"O Jerusalem, the holy city"

Sunday March 2 - Thursday March 6, Jerusalem, IsraelA national carrier's check-in desk is frequently a microcosm of that nation, and the check-in desk for Israel's El Al Airlines at Heathrow is no exception: "Why are you going to Israel?", "For how long?", "Why have you recently been in Tunisia?" The questions continue, and then the X-rays and searches begin. My hand luggage is taken from me and only returned at the departure gate, and my bags are minutely examined. Fortunately, my father's instruction to "wear my smartest underwear" proves an unnecessary precaution.

It's all mildly irritating. and my schoolboy-before-the-headmaster over-politesse feels a compromise -- but it's a useful reminder of what I'll face in a few hours, and it's a small price to pay for visiting a country which has long been on my wish-list. The five-hour flight passes quickly and I'm met at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv and driven to East Jerusalem. The journey takes just under an hour and our fixer, Sharon Schaveet meets me at the hotel.

Employing fixers is a somewhat risky business, and most production web-sites are flooded with the familiar request: "does anyone know of a good fixer in…(name of country here)". Find a poor fixer and the shoot can rapidly deteriorate into farce. Find a great fixer, and you'll start thinking that it's the best money one can spend on a production. Thankfully, Sharon is of the latter school. A wonderfully efficient tour-de-force, she allows nothing to defeat her -- police, soldiers, bureaucrats, crew-members, myself -- we're all cajolled, encouraged, charmed and threatened into line.
In an essential briefing Sharon warns me that the situation is particularly tense at the moment. Israel has launched a major offensive in Gaza and violence has spilled over into Jerusalem. Both Palestinians and Jews are extremely wary. It's going to be a fascinating few days.

My mission to Israel is two-fold. For the Islam film, I'm shooting perhaps the second most significant site (if we regard Mecca and Medina as one) in the Islamic world, the Dome of the Rock. And for the Judaism film, I'm spending a day at Masada, capturing one of the few remaining ruins of Second Temple Synagogues. In total I have three days.

Day One and we're blessed with sensational weather: an azure sky, a few clouds and no heat-haze at all. Perfect conditions. I'm picked up at seven in the morning and Sharon introduces me to the rest of the crew: driver Arie, director of photography Ofer and camera assistant Gabi. Later I'll meet the sound-man Nicholas. They're warm, relaxed and enthusiastic about the coming shoot.The Dome of the Rock is situated on one of the most contested sites in religious history -- a vast ancient platform known to Jews as the Temple Mount and to Muslims as the Haram al-Sharif or Noble Sanctuary. In Islamic history, the Rock is the location for the Prophet Mohammed's encounter with the angel Gabriel and his ascension to Paradise, while for Jews, the Temple Mount is the foundation for their holiest of sites, the Davidic Temple.

Although governed by a ruling Islamic body, the Noble Sanctuary is nevertheless carefully monitored by Jewish police. The dynamic between the two nationalities at the gate is fascinating -- my absence of Hebrew or Arabic impedes any thorough insight but the uneasy truce is evident; there is much gesticulating and gesturing, some shouting, appeals for calm, much pointing at the crew and our equipment, occasional laughter and of course lots of guns.

Amid the stand-off is Sharon -- occasionally vociferous, mostly pleading. She's warned us beforehand that anything can happen at the entrance to the Dome of the Rock -- there are no guarantees that we'll be allowed to film, nor for how long. But she keeps on pushing. "She'll call the prime minister next," quips Ofer, awed by her persuasive prowess. She's been negotiating our access with both sets of officials for weeks.
And then suddenly, we're admitted. The crew is asked not to speak Hebrew and we're led inside the Dome of the Rock and into one of the most sacred sites in Islam, to the cave itself where it's believed Mohammed met with Gabriel. The Waqf or ruling Islamic officials have offered us an incredible privilege - filming permission here is very rare, and almost never with a large broadcast camera (we're shooting on HD), let alone a tripod.

