When I live in the US, I usually don’t leave my house on Black Friday. I hole in. And I don’t dare step foot anywhere near a shopping center. I’m a thrill-seeker, but that doesn’t mean I’m insane enough to go out and brave the notorious day-after-Thanksgiving sales.
Instead my family has this tradition of starting Christmas shopping on Thanksgiving itself. We go to Colombus Mart, a flea-market in New Jersey, closer to Donna and Rach than to me. It’s one of my favorite parts of the holiday. I think yesterday I missed the shopping trip even more than I missed the big dinner.
Not to say I didn’t miss the dinner. When my mom called me from my grandparents’ house, I could hear the Thanksgiving bustle in the background. My pop-pop taking out the turkey, my aunt asking where is the cranberry sauce, my cousin laughing, my nephew continuously playing the “Jingle Bells” singing-Christmas toys. And of course, my neice babbling on in the background. She may not know many words in English yet, at almost two years old, but she does love to speak. And so I missed them all.
We had corn, of course, potatoes au gratin with ham, mashed potatoes (which came out a little less-than-grandma-quality), turkey cordon-bleu for the main course, and Mexican hot wings. The turkey was delicious, but the hot wings kind of tasted like they’d been rolled in Ortega taco seasoning. Not so great. Anwyay, we had good wine and even better conversation, and I’m so thankful they came. (look Joanne - the veg takes up most of the plate!)
Another reason that my Thanksgiving didn’t feel so lonely was my students. I’ve grown to really like them. My family has this tradition (or used to have this tradition) where before we eat every person must think of one thing he or she is grateful for this year (I think the best ever was when my brother announced Amanda was pregnant with Seanie – you should have seen the look on my Aunt’s face. Priceless). Well, I worked this into all of my Thanksgiving lessons with the kids. I very theatrically say, “I’m very sad.” And when they ask me why I tell them how much I miss home and my family. And then I ask them if, just for this Thanksgiving, maybe they can be my family. And they are mostly delighted at the idea. Then I have all the students come up with something they are thankful for. Usually, it’s “my parents” or “my dog” or “the internet.” But every once in a while, one student or another will say, “I’m thankful for you. Ashley.” It’s enough to melt my heart.
This weekend: Caen. Get ready for another installment of Best Week(end) Ever.
Speaking of translation, I'm (happily) getting to the point in the language where I can see when things are translated totally weird. Like this morning, What I Like About You was on TV. And this guy made a song for Amanda Bynes on his guitar. He was saying "You lie, you lie, you lie." And the subtitles read "Tu mens comme tu respires." Which actually means "You lie like you breathe." And, you know, that's totally different.
Now, I understand why the translation can be off on the dubs. The translators don't translate literally; instead they change certain things to meet common French speech and sometimes they change words to fit the movements of the mouth. For example, in Buffy, the first was translated to la force because, given how many times the name came up, it would be pretty obvious to any viewer that Buffy wasn't actually saying la premiere. (Sorry about the missing accent there, French readers.)
So wacky dubbed-translation is totally understandable. But I don't get the wacky subtitle translation. I mean, it's not like the audience is supposed to believe the guy is singing in French. And astute listeners would be able to tell he's saying the same two words over and over. So why change it?
And then, when I was reading this bilingual edition of American and English short stories, I noticed another funky translation. In the story "A Lamp in a Window" by Capote, there's this great scene where the narrator and the hospitable old woman have this super long conversation. And there's this great rambling sentence that Capote doesn't bother to give a speech tag (you know, a "he said" or "she said").
We talked about the hard Connecticut winters, politicians, far places ("I've never been abroad, but if ever I'd had the chance, the place I would have gone is Africa. Sometimes I've dreamed of it, the green hills, the heat, the beautiful giraffes, the elephants walking about"), religion ("Of course, I was raised a Catholic, but now, I'm almost sorry to say, I have an open mind. Too much reading, perhaps"), gardening ("I grow and can all my own vegetables; a necessity").
