Editorial Argument #2: Against the Current Celeb Interview Formula

In this new biweekly column, Editorial Argument, CairoScene Managing Editor Farah Desoky, attempts to distill the editorial process into a series of, well, arguments. The how, when, and why behind the words and moving images that make up CairoScene.

In my early days as a writer at CairoScene, I was sent to interview a famous Egyptian actor ahead of the release of his new television show. I asked him about the show, the craft, and the role, armed only with a synopsis and the names of the cast and crew.

When we were editing the video interview, my boss at the time told me that no one cares. No one - the masses, the mainstream - wants to watch a "serious" interview about acting, craft or process. The interview should have included "fun" questions.

In the past few years, a new genre of interview has emerged in Egypt: one consisting almost entirely of games and jokes. The celebrity is assigned the role of comedian, and the interview becomes a vehicle for a potential soundbite, meme or viral clip.

The interview is either "funny" or "serious”. The genre is decided before the conversation even begins. A-list celebrities, rising actors and breakout stars are often treated as ideal candidates for game-show-style interviews. While this format is neither new nor inherently problematic, and as a viewer, I enjoy it sometimes, it becomes a problem when it turns into the dominant, and often only, way artists are interviewed.

The issue with press junkets for commercial television series and films in Egypt is that they are rarely about the project itself. Journalists are ushered into a press pit before a film premieres, often without access to a screener and with little knowledge of the work they're expected to discuss. There is rarely room for genuine engagement with the art being presented.

And if there is, “no one cares”.

At one of Egypt's film festivals, a friend once pointed out a journalist archetype: those who, as he put it, "show up to press conferences for the free food." The joke wasn't entirely removed from reality. It also revealed something about the state of arts journalism itself. The journalists who are actually engaging with the work are rarely incentivised, rewarded or given the time to do so.

I told my friend that no one wants the journalist to watch the film at the film festival. No one had assigned them that task.  Aside from critics, the job of a mainstream arts and culture journalist in Egypt isn't really about watching the film anymore.

The job is increasingly detached from critical engagement. It is a check-the-box exercise. A fielding of headlines.

No one wants the journalist to watch the film at the film festival. The media outlet isn't interested. The numbers don't justify it. Few people are investing in that kind of journalism, or, more often, allowing it to exist. The media landscape here is largely made up of digital magazines and platforms - including CairoScene - alongside local newspapers with strong social media operations and celebrity-driven outlets that exist almost entirely on Instagram. Their impact is measured by reach, visibility and engagement.

A written interview about craft, performance or filmmaking process will always generate less attention than a 15-second clip featuring a funny behind-the-scenes story, an on-set mishap or a quirky anecdote about what an actor eats between takes.

None of this is inherently problematic. Those stories are entertaining, and there is absolutely room for them. The problem is not that this content exists; it's that it increasingly replaces everything else.

Mainstream Egyptian arts journalism operates uncomfortably far from reporting, or, God forbid, criticism, and increasingly close to meme production. Director X says Y about Z film. Actress X is seen with Actor Y following a feud. The degree of gossip varies, the degree of engagement varies, but increasingly the story is that the celebrity attended the festival and walked the red carpet, not the film itself.

No one really needs to watch the film to piece that narrative together. Nor do they need to watch it to ask what the most challenging part of the role was, or what the atmosphere on set was like. The work becomes secondary to the content surrounding it.

A director once told me during a “serious” interview I was conducting that he would avoid other interviews because he’s not into those “new games”. Those very games are ones we at CairoScene spend time developing too. They are not shortcuts; they are challenges of a different kind. Getting a celebrity to produce a viral soundbite is difficult. Getting an artist to reflect on their process and reveal something genuinely new is difficult too. Neither is inherently more valuable than the other. If anything, both formats are necessary, serving different audiences and different purposes.

Perhaps those films or series cannot be separated from the conditions in which they are created. A ceiling on creation and thought will entail a ceiling on engagement. The constraints trickle down to the journalist or interviewer, the critic, and eventually the audience.

Oftentimes, a conversation with the PR agency ensues, where a consensus is reached on whether an interview should be funny or serious.

And so we try to ask a funny question.