We do not have a great deal of time but what we do film is remarkable. After twenty minutes we're hurried upstairs and once again given permission to film the interior of the Dome.We film what we can -- but one could spend days here. The tiling and mosaic glass is exquisite and the designs so varied and complex, mostly patterning but discernible are trees, flowers, vegetation and fruits. In the middle of the dome is the stone roof of the cave but extensive scaffolding hampers our view. There's not enough time -- the call for prayer is approaching and the next minute Sharon tells us that we have to leave the site. I protest, entreating her that we need time to shoot exteriors, but the decision is out of her hands. As quickly as we've arrived, we find ourselves outside the entrance gate.

It has not worked out quite as we'd hoped, although the interior access was remarkable. But without filming the exteriors, we don't have a film. Sharon is concerned too, and we decide to talk everything though over a coffee -- we walk down the Via Dolorosa. It's my first sight of street-level Jerusalem and I can't help staring: there are Armenian priests, Orthodox Jews, nuns, hawkers, bodyguards, soldiers and of course coachloads of tourists -- the mix of people is astonishing.
Once we've relaxed a little, Sharon says she'll work hard to convince both the Israeli policemen and the ruling Waqf to allow us access for the following day. She refuses to be drawn on whether it's likely but she'll do everything she can. In the meantime, we can spend some time sourcing a suitable roof-top to film the interview with our Islamic expert. We explore various options and eventually decide on the roof of the Austrian Hospice. It affords us a wonderful view of the Dome and we set for the interview.

Dr Marwan Khalaf is an expert in Islamic art and architecture and proves a gentle and knowledgeable interviewee. Among much else, he explains about the evangelistic role of the Dome of the Rock -- it was partly constructed to compete with (and surpass) other religious structures in Jerusalem, and he tells us too about the mathematical symmetry of the Dome -- 4 doors, 8 sides, 16 columns, 52 windows etc. It's a very constructive couple of hours and we end the day with some sunset shots from the Mount of Olives before a 6 o'clock lunch.

Day Two and Sharon has decided that the best thing to do is just to pitch up early at the Dome and try our luck. We squeeze in a sunrise shot first thing and then head to the entrance. Ofer and I exchange ideas about the routine which dominates much of filming -- "Hurry Up and Wait" -- and we shoot some general footage while waiting to hear news of progress. Sharon calls. If we come this minute, she thinks we can get in. She's right and once again we get access. Other crews don't fare so well -- there's a media ban in place and among others, the BBC are turned away.
One of the privileges of filming is the opportunity to look at buildings in significant detail, courtesy of a long lens. And the Dome doesn't disappoint -- the golden cupola steals the headlines but the windows, walls, even guttering are just as remarkable. Again it's a day of blue skies, and the structure looks wonderful. We could spend all day here, and another day too, but we've pushed our luck already and the governing Waqf have indulged our schedule to an incredible degree. We say our thank you's and leave the Dome of the Rock.