And I think the reason he doesn't bog down the passage with speech tags is that, without them, it's totally ambiguous who is talking. It could be either the old woman or the narrator. And we don't find out until a paragraph later when he tells us.
But in the French version, the translator sticks a pesky little, "dit-elle" (she says) right in the middle of the conversation! And I just don't see why. There is no "she says" in the original text at all. Hey translator, I got something to tell you. You fail. You suck. You can't just go around adding words cause you think they clarify something. Maybe the point was to not clarify. Asshat.
This way, I can understand the letters to the editor. My favorite one today went like this:
Follow What Leader? Michael Elliot's story on America's lost leadership was excellent. Yet one element is missing: the influence of U.S. culture, which we in Europe have imitated for years and which is still an overwhelming presence in technology, clothing, movies and casual Fridays. The American way of life may no longer be worshiped, but it is still admired. Even when laughed at or despised, America still sets trends as no other country does.
Sylvestre Bardet Bricquebosq, France
There! Someone from my current country speaking honestly about the influence of my native country. How cool! It's true you know. I see way more American influence than I expected. Last night, I watched three hours of CSI: Miami, which here is called Les Experts: Miami. I guess a full translation of CSI would be too much to handle.
My father and I have a lot of movies we consider to be ours. Terminator 2. True Romance. Pretty much anything with Christopher Walken. But I think the one that will always mean the most to me is Forrest Gump. Since the first time we watched it together, Forrest has had a sort of thrall over me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen the film, but I do know that I’ve never once watched it without crying. I can’t exactly put a finger on what the magic is in this movie. Is it Tom Hanks’ incredible performance? Alan Silvestri’s inspiring score? The completely accurate soundtrack? Or is it the way that Forrest can so simply answer some of the most complicated questions we have in this life? As is usually the case with the tough questions, I think the answer is a combination of all of the theories.
There's no question in my mind that all the awards and nominations given to Forrest Gump were justified. Although I do think that Gary Sinise should have won supporting actor Oscar too. It's a damn shame he didn't.
I watched Forrest Gump the other night and, since I was all alone, I could really enjoy the film. Really appreciate all of its best moments, without feeling like a tool for crying.
Honorable Mentions: These moments come in after the top ten, mostly because I think they’re always recognized as awesome moments. But I just can’t leave them out of this entry.
-Freebird scene -We was like peas and carrots -Little Forrest grunts like the disgusting principal -All of Forrest's encounters with the presidents -Run, Forrest, Run
And now, without further adieu, here are what I found to be the ten awesomest moments in the film.
10. Shrimp conversation – This scene is of course wonderful because of Bubba. I’ve heard there are Bubba Gump restaurants out there, and it’s my dream to eat at one someday. Bubba is such an incredible character. He’s Forrest’s best good friend in the army, and it’s hard to pick a favorite scene, because I think all the one’s he’s in are great. It was a toss-up between the shrimp scene and his death scene. I chose shrimp because it’s more upbeat, and also what I find to be a unique depiction of life in the army. It really demonstrates just how mundane life in the army can be. Bubba prattles on and on about all the types of shrimp and Forrest listens while they assemble guns, wash floors and shine shoes. Maybe in movie time the speech is only two minutes long, but you know in “real” time this conversation spanned days. What an incredible way to show life in the army.
9. I just felt like running – This is what Forrest says in response to all the reporters questioning him on why he continues to run across America. They push possible reasons down his throat: “Are you doing it for world peace?” “Are you doing it to fight hunger?” “Are you doing it for animals?” Forrest’s response is at once the most simple and the most genuine. He just felt like running. Sometimes I feel like that too.
8. Lt. Dan pushes drunk chick off him for asking if Forrest is stupid – I don’t remember the chick’s name, despite having seen the movie [insert ridiculous number here] times, and I think that’s kind of the point. She’s some plastered hussy ready to give Lt. Dan some action which, considering his attitude, one would assume he doesn’t get too much. That in mind, and especially after all the terrible things he has said and done to Gump, Lt. Dan’s impulse to push this woman off of him for speaking negatively of Gump speaks volumes.
