MALTA

Island of the Imagination

Text by CHARLIE CAUCHI

NETS, WOOD, PAINT, GRIT, GRAVEL – all have been applied to the sandy limestone surface of this island archipelago, and all in the name of cinema. Malta's rural and urban landscape has functioned as a veritable blank canvas, ready to be shaped by the film-makers that visit and to serve the requirements of their own particular narratives. Epic tales, adventure films, spy movies – the island has made many a generic transformation over the years. On occasion, Malta flickers on the big screen in all its natural glory and, albeit rarely, is even given the chance to play itself. But more often than not, the country acts as a surrogate for other places – either real or fantasy spaces, set in contemporary or distant times, often disguised to the point that it is rendered unrecognizable to those who know it well.

Writing as someone who has a strong connection with Malta, I find that my own cultural identity, age and life experiences can often conflict with the cinematic representation placed before me. At times running counter to my own lived-in knowledge, these on-screen manifestations lead to a desire to pinpoint each exact location and to unpick the geographic reality of each scene. When watching a film I know was shot on location in Malta, I occasionally find that I become more preoccupied with the off-screen spaces, with what lies beyond the image, rather than the image itself. What do these props, edits, camera angles conceal rather than reveal? Do not read my lack of engagement with the film as disinterest. Rather, the more difficult it is to verify a particular place can be seen as testament to the director's vision and, more importantly, the skills of the countless other individuals that make such transformations possible. And lest I forget, the versatile actor at the heart of it all: Malta.

My own emotional attachment aside, architect Conrad Thake describes Malta's landscape as being 'highly discontinuous in its physical structure, reflecting the diverse settlement patterns and urban forms that were introduced over various centuries by Arab and later European cultures' (p.38). A palimpsest of past conquests and cultures, it is Malta's hybridity, its position between the East and the West that makes it suitable to convey the reality that it purports to represent. Take Steven Spielberg's Munich (2005) as a prime example; a tour de force for production designer Rick Carter, costume designer Joanna Johnston and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, who are all incidentally close collaborators of the renowned director. The film's central premise has Mossad agents travel to Athens, Beirut, Nicosia, Rome, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and the West Bank to carry out their operation. In reality however, the production team barely used a fraction of the 316 km2 that make up the Maltese islands.

In this case, certain aspects and features inherent to the chosen landscape were singled out and accentuated, while others were obscured or camouflaged. Either way, through the collaborative efforts and critical eye of the production team, each chosen space took on a personality of its own, demonstrating that objects, decor and colour can be an integral part of filming on location. To highlight a few examples, Valletta's baroque architecture is foregrounded to stand in for Rome; while Sliema, with its bustling seafront and intensely developed promenade of Bauhaus-esque apartment blocks, bears an uncanny resemblance to Tel Aviv – with some fine sand also thrown in (quite literally I expect) for good measure. Add a classic car here, some stay-press fabric there and, once you de-saturate the image, we have not only travelled to two completely different parts of the world, but both spaces have also transported the audience back in time to the 1970s.

Although Munich can be seen as a period drama, the island's rich history also attracts productions that are preoccupied with distant myths. The realist background that period films like Munich strive for are rejected in pictures like Gladiator (Ridley Scott, 2000), Troy (Wolfgang Peterson, 2004) and Agora (Alejandro Amenábar, 2009) in favour of something more spectacular. In search of a landscape that can reinforce the historical image and add ideological precision to the overall narrative, many productions have exploited Malta's classical antiquity to restage the past. It was Gladiator that reignited the trend for epic tent-pole pictures, harking back to the Hollywood of the 1950s and 1960s, when titles like The Ten Commandments (Cecil B. DeMille, 1956), Ben-Hur (William Wyler, 1959) and Spartacus (Stanley Kubrick, 1960) dominated the box office. Unlike these latter-day films however, many of the modern epics are able to successfully combine the real and the digital to re-create a historical setting. However, it is the construction of elaborate sets that adds to the splendour and spectacle. The transformation is not incantatory. It takes the involvement of a lot of skilled individuals for a production to take shape, and Malta has a history of providing artisanal work of a high standard. One need only look to Agora and the large-scale set pieces that dominate the image as confirmation of the incredible craftsmanship that is available on the island. The film proved to be a great opportunity to showcase local talent.

Besides Malta's ability to flaunt its fluid identity, when disrobed, Malta's anatomy is often used to accentuate its exoticism. The island's rocky beaches and seascapes, bathed in a golden light, have been incorporated into many productions, though mostly as an anonymous background filler. 'I did not fly all the way from New York City to wherever the f#$k we are ...,' shrieks Amber (Madonna) in Swept Away (Guy Ritchie, 2002). In a sense, this loud-mouthed American has a point – the specificities of the location are skirted over in this film (in this particular scene, the 'wherever' is Vittoriosa Waterfront) and in many others, to exploit the standard myth of the idyllic Mediterranean setting. In contrast to the picturesque depictions, when Malta is named it is usually in the context of World War II or the British Empire. Given Malta's crucial position during World War II, it is understandable that film-makers would connect Malta to this turbulent time in history, either tackling it explicitly in films like Malta Story (Brian Desmond Hurst, 1953), or by embedding it in the narrative to add context.