Except of course we don't. Just by the entrance of the Noble Sanctuary, two abandoned rucksacks have been identified as suspicious. We and our equipment are held at the gate as an explosives robot rumbles into action. We're ushered out of the sight-line and hear six muffled shots -- the sound of the robot shooting the packages. Predictably the rucksacks prove to be only that, but the situation doesn't help tension levels.
A coffee later, and we're filming street scenes, market scenes and Jerusalem establishing shots. Our final location for the day is the Western Wall -- often referred to as the wailing wall. It's one of those scenes with which one has become so familiar, but up close, the whole experience is of course far more vivid. We film right by the wall and I feel a touch uncomfortable at our proximity to the worshippers. Not so Ofer and, seemingly, not so the Orthodox Jews who continue, indifferent to our presence. The early evening is spent having dinner at Restobar. "Oh this place," remarks the camera assistant, Gabi, "you may remember, it was decimated by a suicide-bomber a couple of years ago."
Day Three and leaving Jerusalem behind us, we're driving alongside the Dead Sea on our way to Masada. Ever since seeing Peter O Toole in the 1981 mini-series of the siege, I've wanted to come here, probably along with many thousands of others.
The story of Masada is an extraordinary one. In 66 CE a group of rebels from a Judaic extreme sect, the Sicarii, surprised and overcame the Roman garrison at Masada. With cliffs rising 400 metres above the desert, the site offered a near impregnable natural fortress (complete with huge food stocks and its own well). In turn, the Romans besieged Masada, constructing a vast rampart which enabled the defenses to be breached. When the Romans entered the fortress in 72 CE, they discovered that all 936 inhabitants had committed suicide rather than face captivity. Dramatically symbolic, Masada is now Israel's second most popular tourist site.
Our focus for the day is Masada's synagogue. Not much remains - a few broken walls, pillars and the steps bordering the walls where worshippers would sit, pray and listen to readings of the Torah. A converted stable, the building is incredibly simple and pure; a rejection of the rich colour-schemes and ornate construction of the surrounding Roman buildings. Nevertheless, I find it beautiful -- concise, straightforward and modest.

Archaeological expert Avner Goren is our guide. He's a fabulous contributor -- experienced in the trials of television, he's both patient and charismatic, content to wait in the sun while we tinker with our set-ups. He draws a vivid account of the siege and is alive to contemporary parallels with Gaza. He also highlights the fact that for many Israelis, Masada is a symbol with which they no longer wish to be closely allied -- they don't want to be isolated from other communities or nationalities; instead they want actively to engage with them.
We film until 4pm and then catch the final cable car down the slopes. A few last sunset shots over the desert and we drive back to Jerusalem. One last supper and a flight home. At the hotel, I'm asked whether, for the journey to the airport, I'd prefer a Jewish taxi-driver or a Palestinian taxi-driver. Only in Israel. (Seb Grant)

Mosques, minarets and meze

Saturday February 23 - Monday February 25, Istanbul, Turkey
"You see these wires? They're connected to a bomb and I'm going to kill British people."

The man fixed his eyes on our cameraman.

"Good idea," responded our cameraman. "I'm South African."

This little exchange occurred in 2003, the last time Illuminations filmed in Istanbul. We were working on a BBC/Canada co-production entitled The World in Art and we had been accosted while shooting in the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. Five years on and we are filming there once again.
Istanbul is, without doubt, one of my favourite European cities: jaw-dropping architecture, incredible food (particularly the sauces, meats, fish and bread), a complex history -- and a generous, warm-hearted, proud population. We (Ian, Nonie and myself) are delighted to be making the journey. (Sorry, but this isn't just one of those paragraphs written to mitigate an uncomfortable opening story.)

Arriving late from Budapest, we are met at the airport by our fixer's colleague, Tunjay, and taken to our hotel just across the square from the mosque. One late meze supper later and we have agreed to meet early to film the sun rising from behind the minarets.
Time-lapse sequences (which can be sped-up to make time pass quickly) are frequently shot by resentful cameramen in isolated surroundings, at unearthly hours in challenging temperatures. Not this one. The hotel's breakfast room overlooks the Mosque and we enjoy the perfect view while stuffing our faces with exotic mueslis, fresh bread, juices and a few Turkish sweets. Oh yes, and of course there's the mosque...Frequently known by tourists as the the Blue Mosque because of its interior blue ceramic tiling, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque is one of the must-see attractions of Istanbul. There is little question of its remarkable contribution to the Istanbul skyline -- constructed between 1609 and 1616, its six 60-metre minarets challenge the dominance of its older neighbour, the Hagia Sofia.

