Moroccan singer Saad Lamjarred in seclusion in Paris to study Holy Qur’an

Saad Lamjarred. (YouTube)
Updated 10 November 2017
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Moroccan singer Saad Lamjarred in seclusion in Paris to study Holy Qur’an

PARIS: It seems that Moroccan pop singer Saad Lamjarrad challenged himself to memorize the Holy Qur’an, as was reported by the Sayidaty website, after he recently said this in Paris to Moroccan reciter Mouad Ait Elaine.

Lamjarrad told Elaine that he is reading over the Holy Qur’an, studying the rules of its recitation. The Moroccan reciter said that his eyes were filled with tears, according to what he posted on Twitter, as he was delighted by the news.

He may have been surprised by Lamjarrad’s allocation of time to learn the rules of recitation.

Mohammed Youssef, a well-known Moroccan reciter, earlier praised Lamjarrad’s morals, and his love for the reciter and scientists whom he much admires and appreciates.


Pressures and pains that tear a couple apart

A still from the film.
Updated 19 July 2018
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Pressures and pains that tear a couple apart

DENVER: Like a gallery wall-sized enlargement of a microscopic image, “Scenes from a Marriage” is all about size, space and perspective.
Directed by Ingmar Bergman — whose birth centenary was marked this week — at 281 minutes long, its unwieldly length presents an intimidating canvas, yet the claustrophobic intimacy of its gaze is unprecedented: The two leads are alone in nearly every scene, many of which play out for more than a half-hour at a time.
Premiered in 1973, the work is technically a TV mini-series, but such is its legend that theaters continue to program its nearly five-hour arc in its entirety. A three-hour cinematic edit was prepared for US theater consumption a year later (it won the Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Language Film, but was ruled ineligible for the corresponding Oscar).
Not a lot a happens but, then again, everything does. Shot over four months on a shoestring budget, its six chapters punctuate the period of a decade. The audience are voyeurs, dropped amid the precious and pivotal moments which may not make up a life, but come to define it.
We meet the affluent Swedish couple Marianne and Johan — played by regular screen collaborators Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson, both of whom clocked at least 10 Bergman credits — gloating about ten years’ happy marriage to a visiting reporter. This opening magazine photoshoot is the only time we see their two children on camera, and inevitably the image projected is as glossy, reflective and disposable as the paper it will be printed on.
The pressures, pains and communication breakdowns which tear this unsuited pair apart are sadly familiar. The series was blamed for a spike in European divorce rates. It may be difficult to survive the piece liking either lead, but impossible not to emerge sharing deep pathos with them both. Sadly, much of the script is said to be drawn from Bergman’s real-life off-screen relationship with Ullmann.
It’s a hideously humane, surgical close-up likely to leave even the happiest couple groping into the ether on their way out of the cinema.