7. Forrest jumps off his shrimping boat when he hears his momma is sick – There are two moments when Forrest jumps off his shrimping boat. The first is when he sees Lt. Dan on the dock. He abandons ship completely just to say hello. But I think the second time, after he hears his mother is sick, is even more effective. I think it’s because when Forrest jumped for Lt. Dan it wasn’t a very far swim to the dock. When Forrest hears his mother is sick, there is no land nearby. The land that can be seen is far in the distance. But Forrest doesn’t take that into consideration. I’m a bit envious of how easy decisions are for Forrest. Mama is sick. So he goes to her. And that’s that.
6. Lt. Dan comes to Forrest’s wedding – Another Lt. Dan moment. What can I say? He’s an incredible character, and the one who I think changes the most throughout the film. And this moment is the one in which we can see the ultimate result of all those changes. He walks into that wedding with his titanium legs. “astronaut” goes back to the time when Lt. Dan said to Forrest, “The day you become a shrimping boat captain, that’s the day I’m an astronaut.” One gets the sense that Lt. Dan is finally content with being alive. He’s no longer angry with Forrest for rescuing him in Vietnam.
5. Fat southern man laughs off Forrest about shrimp company – the man in question, the very round one at the bus stop, has listened to Forrest’s stories about Vietnam and about his shrimping days. But when Forrest explains that he’s the owner of BubbaGump shrimp, the man laughs hysterically and walks away, refusing to believe it. After he’s gone, Forrest shows the woman on the bench a picture of Lt. Dan, which is in fact the cover of a Fortune magazine, which proves that Forrest was being truthful the whole time. This moment reminds me of how clear things are to Forrest. He knows the truth, and that is enough for him. It doesn’t matter who believes him or who doesn’t. He doesn’t challenge the man; he just lets it go. How many of us can do that, when someone doubts we’ve been involved with something we’re proud of? I know I wouldn’t be able to let that man go. 4. Forrest names his boat – I have to admit, I like this part of the movie because it’s the part where I feel most involved. When that man whose name I forgot tells Forrest it’s bad luck to have a boat without a name, and then Forrest says, “There was only one name I could think of,” I was like…I know what it is! I know what it is! It feels good to know the answer before your told, and that’s why I love this moment. Also because it’s a reminder of how pure Forrest’s devotion is to Jenny. He will never forget her. She will never not be on his mind. Don’t we all want someone to care about us that unyieldingly? 3. Lt. Dan makes his peace with God – there have been a few shoutouts to Lt. Dan already, but this scene is my absolute favorite of his. Just after the great storm on the shrimping boat, Lt. Dan admits that he never thanked Forrest for saving his life. (About 5:00 on the video below) He then throws himself into the ocean. And Forrest can understand exactly what is happening: “I think Lt. Dan finally made his peace with God.” Lt. Dan looks so comfortable in all that water, so natural in that great sea, that whenever I see the scene I kind of feel like I’ve made my peace with God too.
2. Forrest doesn’t open little Forrest’s letter – Since the scene takes place at Jenny’s grave it’s already a tearjerker. But when he says, talking about their son, “he wrote you a letter. He says I can’t read it so I’ll just leave it here,” I can’t help but go into ugly cry. This line illustrates so clearly how much Forrest cares for his son. He would never do anything to hurt him, or betray his trust. It reminds me a little of the relationship between John Connor and the terminator. 1. Forrest asks if his son is smart, or like… - Forrest doesn’t get to finish what comes after the ellipses because Jenny assures him that little Forrest is smart. I haven’t seen all of Tom Hanks’ movies, but I dare anyone to find a moment where Tom Hanks acts better than this. This is Forrest’s first concern when he finds out he’s a father, and Tom Hanks is able to capture the sheer volume of his anxiety. The way he stumbles back before he asks the question, and the relief he exhibits when he hears the answer… it’s just astounding. This is why he won the Oscar for best actor. And since I can't find a good video of that performance, go watch this video of Tom accepting the Oscar, which is also a tearjerker. Best quote ever, and how I define my life: "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both."