All sorts of myths have grown up around the disproportionally high number of these minarets (most mosques have four or less). One of the most popular is that the architect Sedefhar Mehmet Aga misunderstood Sultan Ahmed I's instructions for the design and confused the word "gold" with "six" -- in Arabic the words are phonetically very similar. At the time the Sultan was accused of presumption -- only Mecca had six minarets -- but Ahmed I eventually pacified his critics by financing the construction of a seventh minaret at Mecca.
Expounding truth, and exposing myth, our interviewee for the mosque is Dr Feridun Ozgumus, a Byzantine expert who is able to talk in great depth about both the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. I should have been smarter about picking interview locations (just too much human traffic) but once we're settled in the interior of the Blue Mosque itself, I feel that the interview becomes far more focussed and intimate. Feridun is extremely open in talking about his faith and what it means to actively worship in this incredible building. He's also kind enough to explain the various rituals involved in the Islamic act of worship. Interview complete, there's just time to snatch some final interior shots before we lose the sunlight. We enjoy a late supper and retire early.

The next day, Sunday, and we spend the morning filming at the Hagia Sofia. The building predates the Sultan Ahmed Mosque by almost a thousand years and yet to my eye, it's the more remarkable of the two buildings -- and this despite extensive scaffolding supporting the main dome.
Perhaps I'm just more accustomed to an ecclesiastical aesthetic - the Hagia Sofia was formerly a basilica before being transformed into a mosque (and now a museum) but somehow the proportions feel more appropriate - and yes, I suppose I've grown used to appreciating something figurative in buildings of worship (there are some exquisite mosaics still left in the first floor gallery, and on the ceiling and above the mihrab).

We spend the morning filming there and hear rather a good story about the scaffolding -- there's a popular rumour that the scaffolding will never be taken away; not because the restoration process is endless, not because it's structurally supporting the roof -- but simply it's a means of preventing any discussion on whether the museum should be returned to a place of worship. It's an engaging theory.
The afternoon and our fabulous fixer, Munir, pulls off something of a coup; he arranges for us to go to the top of the central minaret of the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and take some shots of Istanbul and the Hagia Sofia. It's a real privilege, although once we're gasping for breath on a pitch-black stairway, we feel slightly less grateful. The views though prove worth it -- and when we get our feet back on the ground, we're exhilirated. Finally, there's a dash for the ferry which takes us across to the other side of the Bosphorus - partly to get some shots of the skyline and partly to boast that we've visited Asia.
Prague, Budapest, Istanbul - it's been a sensational experience to film in all of these cities, but on the final morning, the real pressure kicks in… what to buy other halves at the end of a shoot? For a trip like this one, somehow the airport shop just won't do. (Seb Grant)

Filming and fine dining in Mitteleuropa

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Prague, Czech Republic
“This would be so perfect,” we agreed, “if one was here on a romantic break.” It was a twilit Sunday evening, an hour or so after landing, and Ian, Seb and I were wandering through the Old Town Square in Prague and marvelling at the extraordinary ancient buildings surrounding us. As it was we there for a shoot for the Judaism film.

Prague’s architecture is multifarious and fascinating. Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic buildings sit cheek-by-jowl with an Art Nouveau part of the city, the ‘Josefov’ area, which is the old Jewish Quarter. And right in the middle of the Josefov area is the Old New Synagogue. It is a wonderful, compact Gothic building from the 13th century and the oldest active synagogue in Europe. Josefov was a Jewish ghetto from the 12th century until 1848, when the Jews were granted permission to move out. By the turn of the century the old ghetto had become a slum and was in such a decrepit state that it had to be completely demolished, bar six synagogues, the old Jewish cemetery, the Ceremonial Hall and the Jewish Town Hall. These buildings now make up the “Jewish Museum” of Prague. They remain proudly in situ in the Jewish Quarter, although they are now somewhat dwarfed by the lofty Art Nouveau buildings that usurped their previous neighbours.
Contrary to what the constant trail of tourists might suggest, the Old New Synagogue is more than an important element of the “Old Jewish Town” tour. It is still an active place of worship and of gathering for Prague’s Orthodox Jewish community. Through filming with our contributor, Jakub Svab, we learnt about the history of the building and equally importantly about how it functions as a synagogue today. A tour guide and the Head of the Synagogue Assembly, Jakub was a great interviewee. He has attended the synagogue since he was a boy, had his Bar Mitzvah there and was married there. From his named seat he was in a more than qualified position to share with us the honour he felt to be worshipping in such an historic structure, but also to reveal the challenges of worshipping in a building put up 700 years ago.
Other highlights of our shoot here seemed to involve spending our limited free time sampling the local gastronomy. On our first evening in Prague, our main course included Czech beer, a whole roast duck for Seb, a gigantic portion of crispy “pork knuckle” for Ian and no less than two marinated chicken breasts for me. That of course was before the traditional selection of dumplings and cabbage. We swiftly learned that starters are not a necessity here.