Nevertheless, it is very rare that Malta's national history and contemporary social issues make their way on-screen. But this is slowly starting to change, with film-makers, screenwriters and artists who inhabit the island (either as nationals or citizens) starting to produce work that is told from an internal viewpoint. Local cinematic activity has already started to give rise to a number of productions that are not only rooted in this geographical context, but also embrace Malta's identity, traditions and characteristics. Examples to date include the work of Rebecca Cremona, Kenneth Scicluna, Mark Dingli, Martin Bonnici, Pierre Ellul, Bettina Hutschek, Jean Pierre Magro, Monika Maslowska, Joshua Cassar Gaspar, and many others whose imaginations have been sparked by this little island, allowing audiences to engage with it through cinema in new and exciting ways.

MALTA STORY (1953)

LOCATION

The Royal Opera House, Republic Str., Valetta

DURING HIS NIGHT-TIME DESCENT on Maltese land, RAF pilot Lt Peter Ross (Alec Guinness) turns to his flight companion Eden (Hugh Burden) and says, 'I would like to see Malta in daylight. I believe there's some very interesting Megalithic remains.' 'Well,' Eden wistfully replies, 'there are certainly some very interesting remains on Malta nowadays, Megalithic or otherwise.' Set against a backdrop of rubble and rations, director Brian Desmond Hurst evocatively illustrates the hardship suffered by the Maltese during World War II by interweaving authentic locations and archival footage. Malta Story was filmed and released just over a decade after the Siege of Malta, a battle that occurred between Allied and Axis forces from 1940 to 1942. The film's temporal setting is 1942, when Malta, still a British colony, suffered severe bombardment by Axis aircraft. The courage of the Maltese did not go unnoticed, that very year King George VI awarded Malta the George Cross for bravery. This sequence focuses on Ross and his inamorata Maria (Muriel Pavlow), who have joined the throng on the ruins of the once majestic Royal Opera House to listen to Governor Gort broadcast this news to the nation. The site was itself a casualty of war. Situated in Valletta, the Opera House was designed by British architect Edward Middleton Barry in the late 1800s. Initially it was a prestigious performance venue: this neoclassical structure catering mainly to Malta's elite. In fact, Guinness appeared there in 1939, when he played Hamlet in a production staged by the Old Vic Theatre. After its wartime destruction however, the Opera House remained derelict until it was redesigned by Renzo Piano and renovated in 2013. This image, heavy with the pains of the past, lies in stark contrast to the Valletta of now, a city reimagined, standing out on a global stage of arts and culture. [right arrow] Charlie Cauchi

TREASURE IN MALTA (1963)

LOCATION

Bus Terminus, Valletta

THE GIANT MALTESE CROSS decorating the long-lost Kingsway Gate overlooking traditional multicoloured Maltese buses, all neatly organized around the imposing Tritons Fountain, is a carefully choreographed postcard of Valletta in the 1960s: a Valletta which is no more. The buses have been replaced by modern ones, while the entrance to the city is now a Renzo Piano work of art. The scene is set for yet another chase sequence in which Tom (Aidan Mompalao de Piro) and Sukie (Marylu Coppini née Ripard) seek to rescue their father, abducted by a comic trio of crooks intent on nabbing the legendary golden statue of Calypso. Jiminy (Mario Debono), a local boy, becomes their sidekick and guide, as the children try to save the day. Like all the other films made by the Children's Film Foundation, Treasure in Malta is an enjoyable family adventure promoting values such as team work. However, having been generously supported by the Malta Tourist Board, Treasure in Malta practically became a two-hour advertising campaign, displaying stunning Maltese landmarks and traditions. Long before acknowledging or harnessing the modern concept of screen tourism, the Board understood the potential of showing Malta on-screen in a film that would reach over thirty countries and be dubbed in a dozen different languages. Treasure in Malta is nothing short of a time capsule and an evocative testament to the beauty of the Maltese islands. [right arrow] Jean Pierre Borg

GIUSEPPI (1972)

