Chances are, you have, as an alarming number of locally made movies are not so original after all. At best they are “adaptations” —and at worst unabashed rip-offs —of Hollywood productions.

Three years ago, Meet the Parents starring Robert De Niro and Ben Stiller, was reworked as Aris Men Geha Amneya (A Suitor From a Security Agency) featuring Adel Imam and Sherif Mounir. Last year, Shall We Dance starring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez hit local movie screens as Mateegy Norkos with Youssra and Tamer Hagrass. Most recently, Oscar winner Rain Man starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise was adapted into El-Torbini starring Ahmed Rizk and Sherif Mounir. The list of knock-offs goes on forever.

With the United States’ recent threats to enforce economic sanctions against countries with rampant piracy of copyrighted material, Egypt, which is among the 12 culprits on the “priority watch list,” will have to start taking swift action to stem the crisis. The US recently reported that piracy costs its economy billions of dollars in lost sales every year and has announced it will be scrutinizing Argentina, China, Chile, India, Israel, Lebanon, Russia, Thailand, Turkey, Ukraine, and Venezuela along with Egypt to ensure clamp-downs are enforced.

But with many of today’s screenwriters apparently suffering a collective case of desperate writer’s block, where will we turn for ideas if not from Hollywood?

At the heart of the problem is the approach scriptwriters are trained (or rather not) to take. During their student years at the Egyptian High Institute of Cinema, prospective screenwriters are submerged in an excess of theoretical courses. Many of the professors teaching scriptwriting classes have never written a screenplay in their lives and, with little experience themselves, are incapable of teaching new techniques in character development or dramatization.

Knowing they’re not missing much at the Institute, other aspiring writers enter the industry through the back doors, joining up for a one-off script workshop or directly approaching a filmmaker with a project. Chances are, if it steers clear of the trio of taboos (politics, religion and sex), the script won’t be turned down by the Censorship Authority no matter how recycled the plot idea or how low the quality of the writing.

Uninspired screenwriters incapable of weaving their own plotlines are left with one of two options: They can either rip off a foreign film, or they can just steal the ideas of a more talented Egyptian counterpart and pass it off as their own. I remember a journalist, who is now a screenwriter, once asked me to collect for him some DVDs of Hollywood musicals (failing to even name their titles correctly) so that he could sit down, watch them back to back and hopefully cook up a screenplay for a new local musical!

In 1985, Egyptian film critic and novelist Mahmoud Kassem wrote a book called El-Ektebass Fel-Cinema El-Masreya (Adaptation in Egyptian Cinema) in which he analyzed the long history of screen adaptation, concluding that some 80 percent of our films are ripped off from either foreign movies or classic novels. Subsequent editions of his book in 1992 and 2002 recorded that as many as 90 percent of all scripts are now ripoffs.

“Sometimes the Egyptian screenwriter doesn’t even mention the original source,” says Kassem. “A novel like The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas fils was remade seven times in the Egyptian cinema [as Leila (1942), Ahd El-Hawa (Love Promise, 1954), Ashek El-Roh (Spirit Lover, 1973) and El-Sakakiny (1986)]. A movie like Duel in the Sun (1946) starring Gregory Peck and Jennifer Jones was also remade five or six times [including Emraa Fel Tareek (A Woman on the Road, 1958) starring Roshdy Abaza and Hoda Soltan]. This has been going on for decades because no foreign author has come to Egypt to claim the rights to his idea and also because our films are so locally consumed that nobody sees them abroad. Usually, adapted films don’t travel for film festivals.”

Back in the golden days of Egyptian cinema, films were based on novels by great Arab writers, argues Kassem, but those same Arab writers had no qualms drawing on the ideas of their foreign counterparts. “Even La Anam [Sleepless] by Ihsan Abdel-Kodous, which was made into a film in 1958, was obviously based on Bonjour Tristesse by French writer Françoise Sagan,” he maintains.