Wednesday February 20 - Friday February 22, Budapest, Hungary
After two days in Prague we flew to Budapest, where our next location was the Dohany Street Synagogue -- a magnificent, unique synagogue built in the Moorish style, and currently the largest synagogue in Europe.
The sun was shining on our first morning there as we were let into the complex by a friendly maintenance man called Alexander. Alexander, who spoke no English, remained our companion throughout our filming at the synaogue, and by the end of two days we had developed quite an advanced level of dialogue with him, consisting of sign language, smiles and a sprinkling of German. On arrival Alexander let us enter the synagogue from the bimah, the elevated platform at its centre. As we went in all three of our heads craned up in awe. The building is enormous and even in the semi-darkness the structure, the ornamental designs, the patterns and the chandeliers were incredibly impressive. Casually, one by one, Alexander flicked on all the light switches and slowly the synagogue lit up to reveal its full glory.
During our first day of filming general views of the synagogue we decided to see if any of the inhabitants of the nearby high-rise buildings might allow us to film a shot from one of their windows. Several hours of climbing staircases and trying to doorstep slightly suspicious Hungarian homeowners later, we thankfully stumbled across a girl in a travel agent who kindly decided to adopt our top-shot challenge. Seb and I adopted what we hoped were our most charming and innocent facial expressions and without saying a word we followed our kind helper as she went from office to office and house to house, trying to find someone with an appropriate window.
Eventually she left us at a doctor’s surgery. The doctor spoke little English but what he lacked in linguistic finesse he made up for in mesmerising facial hair. He communicated something about his room being busy at the moment but we could get five minutes inside as soon as it became available. For the next twenty minutes Ian and I shared his waiting room with a group of sick Hungarians slightly nonplussed by our pile of kit and general air of expectancy. Occasionally the outside bell rang and I found myself opening the door and pulling apologetic facial expressions to Hungarians who came in and directed questions at me. Just as we were about to give up and seek out an alternative location, the doctor emerged from his room and gave us permission to film. Phew.
Our contributor for the Dohany Street Syagogue was a wonderfully warm and open rabbi called Robert Frolich. Brought up as an Orthodox Jew, Rabbi Frolich was very aware and honest about the varied architectural influences on the building and consequently some Jews’ criticism that the it resembles a church rather than a traditional synagogue. Indeed the Rabbi made it abundantly clear that nothing about the synagogue’s design is typical at all and he explained very interestingly how the church-like structure and Moorish design elements were introduced to make the building more accessible and familiar to a greater number of people. His ethos regarding leading such a large congregation was also surprisingly liberal, revealing that he was quite happy to have his massive congregation chatting amongst themselves during his services, just as long as they were there and happy to be part of the synagogue's community. Indeed, after spending time in that glorious building and with the rabbi it easy to see why they would want to stay that way.
The comedy moment of the Budapest trip would have to be our meal out on the second night. Ian and the Time Out Guide were charged with the task of finding us a choice restaurant at which to sample authentic Hungarian cuisine. We jumped into a taxi to go to our exciting surprise destination. Not only did our taxi smell curiously of wet dog, but our chain-smoking driver spoke as much English as we did Hungarian (none) and had no idea how to find Ian’s restaurant. “Small street” we just about deduced from some choice gestures -- but really his slightly baffled face spoke volumes -- which we finally understood as he pulled up. He dropped us off in Buda (we were staying in Pest), at a restaurant beside some tram tracks in a deserted middle-class suburb.

