With its historic temples and pyramids, Egypt ranks among the most compelling travel destinations, especially for history buffs and others fascinated with ancient civilizations and archaeological wonders. Modern Egyptians love cinema, but the country's filmmakers remain obscure. Recently I visited the area and asked each of my travel guides to suggest Egyptian filmmakers that I could check out when I returned to the states, but none of them were able to give me a name. I may now have a clue why that is after viewing Henri Barakat's melodramatic Doa al karawan (The Nightingale's Prayer).

Regarded as one of Egypt's best films and starring notable Arab actress Faten Hamama, The Nightingale's Prayer (a.k.a. The Curlew's Cry) works better as cultural and cinematic history than it does as art. Had I seen this when it was first crafted in 1959 or watched it alongside other television soaps, I'd rate this much stronger. The past forty years haven't been kind to the film; it simply doesn't hold up nearly as well as Ramses II's remains have over the years.

Based on Taha Hussein's classic story, the banal narrative plods predictably through its paces. Populated with stereotypical characters, the intriguing story barely rises above its skeletal outline despite a few charms. Barakat opens with a scene that initially confuses, until we flash back to see how it fits in context. Servant Amna (Hamama) appears to be seeking revenge for unknown reasons, but she must first escape a potential rape. This opening teaser remains the only "experimental" portion—the rest flows sequentially and is easy to follow. Set in an Upper Egyptian village, a mother and her two daughters must vacate the premises when the family patriarch (and adulterer) is killed. Making their way to a city, the daughters find work as servants—the older sister to an engineer and Amna to the city commissioner. Soon the older sister is seduced by the lecherous engineer, and the three women are on the road again after this latest shame. Their uncle takes this even more to heart and murders the oldest sister to rid the family of its black mark.

Amna vows to avenge her sister by finding a way to work for the engineer. Initially she plans to poison him but finds this too difficult, so she sets out like The Scarlet Letter's Roger Chillingworth to work another more personal style of torture. Her plan involves getting him to fall in love with her, yet deny him physical access. While this works to a great degree, it also results in consequences that Amna hadn't counted on as the story builds to an inevitable climax.

Part of the black and white film's charms lie with its locale alongside the Nile. Although it depicts early 20th century Muslims, the story doesn't emphasize the religious aspects of the culture—much in line with the original author, who was a strong advocate of Pharaonism (viewing Egypt more as part of Mediterranean society). Although it depicts how the patriarchal culture mistreats women, the narrative deals much more strongly with ideas of justice and the conflict that a morally upright person undergoes when seeking revenge.

Had these characters been fleshed out more, The Nightingale's Prayer would be a much better film. But its cardboard characters play more like mummified remnants of a promising script, making this relatively old 1959 work a good candidate for a makeover. Just don't expect Hollywood to have interest in such an Arab narrative—they'd rather mine the mindless television archives from that period to seek the next weekend box office draw. Meanwhile, film history buffs can still locate this film in the Netflix catalogue.