Translations

 I've started another re-read of Proust, which I think is my fifth total reading. The big difference this time is that I'm switching translations, from the traditional standard edition of C.K. Scott Moncrieff's Remembrance of Things Past to the new Penguin Classics In Search of Lost Time. Each of the seven volumes of the new Penguin Classics series is translated by a different person, which should make for an interesting experience. I don't speak French so I'm a poor judge of which is the "correct" version, and I would not pretend to be. They're both beautiful. Some of the differences in the new translations are slightly jarring, but that's mainly because I'm used to the C.K. Scott Moncrieff version. Let me give a brief comparison of one of my Proustian paragraphs from Swann's Way, first from Moncrieff and then from Lydia Davis's award winning translation.

"But it was in vain that I lingered beside the hawthorns - inhaling, trying to fix in my mind (which did not know what to do with it), losing and recapturing their invisible and unchanging odour, absorbing myself in the rhythm which disposed their flowers here and there with the lightheartedness of youth and at intervals as unexpected as certain intervals in music - they went on offering me the same charm in an inexhaustible profusion, but without letting me delve any more deeply, like those melodies which one can play a hundred times in succession without coming any nearer to their secret. I turned away from them for a moment so as to be able to return to them afresh. My eyes travelled up the bank which rose steeply to the fields beyond the hedge, alighting on a stray poppy or a few laggard cornflowers which decorated the slope here and there like the borders of a tapestry whereon may be glimpsed sporadically the rustic theme which will emerge triumphant in the panel itself; infrequent still, spaced out like the scattered houses which herald the approach of a village, they betokened to me the vast expanse of waving corn beneath the fleecy clouds, and the sight of a single poppy hoisting up its slender rigging and holding against the breeze its scarlet ensign, over the buoy of rich black earth from which is sprang, made my heart beat as does a wayfarer's when he perceives upon some low-lying ground a stranded boat which is being caulked and made sea-worthy, and cries out, although he has not yet caught sight of it, 'The Sea!'" (Swann's Way, p. 151, C.K. Scott Moncrieff translation)

"But though I remained there in front of the hawthorns, breathing in, bringing into the presence of my thoughts, which did not know what to do with it, then losing and finding again their invisible and unchanging smell, absorbing myself in the rhythm that tossed their flowers here and there with youthful high spirits and at unexpected intervals like certain intervals in music, they offered me the same charm endlessly and with an inexhaustible profusion, but without letting me study it more deeply, like the melodies you replay a hundred times in succession without descending further into their secrets. I turned away from them for a moment, to accost them against with renewed strength. I pursued, all the way onto the embankment behind the hedge that rose steeply toward the fields, some lost poppy, a few cornflowers which had lazily stayed behind, which decorated it here and there with their flower heads like the border of a tapestry on which there appears, thinly scattered, the rustic motif that will dominate the panel; infrequent still, spaced apart like the isolated houses that announce the approach of a village, they announced to me the immense expanse where the what breaks in waves, where the clouds fleece, and the sight of a single poppy hoisting its red flame to the top of its ropes and whipping it in the wind above its greasy black buoy made my heart pound like the heart of a traveler who spies on a lowland a first beached boat being repaired by a caulker and, before catching sight of it, cries out: 'The Sea!'" (Swann's Way, p. 141, Lydia Davis translation)

Again, I'm not going to presume to comment on which is the more accurate or "better" translation. I may be generally ridiculous, but not that ridiculous. The line, "But it was in vain that I lingered beside the hawthorns," is one of my all-time favorite lines from Proust, so it was strange to see it rendered so differently, although how Davis interprets it is wonderful. I know that I've appreciated the power and beauty and profundity of Moncrieff's translation with every re-read, and I'm sure the same will be true with the new Penguin Classics editions. It reminds me of my Muslim friends who assure me that you can never truly grasp the beauty of the Quran until you can read it in Arabic, and I'm sure the same is true of Proust and French. For some time I've been thinking about writing a novel about an old man who learns he's going to die, and decides he's only going to read Proust endlessly until he passes, so that he's assured of dying in beauty.