I did lots of fun stuff. I went to Trouville, which is a half hour away, next to Deuville. Then I saw Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which I think everyone should see. Well, at least everyone who is open about sexuality and can accept and appreciate other lifestyles. Because it was an awesome movie. Oh, Woody Allen. Extra bonus: it was in the original format, English, so I could understand everything!
And I got a little bored and decided to try some sketching. When I was young I was horrible in art class. But this past summer I dabbled a little and realized I wasn't so bad. But I was so busy with other things I quickly lost interest. But then last week I was upset about things and Donna inspired me to pick it up again. And really, my boyfriend has the most beautiful face for drawing. Maybe that's why I've always admired strong jawlines.
Even though the words, language, and accent are totally different, people who answer their phone and talk in the library sound pretty much the same everywhere. Also, I'm pretty sure all high schools smell the same and market vendors are universally pushy. And also universally willing to bargain. I got two comfy-cozy sweaters for five euros today.
In other news, the hot water in my shower lasted for about a minute and three quarters today. I'm used to at least five minutes so I know how to hurry. But this minute and three quarters was exactly enough time to wash my face with my new disencrusting face wash and lather some shampoo into my hair. All the rest I had to do in the cold.
My car. Because I love my car and also because having a car makes it much easier to transport groceries home.
People that say "Bless you" when you sneeze.
But luckily, I do not miss peanut butter anymore, because awesome Nathalie bought me some! The crunchy kind. And it's just as good as I wanted it to be. Thanks!
I understand that smoking is to France kind of like what eating at McDonald’s is to America. Bad habit in the country, yes. Stereotypical behavior of its people, yes. Unbelievably common nationwide, yes. So it was no surprise to me that you were smoking at the bus stop the other day. What surprised me was the way you so inconsiderately let your cigarette ashes find their way onto my coat. My only coat. The first time I could, of course, let slide. You were standing next to me at such proximity and such an angle that, when the wind blew at just the speed and in just the direction that it happened to blow that day, your ash was clearly going to go nowhere but my coat. No big deal. It couldn’t have been helped. But I’m sure that you saw the way my eyes followed that ash, the way my left hand lifted to brush it from my right arm, and the way my eyes then looked up to meet yours. I know you saw it, because you looked away from me right away. And it was the type of look-away that means oh, my bad. I don’t care that you didn’t say you were sorry. You probably weren’t really sorry. But couldn’t you have just turned ever so slightly or switched smoking hands so that next time the wind blew your ash would have landed in the nearby fountain or in the street? No, I guess that would have been too difficult a task. But in all honesty, I’m not upset about that at all. I’m not upset that your ash landed a second time in the exact same spot on my coat. What really bugs me is the look you gave me. You know, the one you threw in my direction after I stood up – without saying anything, without even looking at you angrily as I so would have liked to do – and walked over to the next bench. You turned and tossed me such an annoyed glare that I had to ask myself if I had done something wrong by choosing to relocate to an ash-free, cigarette smell-free area. Well, dear woman who flicked her cigarette ash on me twice, please accept my sincerest apologies. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you. In hindsight, maybe you would have felt better about the whole situation had I rested there at that bus stop, your personal ashtray. And I’m most sorry that I can’t ever express this to you. Seeing as how a) I don’t usually understand the phenomenon in my mother tongue and b) I’m not yet fluent in yours, I truly doubt that I will be mastering sarcasm in this country anytime soon.
Translatin' poetry and everything. OK so for my first go I chose a very, and I stress the word very, simple poem - one that I didn't need to use a dictionary for. It was fun. I've since moved on to harder things. Maybe eventually I'll finish this one, but I'm halfway through right now and frankly a little bored. Anyone in the litt world know of kick-ass French cotemporary poets I could try my hand at translating? I just don't know where to begin.
This week had its ups and its downs. Serious downs including the most bizarre doctor’s visit of my life, about which you already read, and the fact that I still can’t withdrawal my pay. Bummer. But despite that, and some other negative things, there was a whole lot of good this week. And so I’d much rather focus on that.
