absence. Coming back from the second trip, continuously every morning for 6 days, every other morning for the following 2 weeks and every morning once in a while here and there, I dream. I dream I am walking next to the shrine of Abbas, I dream I am walking in the shrine of Hussain, I dream I am walking in the courtyard of Ali in Najaf, I dream I am in Baghdad, I dream I am sleeping next to Abbas like I once did, or sitting on the pavement and gazing at his dome beneath the starry yet irrelevant sky. And these dreams are so, so real, I wake up with fear that I have got up and gone to Iraq without informing family or work, and my first thought is how shall I contact them. Truly, the heart does not come back with the body. Truly. As a friend over there told me, 'I see you gazing at the sky sometimes. It shows that you're heart is relaxed.' The West is a place of hardship and tribulation, such as is life. We work, we learn, we provide for our families. But places like Karbala are nothing more than Heaven. You are pleased with yourself there, pleased with the world. It is beauty manifested into space and time. And that is just an expansion of it's only possible description: it is Heaven.

Whilst Karbala, Najaf, Samarra & Kathemiyya can be called Heavenly for spiritual purposes, away from the religious veil Baghdad is just as beautiful, and Iraq is as a whole. This entry was more about the shrines than the country, such as is the importance of the country to me personally. But, truly, Iraq is beautiful.