Rosie Malek-Yonan 
Los Angeles, California 
13 April 2006

Before Nuri Kino's arrival to Los Angeles, or the City of Angeles as it is called, there was much preparation and work to be done.  Everything was hectic and deadlines were fast approaching.  Poster, postcards, press releases, copies of the film, press kits, promotional materials to write and distribute, personal appearances to schedule, interviews to book, people to see, places to go, manager's demands, festival's demands, publicist's deadlinesSomehow it was all coming together.  But waithis first interview had to be cancelled.  A snowstorm delayed Nuri's arrival for 24 hours.  Nothing to worry about.  A minor setback, I reassured myself.  Then we lost the cameraman that would be taping his first interview.  No worries I said to myself again It will all worked out for the best.  I hired another film crew.  This time I decided I would do a documentary film on Nuri Kino from his arrival to his departure.  Nuri, who rarely gives interviews, thought that the idea was crazy. He didn't think that there was anything to do a documentary about.  But I could see that he also didn't want to let me down and graciously allowed me to invade his life with my film crew.

No sooner had Nuri arrived in Los Angeles, when he was whisked off to the Assyrian American Association of Southern California in North Hollywood, to the Kha 'b Neesan (Hab Neesan) April First celebration of the Assyrian New Year where he was the guest of honor.  The next morning Nuri was the guest of honor at the Kha 'b Neesan breakfast at the Assyrian Catholic Church of the East in Tarzana.

Everyone wanted to meet Nuri, the man who had achieved so much in so little time as a freelance journalist in Northern Europe garnering amazing accolades for his relentless and untiring investigative work.  The community was now brimming with excitement knowing that Nuri and his friend Erik Sandbergs's latest documentary film was a finalist at an international film festival.

When the documentary, Assyriska: A National Team Without A Nation was announced to be a finalist at the Beverly Hills Film Festival (BHFF) competing for the Golden Palm Award, the tickets were at once sold out for the screening of the film.  Nino Simone, the president of BHFF quickly added a second screening due to popular demand.  It wasn't long before nearly all seats were sold out for the second screening as well.  Where all other films in the festival received one screening, Assyriska: A National Team Without A Nation was the only film to receive two sold out screenings.

Wednesday, April 5, 2006, was the Opening Night Red Carpet Event at the Writers Guild on Doheny Drive in Beverly Hills.  Cameras were flashing as the parade of celebrities took place and we walked down the aisle stopping for photo ops and answering questions from the media that piled behind the red rope being kept at bay.  Big names.  Big films.  Assyriska had its work cut out.  Forty films would compete in this year's festival.

The festival opened with Fellini's film, Verso La Luna Con Fellini (Towards The Moon With Fellini) at the Writers Guild Theatre.  A flip through the pages of the festival program revealed another big documentary film, Why Shakespeare?  It starred Tom Hanks, William Shatner, Martin Sheen, Michael York, Bill Pullman, Christina Applegate, and the list went on and on.  For a moment I wondered if Assyriska stood a chance.  Assyriska was not a typical Hollywood film.  No stars.  No fast cars.  No special effects.  I wondered if the panel of jaded Hollywood judges would see the soul of this film and what it represented and stood for?

Thursday, April 6, 2006 was the first screening of Assyriska: A National Team Without A Nation at the Clarity Theatre in Beverly Hills.  My film crew followed Nuri and the audience.  The theatre was packed.  Standing room only.  After my brief introduction of Nuri, he addressed the audience, and then came the film.  It didn't matter that some of us sat on the floor in the aisles or stood against the wall in the back.  The house lights dimmed to black.  The screen lit up and with the first few frames of the film, the audience was riveted.  As I sat on the floor in the middle of the aisle, I looked about the theatre.  I knew we had a winner.

 In one word the emotion I experienced and saw in the audience was pure pride, above all else, for the Assyrian audiences, and for the Americans, a journey into a culture that was as Nuri always described, "A hidden pearl."  In the first few moments of the film, a young Assyriska soccer player stretches out his arms. On his right forearm an Assyrian word is tattooed.  That single moment sent chills down my spine.

I interviewed an American woman who had just come out of the screening of Assyriska.  She admitted, "I'm a school principal. An educator.  I knew virtually nothing about Assyrians. I will make it my business to ensure that at least the students in my school study the Assyrian history."

The second screening on Saturday, April 8, 2006 was equally charged. The Swedish Consulate attended the screening as well as Americans, Assyrians, industry festival attendees and the Western media.

That evening much like every evening since Nuri's arrival, the discussion around the kitchen table was about Assyriska's chance for a win.  Is the film going to win?  Are we going to win?  Can it win?  It's impossible. No!  Yes!  Maybe!  I think we ran a gamut of emotions every night to the point of exhaustion.

Finally, Awards Night on Sunday, April 9, 2006.  A formal black tie event.  The ride in the car to the Beverly Hills Hotel was intense as we drove down Coldwater Canyon's winding road into Beverly Hills.  Nerves were kicking in.  Like a mantra I kept chanting to myself quietly, "It's gonna win.  We're gonna win!"

As we sat at table number two with Nuri's cousin, a couple of friends and other American filmmakers, we made polite conversation, glancing up every so often at the award statues sitting on a table on stage a few feet away from us. We must have all been thinking the same but kept our thoughts to ourselves until the awards ceremony was underway.  I sat between Nuri and his young cousin Jak.  Category after category, winners were called up on stage to accept their awards.  With every category, Jak would whisper, "Is this ours?"  I would hesitantly nod, yes.  But Assyriska wasn't called. Nuri was quiet.  Then there was one award left.  Last chance.  I knew we would win.  We had to.  Assyriska was a film about truth.  Surely the judges had to have seen that. 

Nino Simone was called to the stage to present the final award of the night, the Golden Palm.  It would be awarded to one film that was selected as a winner in "every category."  Tom Hanks and Fellini were still contenders.  I pushed them out of my mind.  The envelope was ripped open and the card pulled out.  A moment of hesitation"And the Golden Palm goes toAssyriska!"  The room exploded!  Nuri darted out of his chair and flew to the stage.

 My film crew raced towards him.  I felt like a bottle of champagne that just blew its cork under pressure from being shaken.  I couldn't stop crying.  The moment was surreal.  An American man, a filmmaker who had been sitting next to Nuri all night cried so hard, he had to excuse himself, leaving the table.

At this precise moment of monumental joy, a very emotional Nuri uttered not words of personal acceptance but his thoughts drifted to a father whose son was beheaded in Iraq.  A father who had given up all hope.  This award was for him and all the other oppressed Assyrians.  A room packed with cynical Hollywood types gasped at Nuri's story as they witnessed a man on stage who was truly deserving of the Golden Palm for a film with "heart and soul."

Nuri Kino's arrival at Los Angeles was much like a tornado that whipped through our City of Angels.  Fast, furious, full of life.  He came with high expectation.  Demanded attention and wasn't satisfied until he claimed the top prize at the Beverly Hills Film Festival.  For ten days, my city and its American and Assyrian communities were buzzing with excitement.  Then in a flash, he was gone.  With Nuri's departure, life became hauntingly quiet and sedate as he left his indelible mark on a city that has seen so much.  Still, though, the City of Angeles was not prepared for Nuri Kino.  Now it awaits his return with breathless anticipation for the unveiling of the next chapter in the life of a man who knows no bounds.

As I saw Nuri off to the airport knowing his Golden Palm statue was securely packed in his luggage to return with him to Södertälje, Sweden, he smiled and said to me, "Now you have a documentary!"