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Dreams, (Dag Johan Haugerud, 2024)

It's really difficult to express how much I love and appreciate the Criterion Channel, and not simply because they provide me with more good movies than I could possibly watch in a month. I'm introduced to so many directors and actors that I would never come across is I just depended upon HBO Max or Prime, etc. One of this month's special collections focused on the Norwegian director Dag Johan Haugerud and his Love/Sex/Dreams trilogy, all of which came out in 2024. I started off with Dreams, which won the Golden Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival. The film focuses on Johanne, a high school student who falls in love with her French teacher, Johanna. Throughout the story Haugerud keeps you guessing about whether the love affair was consummated or not, but then realizing that in the end does it matter. A year after the end of the affair Johanne writes down the story, which she shares with her grandmother and her mother, who have dramatically different interpretations about what this means, including coming to the realization that this is a story that could be published, and does that trump any concerns about the young girl writing the story. It's so intelligent and beautifully filmed and acted, and I started watching his Love almost immediately. How could you not love someone like Dag Johan Haugerud, who lists himself as a librarian, novelist, screenwriter and film director - in that order. The other thing about the Criterion Channel that makes me happy is that it gives me hope for the future. There are actually people out there making intelligent, personal films, and not just adaptations of comic books and video games. Very highly recommended.

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Little Caesar, (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931)

The Criterion Channel has a new collection of pre-Code films directed by Mervyn LeRoy. Because they're pre-Code they're a little rougher and not marked by definitive moral lessons. The first film I watched was LeRoy's Little Caesar, starring Edward G. Robinson in a star-making role as the gangster  Caesar Enrico "Rico" Bandello, and co-starring Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as his friend Joe Massara, who doesn't want to me a gangster anymore and would simple prefer to be a professional dancer with his girlfriend Olga Stassoff (Glenda Farrell). It was entertaining and started gangster film genre.

21

 My final 21st official day at Champlain was also an odd day, as it was last Monday when we buried unto a foot and a half of snow. Yesterday I was sick as a dog, so I carried out class from here at the cabin. Still, not every day is a pretty one - but it is still a day.

Today it is Simoni Lawrence who is helping me celebrate mu retirement countdown. Lawrence attended college at the University of Minnesota, and, like a lot of CFL players, had repeated stops on NFL practice squads (St. Louis Rams, Philadelphia Eagles, Chicago Bears, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, and Minnesota Vikings) without ever appearing  in a game. But still, he persisted, playing along the way for the Hartford Colonials and Las Vegas Locomotives (both of the United Football League). Eventually he found his way north, playing one season for the Edmonton Eskimos before settling in for a long-run with the Hamilton Tiger-Cats. He holds the Hamilton record for most tackles and defensive tackles, and the CFL records for most tackles in a game (17).  Lawrence is also a three-time winner of the James P. McCaffrey Trophy, given three times to the best defensive player in the East Division.

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Prelude to War (Why We Fight), (Frank Capra, 1942)

And since we're talking about World War II propaganda films that I'm using in my Images of Fascism class, last night we watched Prelude to War, the first installment in Frank Capra's Why We Fight series. In World War I the US government discovered that a series of dry lectures given after an exhausting day of training was not a good system to explain to the soldiers the point of their sacrifice. Two decades later they turned to Frank Capra - yes, that Frank Capra (It's a Wonderful Life, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, It Happened One Night, You Can't Take It with You, etc.) - to provide a more entertaining cinematic explanation. Walt Disney provided the animation. Janet, who had never seen the series, kept turning to me in amazement. It's more than a bit jarring to watch a previous US government laying out the beliefs and actions that define Fascism and how they match the beliefs and actions of a present US government.

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The Eternal Jew, (Fritz Hippler, 1940)

Not every film I'll watch this year is a happy experience, obviously, not simply because it may be a film that I'm excited to watch and in the end I didn't like it - or it might be a film that I know in advance is not going to provide any joy but I need to watch it anyway. Fritz Hippler's 1940 Nazi propaganda film The Eternal Jew definitely fits into the latter category. It's a film that I'm, not surprisingly, showing in my Images of Fascism class, and it's also a movie that I had not watched in its entirety in decades. Before the advent of Youtube it was a film that was hard to find, and I remember plaguing graduate school connections to track down a copy back when I taught my old World War II & Film class. For my class purposes, I want my students to see how authoritarian regimes define and describe the minority group that they demonize and use to justify their grossly unconstitutional and inhumane actions. 

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The Great Dictator, (Charlie Chaplin, 1940)

There are some films that make me cry every time I watch them, and one of them is Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator. His impassioned speech at the end, when the Jewish barber is mistaken for the dictator, and he takes the opportunity - essentially breaking away from both characters to speak directly to the audience as Chaplin, trying to convince the world to not embark on this madness, simply breaks me. I'm showing it in my Images of Fascism class. Every time I watch it I'm reminded that while I always focus on that speech, there are so many great moments in the film. Obviously very highly recommended, especially now. One final note: it's interesting how it's often the comedians who are the only ones brave enough to provide actual critique in the face of authoritarianism.