First and foremost, I found the best cereal ever in the supermarket! Whoever came up with the idea of an entire breakfast of chocolate chip cookies is my hero. And, to go with this delish cereal, I found soy milk! Thank god, because I was beginning to think it didn’t exist here before I found it. Phew. Now I don’t even have to think about the whole drink-from-a-cow-thing.
Over the weekend I had a walk with some of my colleagues from the school where I work. It was a lovely walk on a trail through Point L’Eveche, a nearby city to Lisieux. We spoke in French and I understood a lot! Not everything, but through the words I did know and the context, I could figure out the bulk of the conversation. And like everyone else, these friends were great about keeping me engaged.
The night after the walk in Point L’Eveche, I hung out with Cecil and Milena (the other American assistant and the Spanish assistant). I just adore both of them. We had really good, relaxed conversation over a game of Uno and some disco biscuits and pizza crackers. Milena doesn’t speak English, which is great for Cecil and me because it makes it necessary to practice our French instead of falling back into comfy English. And here’s the most awesome thing (I think): when Cecil walked me back home after, we continued to speak in French. For the whole 15 minute walk! It would have been much easier to speak in English, but I think it’s pretty clear that Cecil and I both care about learning the language and practicing as much as we can. And that’s exactly the type of person I want to be around here in France.
The night after Point L’Eveche and hanging with Cecil and Milena, I did not have a headache! Usually, after a day with that much French, I feel entirely drained and need to take two ibuprofens just to be able to sleep. Would it be arrogant to say this shows I am on the way to becoming fluent?
Tapan told me he’s going to download Veronica Mars seasons 2 and 3 for me. This is part of the best week ever for a very serious reason: Veronica Mars rocks! I bought season one with me and planned to watch it over the course of seven months, but it was impossible. The end of each episode is a cliffhanger, OK? Can you really blame me for having to constantly go on to the next? And besides, it was a long, lonely vacances and I had no money to go anywhere, and sometimes it was raining anyway. Considering all that, it’s only mildly frightening that I watched the entire season in two days.
I sent Donna her b-day present and the postage was only 3 euros. Sweet. This means I’ll be able to send many presents to many people.
There were only two good things about the doctor’s appointment. 1. I met all the other English assistants in Caen and they were pretty awesome. 2. I found the clinic entirely by myself. The day before my appointment I had no internet access at all so I couldn’t use google maps to get my directions. I just had an address in my hand. But I somehow managed to get to Caen (the next-door city), find the correct bus line, and find my way to the building. And I only had to ask one person on the street for help. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but anyone who knows Oh Ashley will understand what progress I have made! [As an aside, why is google not recognized by the Microsoft Word dictionary? It is both a noun and a verb.]
I have acclimated to the French keyboards. So much in fact, that I often make typos on my personal QWERTY keyboard.
So I had to go to the doctor’s to get a checkup and radiology thing. Apparently, the French can sleep better knowing I don’t have tuberculosis to spread around, so they test me after I’ve been in contact with school-kids for almost two months. Ha.
I had to wake up at wtf o’clock just to get to the appointment by 8:30 am. Blarg. Then I had to do all those awkward things you do at the doctor’s – you know, the ones you never understand and think you must not be doing right – in a foreign language.
First there was radiology. The nurse takes me into a small room and tells me to take everything off from the waist up. Everything. Then I have to walk into this cold, sterilized, white room with all these big machines. Then she tells me to stand against this huge window-thing and press my chest against it. As expected, the machine is hella cold. Then I have to breathe in…but not that way! I did it wrong. Try again. OK better, but not perfect. Last time…good! Now get dressed and wait for the doctor.
After waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and meeting all the other assistants who have their appointments on the same day, and waiting some more, I get to see the doctor. The first thing this doctor says to me is to take off my top and pants. Uhm. OK. Thank god I decided to wear an undershirt and full undies, that’s all I’m sayin’. He asks me about my vaccinations. I nod and say yes, I have had all of my vaccinations. He speaks a little English but is annoyed each time he has to use it. I’m acclimated to my nice smooth-voiced colleagues’ French. I’m sorry I don’t speak crotchety old man French. Geez.