Outside lights on and tea lights expectantly lit on every table, the restaurant was completely empty. Our waitress spoke no English and simply giggled. At one point in her attempt to communicate mid-giggle she led us to believe we might have teeth in our soup -- until we realised she meant garlic, which of course is tooth-coloured! When our return taxi came to pick us up, we were pleased we’d eaten authentic Hungarian food in a non-touristy restaurant but we were just as happy that two more customers had arrived and our smiley waitress had some other people to giggle with. (Nonie Creagh-Brown)

Taj Mahal? Been there, shot that

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Agra, India
"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

It's golden hour in Agra, India. The hour before sunset so precious to cinematogaphers the world over.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

We're chasing the light, all too aware of the sinking sun. And we're racing in a minibus through streets crammed with tuk-tuks, carts drawn by bullocks, colourful lorries, battered buses and a swarm of motorbikes. Every so often our driver Ramesh leans out of the window demanding directions.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."
No-one seems to know how to direct us across the Yamuna river to the gardens with a view of the Taj Mahal at sunset. But somehow we find the bridge, a narrow, two-lane iron structure (with a railway above) built under the Raj and seemingly not mended since. Traffic hurtles towards us as we manoeuvre around anything that presumes to move more slowly than our camera car.

Then, after one wrong turning, there's the sign and then an official at a gate stopping us from taking the car any further. We jump out and hump the gear down to the river bank. Across what at this time of the year is little more than a stream ("you should see it during the monsoon!") is the magnificent mausoleum of the Taj Mahal, with soft sunlight rounding the curves of its white marble.
Truth to tell, we're just a few minutes too late. A glimpse of the Taj's domes from the road had shown them glowing a subtle orange, but now the sun has sunk a touch too low. Nonetheless the sight beats most tourist vistas and cameraman Nandu shoots happily, catching reflections and snatching the red globe as it sinks away.
I arrived in India yesterday morning, travelling on the same flight as Paul Merton. He has come for a 9-week shoot for a Five follow-up to last year's Paul Merton in China. Paul travelled first-class. I didn't. But then again I'm only here for three days.

Having met up with Ramesh, we do the four hour-plus drive to Agra. I was last in India (as a tourist) more than twenty years ago, but India remains India. We stop for a moment and there's a monkey on the car and a man wanting money for a photo. There are beggars at every traffic light, camels on the highway and an unrelenting soundtrack of horns.
Monday morning Ramesh and I drive to Fatephur Sikri, the extraordinary city built by Mughal emperor Akbar in the late sixteenth century and abandoned after only 14 years. We meet our Indian crew, Nandu and Subu, and scope out the vast mosque here -- which is one part of the story I've come to shoot. The only frustration is that because a previous crew damaged the building in some way we're not allowed to use a tripod inside the courtyard. We try persuasion, tricks when we think the guards are not looking, as well as other means, but we have to make do with the camera on the ground, on ledges and Nandu's steady shoulder.
Another problem is that our contributor, a cultural historian who was to talk with us about the Taj Mahal, has had a bereavement in her family, and so we have to to find a replacement in Agra in the next few hours. The resourceful Ramesh makes it happen.
That evening there's the frantic drive to Mehtab Bagh and next morning we're at the Taj Mahal main entrance at 8am. What of course you never see in documentaries is the palaver of getting past security, especially if you have camera equipment. There are soldiers with guns everywhere. The kit is subjected to a detailed scrutiny and we, like every other visitor, are patted down for concealed weapons. The process, like so much in India, is both rigorous and ramshackle.