“Forty years ago, there was a French magazine called Ciné Revue that used to publish a complete synopsis of foreign films,” recalls Kassem. “Some Egyptian screenwriters, who never went to the movies at all, used to take its articles as a base for their films. In the old days, it was called Tamseer [Egyptianization]. But now, if you notice, the recent ‘adaptations’ lack any creativity and they are pale carbon copies of the originals. [Take as an example] Mateegy Norkos, which has nothing to do with the current reality in our society. Believe me, if some middle-aged Egyptians are depressed because of their personal and professional lives, they would never go take dance lessons with Tamer Hagrass; they would go to pray in the mosque instead. The bottom line is, I think these filmmakers will never stop until they face a lawsuit from a big Hollywood studio.”

Mohamed Hefzy is the writer of the recently released psychological drama Khamsa wi Arabein Youm (45 Days). Though it is an original screen story, Hefzy’s previous work is mostly adapted: Malaky Eskendria (Private Alexandria) was a rework of Jagged Edge; El-Selem Wel Theban (Snakes and Ladders) was based on About Last Night; and, last but not least, El-Torbini is the Egyptian version of Rain Man.

“In El-Torbini, we mentioned the source of inspiration in the opening credits while the others don’t do so,” says Hefzy, who today owns three companies: CamArabia for casting and artist management, Film Clinic Production and Film Clinic for Script Development.

“But really, I don’t know what the fuss is all about,” continues Hefzy. “The adaptation process has been going on for many decades. Why blame us, the contemporary writers? [Besides], buying the copyright of an American film is very expensive and [out of the question] for Egyptian cinema as well as Indian and Turkish cinema. Out there, there will be tens of films copy-catting Jagged Edge or Rain Man, but nobody will complain. If a writer takes a small plot element from a film, I really don’t see that as an adaptation!”

And so before the US-recommended regulations set in, cinema-goers can expect to see a whole host of films with one or two ‘borrowed’ plot elements coming their way. Assad We Arbaa Kotat (A Lion & Four Cats), starring Hany Ramzy and the Lebanese group Four Cats, is nothing but a variation on Man of the House (2005), in which Tommy Lee Jones played a Texas ranger protecting a group of cheerleaders who witnessed a murder. Of course, we don’t have any Texas rangers or cheerleaders in Egypt, so the screenwriter duo of Sameh Ser El-Khetm and Mohamed Nabawy might think they’ve pulled one over the audiences with their version! Ahmed Fishawi and Ahmed Mekky will play conjoined twins seeking a film career. Stuck on You, anyone? Malaket Gamal El-Koun (Miss Universe) is the comeback project of Sherine Seif El-Nasr, who will play a karate champion going undercover at a beauty pageant to infiltrate a group of criminals among the contestants. You guessed right again: it’s Miss Congeniality (2000) which starred Sandra Bullock.

Contemporary screenwriters have recently come under fire not for borrowing a plot element or two from foreign productions, but for stealing the work of other local writers and passing it off as their own.

In the last few months, many relatively unknown writers have made headlines proclaiming that their efforts have been stolen by bigger, more established names. Tamer Abdel-Hamid argued that his script Baba Fel Bakalorious (Daddy in the Baccalaureate) was lifted by Youssef Maati and turned into Morgan Ahmed Morgan, the current Adel Imam vehicle. Abdel-Hamid’s complaint isn’t the first accusation of plagiarism to surface this year. Journalist Hesham Abul-Makarem also claimed that his script, entitled El-Kahera 2000 (Cairo 2000), was stolen by writer-director Hala Khalil to become Kas We Lazq (Cut & Paste), a movie that won two awards at the recent Cairo International Film Festival.

Abbas Abul-Hassan, one of the co-stars of The Yacoubian Building and a co-presenter of El-Beit Beitak, also had a similar problem with his script Taht El-Hizam (Under the Belt), which he claimed scriptwriter and satirist Belal Fadl transformed into Wahed Men El-Nass (One of the People), starring Karim Abdel-Aziz.