He takes my blood sugar. Meh. I know I won’t be able to tell him I’m an easy fainter, even just finger pricks make me dizzy – luckily it didn’t turn out to be a problem this time.
Then he takes my height and weight, tests my vision, takes my blood pressure, checks my breathing. You know, the usual. All in my skivvies. And I just don’t understand why I couldn’t have my pants on. It’s what every single assistant said when they came back into the waiting room: “Why did I have to be in my underwear? I just don’t get it.” Can anyone explain it to me?
After waiting FOREVER to get back my X-Ray, I could finally leave. I rushed out of that clinic as fast as I could, and I hope I never have to go back. It gave me the wiggins, big time.
because I've been having the weirdest dreams ever. From rock-climbing with Barack Obama and John McCain to singing karaoke in a ballgown to getting killed by an ex-Nino's employee, I've certainly had some crazy ones. But this one is definitely the strangest. So far. Don't read on if you want to know what actually happens in Ashley's head. You might get scared.
November 6, 2008
I was doing something at my house. Housework or something. And I leaned over to pick something up off my couch, and my eyeball fell out. Just rolled right out of the socket! It didn’t hurt or anything, I was just worried because I wanted it back inside. And I was worried it would get dirty, and I wanted it to stay sanitary, so I put it in my mouth. I meant to just keep it there till I found a better place for it, but I accidentally ate some of it. It tasted awful. It sort of looked like an egg, and the top layer had come off.
After calling many numbers in the phone book, I finally found someone who would do the surgery on my eyeball. She said she was very busy but if she could find someone to watch her children she would be able to do it. She told me to meet her at the beach. I went to this beach that looked like the one at Deauville with some friends. People were surfing there. I laid in the back of the pickup truck bed with someone who felt exactly like Tapan but he had lighter skin and red hair. But it was him. I laid my head on his chest and noticed that his body was a puzzle. I was putting in the last piece – the corner of his heart – but it wasn’t correct. Someone had clearly put the puzzle together wrong before and now I would have to take it all apart and start again.
Finally I saw the woman who was going to put my eye back in. She was sunbathing! I asked her if we should, you know, go to her office. She said it was a good idea, so we went there. Barack Obama was the door man. Once in her office, I told her that I didn’t have any insurance right now. She explained to me that I had two operations to choose from. I could choose either the brand new $15,000 state-of-the-art eye with 20/20 vision that would look just like my own eye, or I could choose the other model – the eye of a dead world war two soldier. The vision wouldn’t last long and it wouldn’t look like my other eye in the least. This model cost $150,000. I thought that it was obvious which eye to choose, but Barack Obama disagreed with me. He encouraged me to buy the WWII eye, saying that it would be a great privilege and honor to wear this eye. He was so enthusiastic about this eye. I explained that I had no insurance and couldn’t afford it. He told me it would be no problem, and I thought he meant he would pay. So I went ahead and got the surgery.
In the end, Barack Obama did not pay my bill. I was left with a $150,000 bill and waning vision in a decrepit dead man’s eye.
Obama won. Obama fucking won! My dad often said, when talking about this election, "if democrats can't win this election, I don't see how democrats can win any election." I'm really happy we won, and I don't have to think of a world where we couldn't. So what does it mean to be an American? And what does it mean to be an American living overseas?
It means that people are eager to talk to me if they know I am American. The landlord: "What do you think of the new president?" The man at the post office (in attempted English): "Chicago? Home of new president?" My friend Mourad (quoting Obama's speech): "It is not a black America. It is not a white America."
It means I have to stop every so often and remind myself what a historic day this is. As Tom reminded me, I can look into the future and see children twenty years from now asking me, "where were you when Barack Obama was elected President?"
It means I had to stifle tears as I watched this speech in the library.
It means I couldn't help it when the pride I felt made my chest swell. It means all of these "it means"s just scratch the surface of how I feel.
