Friday, December 22, 2023 10:00 AM
The artist Sanaa Jamil died on December 19, 2002, and her husband, the journalist Louis Grace, mourned her in a way that is not common on such occasions. He wrote in the obituary: “We met in 1960, and we married in 1961, and last July we celebrated our forty-first wedding anniversary, and Sanaa Jamil, who passed away. Physically, she is close and related to the masses of artists in the Arab world. Art in her life is a sacred sanctuary, and a message that she carefully scrutinizes. Her artistic life bears witness to that, and prayers will be made over the body of the deceased in the Petrine Church in Abbasiya.
“Louis” wrote the obituary in this way out of loyalty to the wife he loved: “She was not just a wonderful wife, but she was a mother, a sister, and a friend,” and she loved him ever since they met at a farewell party for a Sudanese journalist who completed her training at Rosalieussef in 1960, even though she kept getting his name wrong throughout the party. By calling him: “Youssef,” and he corrected her: “Louis,” but she gave him her phone number and told him: “You will call me tomorrow and we will meet.” This was a meeting that was repeated until their marriage was completed.
Sanaa’s body remained in the hospital for three days in the hope that one of her family would read the obituary and come to participate in her funeral, and a wish would be fulfilled in her death that she had not fulfilled in her life, but after three days of waiting without achieving what she wanted, the husband decided to bury her on December 22, like this day. 2002, concluding Sanaa’s story, including enough human drama to be painful, but emphasizing the strength of her will.
“She was like a cactus flower,” as described by Dr. Hassan Attia, a professor at the Institute of Dramatic Arts, in his book “A Lunar Cactus Flower,” about the “Cultural Development Fund” on the occasion of honoring her at the Fourth National Egyptian Film Festival. She says at the beginning of the book: “My difficult life, full of thorns and my long patience, My ability to endure all these difficult circumstances makes me similar to the cactus flower, as we are two companions on the same path and destiny in patience and endurance, and facing adversity and difficulties.”
Her story with her family was a witness to the thorns that wounded her. She was Soraya Youssef Atallah, born in Mallawi, Minya Governorate, on April 24, 1930. According to the documentary film “Sana’s Story,” which was produced by her husband, Louis, in loyalty to her, and directed by Rogina Bassali, “Grice” mentions: “When she reached the age of nine, and after her parents came to Cairo, they took her to “Murdeau des Diers,” a French boarding school, and paid her fees until secondary school, then they disappeared. No one knows if they had died or emigrated, and she remained During her academic isolation, she found her aunt who lived near her school, and lived with her after she finished her secondary education, and there she met her older brother. Because of her love of acting, she wanted to join the Institute of Dramatic Arts, but she faced rejection, which ended with her being expelled from the house after her brother slapped her, which led to Losing one of her ears to hear,” “Ahmed Shawqi Akl, Al-Modon, website.”
According to the Kuwaiti newspaper Al-Jarida, in its episodes “Zahrat Al-Sabar – The Queen of Sensation Sanaa Jamil” by Amira Ihab: “Despite all the success and distinction she achieved, she could not forget what happened, and the enormity of the price she paid. She could not hold back her tears when she recalled those miserable moments. She always feels afraid, as if a ghost is chasing her and spreading anxiety inside her, which is what she confessed to in a television interview recorded with her by Mufid Fawzi, during which she confirmed that the ghost of fear was born with her the day she went out as a prey in the dead of the night.
In an interview with her conducted by journalist Sakina Sadat in Al-Kawakib magazine, issue 733, in 1965, we find fewer details and somewhat different from what is commonly known about her relationship with her family: “When her father, a lawyer, died, she was nine years old, and when she reached sixteen, she had taken She had a high school diploma from the French Cormorant Schools. Her mother had died, and all she had left in the world was her only brother. She went to learn tailoring and sewing and work on them. She went to the acting institute, and she had loved it since her childhood. She headed the acting team in her school and specialized in playing comedic roles. If I failed one year, I obtained a diploma and joined the modern theater group formed by Zaki Tulaimat. The first play I worked in was “Ibn Jala” in 1952, after which I became one of the theater’s stars.”
Louis Grace mentioned to Mona Mansour in “Sabah Al-Khair” magazine – January 5, 2016 that she was expelled and slapped by her brother on the day of the Cairo fire, January 26, 1952, and she felt afraid of what was coming from the womb of the unseen, so her thoughts guided her to resort to the great artist Zaki Tulaimat, who provided her with accommodation in a house. For expatriate female employees and students, and when she was appointed to the Modern Theater Troupe and had an income of 12 pounds, she searched for an apartment on Abdul Aziz Street to live in.”
“Tulaimat” chose her new name, “Sanaa Jamil,” and set out to compensate for the loss of her family by forming new ones with her art, which immortalized her name. She received a medal for sciences from President Gamal Abdel Nasser in 1969, and a medal for arts from President Sadat in 1976, and her artistic harvest was thirty plays and twenty Film, three of which are on the list of “The 100 Best” in the history of Egyptian cinema, which are “The Beginning and the End” the seventh in the ranking, “The Second Wife” the 16th, and “The Impossible” the 62nd.
She presented series, most notably “The White Banner” by Osama Anwar Okasha, and her role in it was “Fadda Al-Maadawi.” Okasha testifies: “The life and spirit that Sanaa gave to the character exceeded all my expectations and perceptions, and I was weaving her threads on paper, as she added her own brilliance to it.” She says: “Every time I saw Fadda El Madawy on screen, I would marvel at some of her movements or the way she walked and spoke, and I asked myself: How could I embody her in this way?”
