It takes a great deal of skill, timing, wit, courage, charm, grace and attention to detail to be an A-list film actor Arab scumbag. I used to highlight my Britishness in an act I did years ago as a "short fat kebab-shop-owner's son" by saying there was a tall, thin, high-cheek-boned English ponce inside me screaming to get out. But the way into film acting is, and has always been, to go with what you are generally perceived to look like in the world at large. The tough bit is to finally realise it yourself and to make an inner declaration, as I did: I am dark. I am fat, I am balding. Thanks... and move on.
I have always been frustrated by the image of middle-easterners on film: they're either a gun-wielding terrorist, or they shout in a shrill Egyptian accent, as I did once: "It wasn't me who stole the grain!", before being dragged away to an undignified end. I took a subtle cue from fine veteran actors such as Nadim Sawalha and Burt Kwouk who always performed with gusto, but also seemed to do it with an ironic twinkle in their eye.
To get a foothold in the Arab-scumbag bit-part premier league, you need confidence. It wasn't until The Mummy and my first meeting with its director, Stephen Sommers, in London in April 1998 that I was able to convince him that the role of the prison warden should not be akin to the scary Rifki from Alan Parker's Midnight Express. For an action adventure, something lighter was needed: something more cuddly, more comical, something more akin to my own act. In fact, exactly my act. It was, after all, the only thing I could do at the time. I was offered the role on the spot. But I had no idea how big the film was going to be, so I kept them waiting for a week as I had to cancel my stand-up gigs at various pubs across north London.
And thus it all started, taking in all manner of Arab scumbag roles, the highlight of course having my genitalia manhandled by the late, great Ollie Reed in Gladiator in my favourite scene: "You sold me queer giraffes." Of course, type-casting will always be a concern, but I did pop up in the last Bond film, The World Is Not Enough, in a ground-breaking role as an Azerbaijani oilpipe foreman - a major departure.
Spy Game presented a slightly different challenge. I was particularly pleased to be in a Hollywood film that dealt seriously with the CIA's bungled involvement in Beirut in the mid 80s. A real first and an exciting project to be part of. Here the challenge was totally straight acting - which for a comic is always hard - but a good exercise in discipline, as I constantly fought the instinct to add little gags here and there.
I couldn't help it, desperately trying to boost my part by offering to write a sub-plot between my Lebanese CIA informant character, Doumet, and Muir (played by Redford) that hinted at a closer liaison. This involved a few aborted attempts with pouting ad libs such as "Over here gentlemen prefer blondes" and "Muir, I love you," and led to my oft repeated note from Tony Scott: "Omid, just sit still and be quiet." I then went about trying to cause a little disquiet on set, once telling Robert Redford that I thought he was fantastic and the best thing in Hawaii Five-0 - to which he replied: "And you were great in Dr Zhivago but I think you've really let yourself go." I think that was one-nil to Sundance.
With time however, and proving yourself both professionally and (some believe more importantly) socially, the ethnic actor will surely triumph as meatier roles will no doubt be written as society veers towards the more multicultural. In my case, slowly, the typecasting veil is being lifted and "something different" has already been offered on a couple of projects. One is a cockney nutter (albeit with an Iranian background) as Vinnie Jones's cellmate in Mean Machine, and the other is an eccentric Indian uncle in Meera Syal's Anita & Me.