Obama talks a lot about hope. Here are my hopes: I hope great things for his presidency. I hope predictions of assassination don't come true. I hope conservatives don't try to blame a Democratic (or worse, black) president when the economy finally goes down the shitter, and I hope that if they do the American people are smart enough not to buy it.
I hope Americans are as passionate about every election as they were about this one.
Today I feel better about America. And hey, I did vow that I wouldn't come home if McCain won. Guess it looks like the States will welcome me back in May!
Very strange. I don't feel at all like I'm not in the USA. Last night almost half of the eight o'clock news had to do with the US elections. Leonardo DiCaprio was a guest to talk about his new movie, and also how he voted for Obama (which makes me love him almost as much as I did when I was 12). All day on the internet I've been reading up on news from the elections (not much so far). Right now I'm sitting next to my friend who is sporting his Obama t-shirt. I've blogged and had more conversations (in French and English) about this election than any other. I was afraid I would miss home on Election Day, but it's going all right. The only thing I'm gonna miss is one kickass election party.
I hope everyone who can vote does. And I hope the winner really wins.
Right now it is Monday morning and I am watching a program on TV. It’s called Musicsix Star, and I find it kinda bizarre. On the surface it seems to be a trashy celebrity TMI-type show, but it’s different than those in the States. There are a man and a woman sitting at the desk like news anchors, and they play games with callers and stuff. And they keep playing this game with a sort of fill-in-the-blanks word search or something. And every time the camera goes to this board they play the suite from Terminator 2. I’m not sure exactly why, but I find it pretty funny. And it also reminds me that I promised you a blog on this a while back. Here ya go!
The other night, on French television, I saw a “stay tuned for…” ad for Terminator 2: Judgment Day. I haven’t been so excited about a single television program since I’ve been here. I think it could only be topped by an ad for Forrest Gump. Just the mention of T2 brings me back to the days when I was ten years old. My mom is at work, and I don’t know where my brother is – probably on a date. It’s just me and dad at home. I’ve never seen the movie before, so dad preps me by giving me his T2 speech. I’ve heard it so many times I can paraphrase: You see, T2 is the better film. It’s hard for a sequel to beat the original. This is one of the few that does. You have to remember though, that T1 is also important. Without T1, you wouldn’t have the setup for T2. T2 wouldn’t exist, and it wouldn’t be so heavy when Linda Hamilton sees Arnold for the first time. Something like that, and I couldn’t agree more. Terminator 2 is never going to stop filling me with nostalgia. It’s one of those films that I could watch every day and not bore of. Really, who could get tired of checking out Linda Hamilton’s arm muscles or listening to Arnold’s monotone?
Which brings me to the prime reason I didn’t enjoy the French-dubbed version of the film. I stayed up until midnight on a very tired day just to see this movie, and I was totally disappointed. Let’s be honest about the reason we all love Arnold (I won’t take that sweeping generalization back because it gives me far too much pain to imagine a world where not everyone loves Arnold). It’s that voice. That no-inflection monotone that he has even when he’s not playing a machine. It’s magnified when he’s the Terminator. It’s perfect. And it’s what the voice actor didn’t understand. I’ve only been immersed in French for a month, and I’m certainly not fluent enough to detect accents in the language, and even I could tell the voice actor was emoting. His voice had inflection. WTF, voice actor! Did anyone tell you you’re supposed to be playing a Termnator? A machine? Did you even watch the movie in its original English to get a sense of the role? Oh, it was so disappointing.
I never before realized how highly critical I could be about a movie when it means so much to me. I mean, I hate to be all gripey about a voice, but the voice is one of the elements that makes the film what it is. Even the kickass scene with Linda Hamilton shooting the bejeezus out of the bad Terminator at the end didn’t make me feel better.
I’ll have to watch some Buffy in French. I find their voice actors to be really talented, and enthused.
But my Thanksgiving here was not as lonely as I thought it was going to be. Tom and Cecil came over, with the most American foods they could find at Aldi’s. Together we cooked and enjoyed quite the mélange of foods. All while listening to the most slammin rap mix ever. When's the last time you listened to music of your choice on Thanksgiving??