Rehab Hamdi is an Egyptian-American currently studying screenwriting at Scottsdale Community College, Arizona. Three years ago, she wrote a screenplay (in Arabic) entitled Ahlam El-Koloub El-Haera (Dreams of Confused Hearts), then came to Egypt to get approval from both the Censorship Authority and the Cinema Syndicate.

After securing the famous “Eagle Stamp” (the Egyptian government insignia) in June 2004, Hamdi proceeded to look for a local agent, who volunteered to find a producer for her debut. She then returned to America, but last May while surfing Egyptian websites in May, she came across coverage of a conference announcing the shooting of a new movie called Lahazat Onoutha (Feminine Moments) starring Joumana Mourad, Ola Ghanem, Agfan and Myra. Produced by Mohamed Ashoub and distributed by Al-Arabia Co. (run by Isaad Younis), the movie is the debut of Al-Arabia Co.’s screenwriter Hany Eissa and director Mo’eness El-Shorbagy. The storyline, a horrified Hamdi alleges, is a carbon copy of her effort.

Hamdi’s screenplay is about the modern lives of four female friends who grew up together in Alexandria. Malak is a widow and a mother who starts to fall in love again; Amina is still in love with her ex-boyfriend, now a married man; Nadine was happily married until she suddenly discovers that her husband is cheating on her; and Kismat is a famous actress who is also afraid of long-term commitment.

“My screenplay was screaming out at me; even the pitch was identical. I couldn’t stop crying,” Hamdi recounted in a letter to Egypt Today. “They talked about the opening scene and it was identical to mine and the characters were all copied from my screenplay and with very few alterations. The plot was even similar. My movie has been ‘pirated.’ And by the way, I have not sold it to Ashoub. But going to court is not an option. First, I am not living in Egypt and second, court cases in Egypt resolve nothing. I can’t win against these people. Piracy has become a serious problem in Egypt and it seems that no one cares, and helpless people like me have nowhere to go and their rights are lost forever. I feel so depressed because someone else will take credit for a project that cost me two years of my life to complete, because this person has the right connections. It is absolutely unfair.”

In a fitting twist, Hamdi’s letter then went on to reveal that the agent with whom she signed her contract is none other than Mohamed Hefzy, who bought the rights to her script and tried to find a producer for it through one of his companies, Film Clinic for Script Development.

“Rehab came to see director Tarek El-Erian, who introduced us,” says Hefzy. “I read her script, liked it and suggested that I could find a producer for it. I then sold it out to producer Safwat Ghatas, who is planning to produce digital high definition films. A few months later, Rehab sent me an e-mail regarding the similarities between her film and Lahazat Onoutha. After doing a bit of research and asking one of the actresses in Lahazat Onoutha about the plot, I found out there are lot of similarities, but of course the [films] are not that identical. I suggested that we could present both scripts to the Syndicate and file a complaint, but the possibility of getting a positive result is quite remote, because it can be proved that there is enough difference between both scripts to declare the similarities coincidental. Besides, Lahazat Onoutha features a lot of songs, which makes it quite different from Rehab’s script. There’s also the hook of the film which brings the four girls together. One of them is about to get married, but she finds out her fiancée had been urfi married to one of her friends, and so she contemplates breaking off the marriage. This plotline is also very different from El-Koloub El-Haera.”

It’s also quite by coincidence that Eissa, the writer of Lahazat Onoutha, also studied filmmaking in America, namely at Los Angeles Film School. “After finishing my studies, I worked as assistant director on a few independent films,” he says. “Breaking through in Hollywood is not a problem if you have good communication skills and you show talent. But I decided to return to Egypt. I wrote the script of Lahazat Onoutha. Ashoub showed a lot of interest and supported it as a producer through his company. [] Those who claim any similarity between my writings and any other script are demeaning the combined efforts of director El-Shorbagy, producer Ashoub and myself into bringing this project to life. Anyone who has read my script found it to be good quality. I hope the movie will get the success it deserves.”