LOCATION

Il-Mandragg, Valletta

GIUSEPPI is the most successful film of Cecil Satariano's short-lived film-making career. The short, which features no dialogue, won awards in film competitions in Nagasaki, London, Cannes, Tokyo, New York, Lisbon and Hiroshima. Giuseppi Mallia, also known as il-Futtru, plays the eponymous crippled vagrant. Satariano cast Mallia after observing him on the streets of Valletta. As the story goes, Mallia had never seen a film before and when the director approached him he was unable to fathom what was being asked of him. Perhaps it is this naivety that makes his performance so absorbing. Although a fictional film, the inclusion of Mallia – his demeanour, his body, his clothes, his social surroundings – form a creative and tragic interpretation of his reality. Satariano's use of Valletta visually demonstrates the social stratification inherent in the capital city, with Giuseppi's finale taking place in an area more impoverished in comparison to the others that feature in the film. Known as il-Mandragg, the gridded streets imbue the scene with unease. Interestingly, in the 1970s Satariano was on the Board of Film Censors, and was also a film critic for one of Malta's leading English-language newspapers. More importantly, he published a book on amateur film-making in 1973. Entitled Canon Fire: The Art of Making Award Winning Movies, the book was commissioned by a British publishing company. In another aside, Mallia also attracted the attention of British director Mike Hodges, who gave him a bit-part in the Michael Caine vehicle Pulp (1972). [right arrow] Charlie Cauchi

EYEWITNESS (1973)

LOCATION

Upper Barrakka Lift, Valletta

THE STORY OF THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF takes a suspenseful twist in this British drama, filmed entirely in Malta. After 11-year-old Ziggy (Mark Lester) witnesses the assassination of a visiting dignitary, the film effectively functions as one prolonged chase sequence. While the island remains unnamed, used solely as an exotic milieu against which to set the screenplay, viewers are still treated to their fair share of the Maltese landscape. The camera careers across rugged seascapes and up steep limestone steps, though for many Maltese it is this scene that remains iconic: in a tense moment in the film, Ziggy manages to flee his assailants by entering the Upper Barrakka Lift. As his aggressors negotiate the narrow streets of the capital, Ziggy is framed trapped inside the menacing confines of the caged structure. External low-angle shots are added to exaggerate the lift's verticality. An intrinsic component of Valletta's urban fabric, the lift was originally built by the British in 1905, but by the time the film was released it was no longer operational and was eventually dismantled by the mid-80s. In 2012, UK and Malta based Architecture Project unveiled a renovated version of the lift, improving links between the Grand Harbour and Valletta. [right arrow] Charlie Cauchi

MIDNIGHT EXPRESS (1978)

LOCATION

Lower Fort St Elmo, Valletta

IN 1977 DIRECTOR ALAN PARKER transformed Fort St Elmo into a Turkish prison, creating a nightmarish vision of the republic's justice system. The film is based on the 'true' story of Billy Hayes, who, after being incarcerated on drug-related charges, managed to escape after five years. The Oscar-winning film's portrayal of the Turkish justice system rendered the country off-limits as a filming location. After visiting the island, Parker felt that Malta had the right cinematic look for the film, and the production relocated to the island for a total of 53 days. Malta appears throughout, bar a number of establishing shots of Turkey, which were taken by a second unit; the film-makers managed to gain permission on the pretence of shooting a cigarette commercial. While several locations were used, Fort St Elmo is the most prominently featured, standing in for Istanbul's Sagmalcilar prison. Oliver Stone's screenplay constructed a more harrowing depiction of prison life, with Hayes's (Brad Davis) character brutally victimized. Rather than a conventional prison setting, the historic fortification, impregnated with the legacy of the Order of the Knights of St John and ravaged by the 1565 Great Siege, adds a level of barbarism. The structure was mainly left untouched, with the exception of a few minor elements. Although Malta appeared on international screens, the film will always be associated with Turkey, where the film was banned because of its anti-Turkish rhetoric. [right arrow] Charlie Cauchi

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO (2002)

LOCATION

Grandmaster's Palace, Valetta

READERS FAMILIAR WITH DUMAS'S NOVELThe Count of Monte Cristo (1844 – 1845) know that immediately upon his rescue from the sea after escaping from Château d'If, Edmond Dantès introduces himself to his rescuers as a shipwrecked Maltese sailor. While Malta gets passing mention in this classic novel, two of the countless screen adaptations that have been created over the years were partly shot in Malta. The first was a 1998 TV miniseries starring Gérard Depardieu, while the other was the 2002 feature film directed by Kevin Reynolds. Santa Maria Tower on Comino was used to represent Château d'If; Bakery Wharf in Birgu stood in for the port of Marseilles; and St Paul's Square in Mdina for a carnival scene in Rome. It is here that Dantès (Jim Caviezel) wins the trust of Albert Mondego (Henry Cavill), the son of Mercédès (Dagmara Dominczyk) and Fernand (Guy Pearce). Part of his plan for revenge is to befriend Albert and gain access to his parents as the Count of Monte Cristo. The scene in the Grandmaster's Palace in Valletta shows Dantès hosting and befriending Albert. The grandeur and boundless wealth of the Count is attested by the frescoed entrance, the lush central courtyard and the iconic marble floor corridor flanked by original knight's armour and painted portraits of several Grandmasters of the Order of St John. The trap is set when, with Jacopo's (Luis Guzmán) help, the Count confirms that he can make it for Albert's 16th birthday celebrations in Paris. [right arrow] Jean Pierre Borg