Guardian: Whatever happened to the Qatari film industry?

The Guardian newspaper has published an article on the Doha Film Institute that criticises it for neglecting schemes to nurture local talent, while spending the Qatari film money on foreign projects.

A video appearing to show Omar Sharif slapping a woman was not supposed to be the biggest story to come out of the 2011 Doha Tribeca film festival. The focus should have been on Black Gold, a $55m Qatari co-production – and arguably the most ambitious film shot in the Middle East since Lawrence of Arabia – which had had its world premiere just days earlier. To the irritation of the organisers, however, it was the right arm of the 1962 epic's octogenarian breakout star, incensed by a persistent fan, which stole the headlines.

Landing less than a year after this diminutive, gas-rich Gulf state contentiously won the right to host the 2022 World Cup, Black Gold symbolises another of the country's bold attempts to put itself on the map. But while its plans for the football tournament continue to garner column inches (even if almost entirely disapproving), any interest in its cinematic ambitions has all but dried up.

Last month, the Doha Film Institute – the cultural organisation behind the film and festival – laid off a third of its workforce, the second major round of redundancies in just over a year. Entire departments vanished overnight, as long-term staff members were escorted out of the building.

Established in 2010 by Sheikha Mayassa, a member of the royal family, the institute appeared to be doing everything right at first, its reputation instantly enhanced by a partnership with Robert De Niro's Tribeca. Alongside the festival, which had flown in A-list film stars and journalists from around the world, it planned to foster Arab talent with an impressive education programme led by Oscar-nominated Palestinian director Scandar Copti, and was investing in regional productions through a grants programme. Located in the Katara Cultural Village, a breezy new $2bn complex by the coastline, the DFI had an immediate impact on the local film scene.

"In the beginning it was beautiful because it was about getting the community involved and education," says Mohammed Al-Ibrahim, a former DFI employee who worked in the education department under Copti. But today many of the initiatives have ground to a halt.

The seeds of its future could be spied in the fate of Black Gold, the DFI's pride and joy, which was co-produced by the institute and Tunisian TV and film mogul Tarak Ben Ammar. For all its professional sheen, the film offered a painfully cliched depiction of the Arab world, and failed to use any Middle Eastern names in lead roles, instead turning to Mark Strong (English), Tahar Rahim (French) and Antonio Banderas (Spanish) to don headdresses and kohl. It was given an international release, yet was almost universally panned and failed to recoup a tenth of its spend.

"It was a disaster, I was embarrassed," says Alaa Karkouti, a regional cinema expert and co-founder of Cairo-based film marketing and distribution company MAD Solutions. "Why support this film? Why not an Arabic film? For $55m you can make 50 above-average commercial films in Egypt. Just imagine, 50 films."

Then things fundamentally shifted. Abdulaziz Al Khater, a Qatari plucked from his position as head of operations at the local Al Khaliji Commercial Bank, arrived in October 2012 as DFI's new CEO; he replaced Amanda Palmer, the Australian former Al-Jazeera presenter who had helped establish the festival and institute.

Palmer's resignation that July fell in line with the recent spate of largely handover-free "localisation" efforts around the Gulf. Among Al Khater's first task on arrival was to dismiss around 30 DFI employees, something he did via an emailed videolink. "We're going to be more streamlined," Al Khater later explains to me. "For a lot of the activities that were required to start up the organisation, the need is no longer there." But those now emerging from this "re-evaluation", report a complete shift in focus from the institute's primary aims.

For Maryam Al-Sahli, a video editor who left DFI in 2013, the vision began to change after just a couple of years. "The management was drifting away from the goal it set itself, tempted by the chance to make the institute a worldwide household name."

Despite the cuts, more people soon joined the institute's higher ranks, many of them, claim ex-DFI staff, being Al Khatar's friends and former banking colleagues. Among them was Rajesh Singh, a Singaporean who became director of corporate governance but, according to one insider, was the de facto CEO. Another was Russell Frame, a Scottish legal counsel and former director of defunct Dubai-based publishers The Media Factory, who now oversees co-financing. "[The new employees] weren't familiar faces in the film industry," says Karkouti.

Last April, Al Khater called time on DFI's partnership with Tribeca, cancelling the festival after four editions. The news was a shock, but there were murmurings of disquiet behind the scenes. "I heard the split happened on a bad note," said Al-Ibrahim. "There was a misunderstanding on the top level between the two institutions and it didn't work out."

Two events were rolled out as replacements. Ajyal, a youth-oriented festival, had more than 400 children – 30% of them Qatari – as jurors. It was a fraction of the size of the former festival. Many public screenings were reportedly 10% full.

Qumra, for first- and second-time directors, was due to take place next month and promised to be a livelier affair. But, a day after the latest redundancies, it was postponed for a year, allowing the institute time for a "realignment of its objectives for 2014", amid reports it had bitten off more than it could chew and had heavily overspent on Ajyal.

"It's like they're dealing with a real-estate project," says Karkouti, adding that for many film-makers, Qatar was becoming a "black spot" on their CVs.

Another curious move was the $100m deal DFI made with Participant – the US production powerhouse behind films such as The Help and Lincoln – to fund between 12 and 16 feature films over five years. While it generated headlines, the move was a knock to the many Qataris who had struggled to get a fraction of the resources for their own projects.

"There was a girl who DFI gave a grant to make her film. It wasn't more than $5,000, but they gave her hell over it, then a couple of weeks later they're in the news spending $100m," says Al-Ibrahim. As yet no films with Participant have been announced, but Al Khater says: "Our primary objective is to help local film-makers and we feel that the exposure to emerging filmmakers from around the world enriches that experience."

Despite streamlining, DFI has expanded its grants to international films, with projects from Panama, Paraguay and Argentina all recent recipients. These were announced from the Berlin film festival, where a large DFI delegation was present, staying at the Ritz Carlton. Sources also revealed that, weeks after the recent layoffs, bonuses were awarded. The DFI's missed opportunities and departure from its foundations have been felt most by the young Qataris who were originally attracted by its bright lights.

"I'm not surprised to see the DFI ship sinking," says Al-Sahli. "When you lose your aim you are destined to crash. Especially if the captain of this ship had no background in film, no sensitivity towards the message of the institute, and no sense of responsibility to the task that was assigned to them." (Guardian)