As Kassem outlines, “The writers who claim that their scripts are ripped off can only go one of two directions: They can either submit a complaint with the Cinema Syndicate or they can go to the courts.” Abul-Makarem and Abul-Hassan both chose to approach the Cinema Syndicate, which promptly formed two committees of film critics and filmmakers to compare the screenplays to the released productions. But like countless cases before them, the two committees — one headed by Dr. Farouk El-Rashidy, former Dean of the Cinema Institute, and the other by film critic Dr. Rafik El-Sabban — came back with a negative verdict, reporting that there are no similarities in the characters or in dramatic scenes between the movies and their “copycats.”

“I imagine that these committees deal with cases in a ‘compassionate’ way because they are taking the safe side and supporting the more renowned screenwriters,” believes Kassem. “Still, there is a probability that someone has laid eyes on the early drafts of the scripts, ripped them off, and changed the names of the characters and altered a few scenes. But how can you prove that? If an Egyptian screenwriter has been proven guilty of plagiarism, the other writer might receive contractual credits in the film in addition to financial settlements. I remember when Naguib Mahfouz’s novels were banned from cinema adaptation due to his opposition to the Camp David’s Peace Treaty; certain screenwriters ripped his work off and credited the story, screenplay and dialogue to themselves. But these writers can’t rip off movies like Transformers or Fantastic Four because our cinema lacks the technological facilities and also because the imagination of these writers is still terrestrial,” Kassem adds jokingly.

Journalist and writer Samir El-Gammal is another author who claims his work has been stolen. Several months ago, prior to the press conference held by comic star Mohamed Heneidy to announce the shooting of his new film Andaleeb El-Dokki (The Nightingale of Dokki), El-Gammal discovered that it bears great resemblance to his TV serial El-Andaleeb El-Abyad (The White Nightingale).

“Though I wrote it 20 years ago, I postponed its production several times because of creative differences between myself and many producers,” says El-Gammal. “In the last couple of years, I changed its title from El-Andaleeb El-Abyad to Lahm El-Wafaa (Fidelity Meat) then finally to Sharei El-Dabab (Fog Street). The story revolved around a butcher who is an avid fan of Abdel-Halim Hafez, to the point that he names his shop Lahm El-Wafaa, which is based on Halim’s first film Lahn El-Wafaa (Fidelity Tune) and even calls his sons by names inspired by Halim’s songs. Recently, I brought up the script again because Kamel Abou-Aly, CEO of Albatross Company, showed an interest in producing it. Director Samir Farag [and I] went to see him, with, of course, some sample episodes of the serial, but we didn’t reach an agreement. Two months later, I was shocked by the announcement of the Heneidy film, produced by Rotana, which is in partnership with Albatross. As soon as I filed a complaint with the Cinema Syndicate, I got a call from Heneidy, who assured me that his movie, written by songwriter Ayman Bahgat Kamar in his debut, is something completely different because it tells the story of twin brothers, one who is a music fan raised in Egypt and the other raised in the Gulf,” says El-Gammal, who at press time had vowed to take legal action should the two scripts prove to be identical.

El-Gammal claims that the system itself facilitates script theft. “A screenwriter submits three copies of his script to the Censorship Authority,” he explains. “When it gets a certificate of approval or even gets a rejection, he only gets one copy back. There are some corrupt officials in the Censorship who leak the rest of these copies to the highest bidder. Also, lots of scripts are in a turnaround process among film companies which means hundreds of people can take a glance [at] them. Finally, if a complaint is filed with the Cinema Syndicate, the assembled committee favors the already produced film since it is corporate money and [backing the lesser-known writer would put] a lot of crew members in jeopardy.”

El-Gammal recalls just one incident in which a committee ruled for the underdog. “When the movie El-Wad Mahrous Betaa El-Wazir (Mahrous, the Minister’s Boy) came out in 1999, Mohamed Salah El-Zahar, a journalist with Akhbar El-Youm, discovered that its plot resembled a story he wrote in one of his books. When he threatened to sue the writer, Youssef Maati, and the production company, he was given financial compensation and was co-credited as a story writer. But this only happened because he was a journalist supported by a big organization like Akhbar El-Youm.”

