Day 59
Wednesday
My work week has been undercut by two conveniently placed national holidays and a precious (and Crisis-inducing) tradition of ‘puente’ (if a holiday falls on a Thursday or a Tuesday, the day in between the holiday and the weekend is subsumed into the holiday and the Puente creates a 3 day weekend. So a holiday on Monday bridged over to the holiday on Wednesday. And so, in honor of being injured and out of work, I went to see Harry Potter, in Castellano, which is like reading Emily Dickinson in Russian. It just cannot be translated. We all go to see Harry Potter because we want to hear Ron’s adorable whining accent and Hermione’s high pitched squeals of intellectual delight and swoon over the newly grownup Harry horcrux broodings. It didn’t begin well when I couldn’t stop laughing at the supposedly morbidly serious opening scene, in fits over the terrible job at dubbing, mainly evident because the shot was so close to the actor you could read his lips, mouthing the English words, while a Castellano translation spoke over the man’s empty sound. Luckily I’m an HP fan for life and have already the series, at least once, and so it made little difference that I couldn’t listen 5 minutes without giggling, I knew what had happened, what was happening, what would happen and what, according to the book, should happen.
And lordy, why did I have to cry real tears at the end? Some things carry weight in any language, why are there some emotions we can never escape, that we can never keep at bay because they are above language itself? I’m not sure, but I do know that the best part of the movie was the end, when all was silent. No English, no Castellano, just humanity.
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