Inside, jostling with the crowds, there's an intensity to the way everyone needs to have their picture taken with the Taj. And there is perceived to be one perfect spot, dead centre, for which people constantly compete and for which -- when we manage to manoeuvre the tripod there -- we receive disapproving looks and not-so-subtle shoulder barges.
Filming is permitted only from a single wide platform just inside the entrance to the garden. Our two minders make sure we don't trespass any further forward, and then when we start the interview, we're only one question in before one of them challenges our permit. "No casting," it states on page three of the form but, the minder says, the interviewee is "casting". No, no, we all argue, "casting" refers to drama shoots. My plea that I have flown thousands of miles for this moment makes little impact, at least until Ramesh takes him away for a quiet word and an understanding between them. We film the interview.
Despite all this, the mausoleum -- completed around 1648 by emperor Shah Jahan in memory of cherished wife Mumtaz Mahal -- is a magnificent sight. Serene, glowing, glorious. Looking at it, staring at it on our monitor, and then walking around (beyond where the camera can go), none of the minor hassles mean a thing. It is, simply, a sublime achievement of faith and beauty. (John Wyver)

The joy of production texts

Thursday February 7, London

Just four of the texts sent to the production office during the past week (for the full stories, see the other blog entries)…

February 1, 12:23
Nonie from Chartres

Hi John, having a farcical morning trying to interview Rudy alongside 5 groups of restoring builders and now an organist! And it is pouring with rain… Challenge to say the least.

February 2, 15:50
Seb from Tunis

Luggage lost, equipment impounded. Ah yes, Africa, I remember, : )
February 5, 16:21
Ajay, after a conversation with Ian in Barcelona

Nothing 2 worry about, and he's on the case, bt Ian missed his flight connexion … yep.

February 6, 09.55
Linda from Malaga

Just got the gear out of customs after its unexpected overnight and setting off now for Cordoba. At least we'll get to film this pm.

"As perfect as the purest conceptions of the greatest workers in stone"

Saturday February 2 - Monday February 4, Tunisia

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do"
and
“I appreciate you’re in a hurry, but you’ll just have to come back after the weekend and collect it all then”

In my lexicon of phrases-to-fret-about these two refrains have a top-five placing – particularly when in the first instance they relate to lost filming-tapes, and secondly, to our impounded camera equipment.

It’s Saturday afternoon at Tunis Airport, and cameraman Ian Serfontein and I have arrived in Tunisia to film at Kairouan, a modestly-sized town 200 kilometers south of the capital. Widely acknowledged as the fourth most important Islamic city in the world (after Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem), Kairouan is home to one of the earliest architectural marvels of the Islamic faith, a mosque whose foundations go back to the 7th century.
Writing in 1889, the great French novelist Guy de Maupassant said of the site

"I know of three religious buildings in the world that have given me the unexpected and shattering emotion that was aroused in me by this barbaric and astonishing monument: Mont Saint-Michel, Saint Mark's in Venice, and the Palatine Chapel in Palermo. These three are reasoned, studied, and admirable work of great architects sure of their effects, pious of course, but artistic first, inspired as much or more by their love of line, of form, and of decoration, as by their love of God. But at Kairouan it is something else. A race of fanatics, nomads scarcely able to build walls, coming to a land covered with ruins left by their predecessors, picked up here and there whatever seemed most beautiful to them, and, in their own turn, with these debris all of one style and order, raised, under the guidance of heaven, a dwelling for their God, made of pieces torn from crumbling towns, but as perfect as the purest conceptions of the greatest workers in stone."

But neither my limited charm nor great French texts can move the customs officials. Our equipment remains captive.