El-Gammal also thinks that falling back on the Egyptian copyright law isn’t entirely a solution. “In the final stages of the lawsuit, the court will assign a film specialist to compare the two scripts of the two writers, which will bring us to a situation similar to that at the Cinema Syndicate; that is a script specialist or a committee will issue a verdict in favor of the [better-known] screenwriter.”

Even Hefzy claims that he was the victim of stolen ideas. “Because I used to supervise screenplay workshops in El-Erian’s office and now I do it in my new company, some ideas are getting sneaked out,” he says. “A lot of plot elements in Wahed Men El-Nass resembled an early screenplay I wrote called El-Montakem [Vigilante] in which Karim Abdel-Aziz was also set to star!”

Hefzy also points to another technicality. “If a writer wants to submit a script to the Censorship, he must be a member of the Cinema Syndicate. If he is not, he must pay a fee that was recently raised from LE 600 to a much steeper LE 6,000 — more than most debuting scriptwriters can afford to shell out. Alternatively, they turn to the Ministry of Culture which registers it for a smaller fee. The situation is chaotic in Egypt in comparison to America, where you can register your script or treatment with the Writers Guild (WGA) for only $20. American production companies usually make writers sign a document disclaiming their responsibilities from any similarities between their screenplays and other writers’ work.”

Dr. Hossam Loutfi, a professor of law at Beni Sueif University and who is of counsel at Cairo’s prominent Shalakany Law Office, specializes in copyright cases involving films, music and trademarks. He retraces the history of intellectual property legislation and Egypt’s progressive adoption of international standards, which by now is substantial — a fact that seems to have little bearing on the implementation of legal norms within the country.

“In 1886, the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works was first adopted in Switzerland, becoming the main international agreement and the judicial base for copyright laws around the world,” begins Loutfi.

“Egypt has joined the countries implementing international copyright treaties. In 1977, Egypt became a signatory to the Berne Convention and, in 1995 ratified TRIPS [Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights].”

In 2002, says Loutfi, Law 82 replaced several generations of national copyright laws with a comprehensive intellectual property code, intended to align Egyptian national law with its obligations under international agreements. In particular, he notes, it “[mandates] that a pre-written license be obtained from the writer or his legal representative before starting an adaptation or a modification of an original work.”

But international agreements and national leglislation notwithstanding, malpractices by Egyptian writers abound, notes Loutfi, with multiple incidents of writers who “adapt, modify, and cinematically treat a lot of foreign material.”

Even registering a script cannot guarantee it won’t be stolen, Loutfi points out. “The claimer should present physical evidence of his original work so that the judge can decide whether or not his ideas were stolen,” he says. “Some people register their work at the Censorship Authority or with the Authentication Office, but registration receipts are not [considered written proof] on the basis of which the judge, after delegating a script specialist, can decide the real ownership of the [work] because there are a lot of similar sources of inspiration among writers []. The lawsuit could take up to 30 months in court until the experts deliver a final report. In case of conviction, the maximum sentence is an LE 5,000 to LE 10,000 fine or three years’ imprisonment in addition to the shutdown of the production company responsible for the stolen script.”

With the US looking more closely at what goes on behind closed cinema doors, Egypt is now under pressure to make sure violations are stemmed and offenders duly prosecuted. At press time the government had vowed to crack down on intellectual property theft, but as of yet no new measures are planned — just a continued focus on stemming the production and sale of pirated material.

The issue of adaptations and stolen scripts remains a secondary priority, and Egypt admittedly has a long way to go before it reaches the regulatory standards of its European and US counterparts, where the film industry is strictly regulated. For example, while American studios are obligated to approach foreign production companies to acquire original rights, and US remakes are obligated to mention the source of inspiration in the film credits and on its posters — Egypt is clearly not bound by such requirements.

But this is likely to change as public awareness of the issue grows. For it is only Egyptian filmgoers’ relatively recent exposure to foreign entertainment via satellite and DVDs that has shown up just how much of our local production is lifted, or otherwise inspired, by Hollywood.

Thus it looks like the net could be closing in on those who until as recently as last month thought they could get away with murder. et