Fortunately, help is at hand. The ominous sounding – but incredibly helpful – TECA (Tunisian External Communication Agency) smooths our passage; tapes are found, equipment is released, and we find ourselves in the company of Adel, our fixer for the next 24 hours.

We’re soon on the road – with our driver, Mohammed - and within minutes, Adel and I are engrossed in discussing Islam and Christianity. Adel tells me that a few months previously, a Swedish producer had come out for a few days filming with him, and had returned home a confirmed Muslim. I can’t claim impartiality, but as a committed Christian I’m delighted to be learning more about Islam and keen to exchange texts and world-views. The debate goes on and on and on.

A pause in the theological discussion is offered by a road-side stop, featuring delicious, freshly grilled lamb and local breads. Adel tells me that it’s not unusual for Tunisians to eat lamb three or four times a week. I’m overtaken with envy. Finally, we arrive at our hotel at about 10 am.
The next day and we’re up at 6am to film the sun-rise. Early morning fog frustrates our efforts but we do see the Mosque for the first time. It’s a sensational building -- elegant, straightforward, and possessed of immaculate scale and geometry. 145 metres long and 80 metres wide, the walls enclose a serene courtyard, bordered my arcades. At one end of the courtyard is the prayer hall and at the other is a single three-storey minaret.

Because neither Ian nor I are Muslims, we are unable to film within the prayer hall but our friends at TECA have kindly arranged for a cameraman from Tunis to drive down and help us out – I’m yet to see the rushes but I’m hoping that Ahmed will have captured the large wooden minbar (apparently, the oldest in existence, and dated at 862-63 CE) and the stunning mihrab – decorated with tiles, specially imported from Iraq.

After a couple of hours, Ahmed returns to Tunis and Ian and I are left to film the courtyard, exterior details and some further shots of Kairouan. It’s a memorable first day and that evening we enjoy another lamb dinner before retiring to bed early.
A brighter morning on Monday means that we film a beautiful sunrise over the minaret and then drive to the offices of Mourad Rammah, the conservateur de la Medina de Kairouan. Rammah will be our chief interviewee and proves a most charming, relaxed and enthusiastic host. Having travelled extensively to all of the key Islamic sites around the world he is able to contextualise Kairouan and talk with great authority and passion about why the building is so remarkable. Rammah speaks in good jargon-free French and then persuades the authorities to allow us to film at the top of the minaret – it’s quite a coup.
Above all, Rammah talks in straightforward terms about the design of the mosque – how the builders incorporated Roman and Christian ruins into the stone-work, how the minaret could double as a fortification, how the courtyard is graded to collect water, why there are so many columns in the prayer hall -- the focus should not be on the Imam. Without any sort of recce, it’s always a great relief to find such a good contributor and we film with Rammah until 2pm.

A late lunch and a further interview accomplished we drive out of town to capture a final sunset over Kairouan. The only sadness of the trip is, over another dinner of excellent lamb, watching Tunisia crash out of the African Cup of Nations, losing to Cameroon 3-2 in extra-time. Ian and I triy to console our hosts with England’s loss against Wales in the Six Nations. (Seb Grant)

An early test edit

Wednesday January 31, London

Two days editing with Holly, one of the two editors we'll work with later, and we've assembled a rough, seven and a half minute sequences from the St Mary Redcliffe rushes. It's very raw but it's not bad -- and it's an immensely useful lesson for the filming to come.
Father Simon's interview feels very strong (we'll be lucky if we find many contributors as good as him) and some of the shots look great. Also, the footage of worship in the church feels very welcome. But we don't use the jib shots as much as we thought we might -- trying to put the interview as the soundtrack to these feels somehow wrong -- and Holly is concerned about whether we have enough static shots of the interior. Note to everyone not to neglect these in the buildings to come.

Plus the assembly reveals that you really have to work carefully to establish on the screen the space, the layout, the basic configuration of a building. Not that we ever thought it was, but filming architecture is far from trivial. (John Wyver)