Footnotes*

I was reading the Fantagraphics collection of Zanardi by Andrea Pazienza tonight (it’s not very good; it’s like the stuff you’d stumble upon in European underground magazines in the 80s and be amused by for a couple of pages before you’d get annoyed by the incoherence and bored by the boorish humour and skimmed the last ten pages: Only here it’s a 230 page book and the tedium is unbearable (the only review I could find of this book is more positive), but at least you can play “spot the artist Pazienza’s ripping off on this page: Ah, Caza, yes, Moebius, and now it’s Spain, and huh, two random panels by Montellier, so it’s got that going for it).

But that’s not what I wanted to write about at all! I wanted to write about footnotes, and especially footnotes when doing a translation of an older work.

Yes, mentioning that those names belong to soccer players makes some sense.

And it’s an old work, so I guess pointing out what C.H.I.P.S. is makes sense.  To an American audience, though?

And, sure, pointing out that Frigidaire…

… is the magazine that this very strip appears in is more than fine; it brings additional understanding and depth to the piece.

But since the original work was Italian, is…

… translating Latin proverbs and explaining them within a reasonable remit of a footnote? Perhaps?

When a character randomly mentions an Italian city, is that the right place to point out that’s where the artist studied?

And then we get to the “how stupid does the translator (or footnoter) think that Americans are?” department.

The answer:

Really, really, stupid.

* Footnotes pull you out of what you’re reading and makes your eyes skip up and down and are a general nuisance. Putting shovelfuls of them into books like this is disrespectful to the work.

Of course, the work in question sucks, so, eh, whatevs. FORGET I WROTE THIS BLOG ARTICLE!

BTXIV 1953: Summer with Monika

Summer with Monika (Sommaren med Monika). Ingmar Bergman. 1953. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐★.

Another box office smash for Bergman, although this one was critically panned at the time. (And the American “version” (edited down and with added nudist camp shots) led to a trial: “Reporting on the case against the distributor, the Los Angeles Examiner quoted Judge Byron J. Walter: ‘Monica appeals to potential sex murderers […] Crime is on the increase and people wonder why. This is one of the reasons.'” Yes. Criminals were watching too many Bergman films.

Harriet Andersson (who would go on to star in many of Bergman’s subsequent movies) is brilliant here.

In some of the more picaresque scenes it does seem like Bergman is aping Italian neo-realism films more than convincingly reflecting a Swedish working class experience.

It’s appropriate that the American title was “Monica: The Story of a Bad Girl”, because she’s like the anti-Magic Pixie Dream Girl. It’s a great film, but I think it’s slightly let down by some indifferent cinematography by Gunnar Fischer, as usual.

This post is part of the 87 Bergman Things series.

BTXIII 1952: Secrets of Women

Secrets of Women (Kvinnors väntan). Ingmar Bergman. 1952. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐.

After an enforced break after the horrible This Can’t Happen Here, Bergman is back writing and directing this one, designed to be a people-pleasing comedy, because Bergman just couldn’t afford another box office bomb.

I think it’s the first kinda real pure Bergman film. The dialogue has never been more artificial and the women have never stared more wistfully just outside the camera frame: This is real Bergman, and if you hate that, you’ll hate this movie.

I’m pretty sure I saw this as a child, and I’ve seen it a couple of times since, so I’m prejudiced. But it’s just wonderful.

Finally Bergman has the best actors Sweden had at the time: Eva Dahlbeck and Gunnar Björnstrand, and they’re just absolutely fabulous.

This post is part of the 87 Bergman Things series.

BTXII 1951: Breeze Ads

Breeze Ads (Reklamfilmer för Bris). Ingmar Bergman. 1951. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐.

I got these ads as part of a haul from a Bergman bootlegger, but the quality is really bad. You can find much better quality footage here, for instance. This DVD looks like it has been through seven generations of RealVideo compression.

These are pretty weird soap ads. Bergman apparently had complete creative control, and you can tell.

Fun.

This post is part of the 87 Bergman Things series.

Watch Repair Guy

In my 20s, I bought a bunch of cheap but fun watches. While tidying up the other month, I came across the watch cache, and I thought it might be fun to start wearing them again.

The batteries had all expired decades ago, of course, and taking them all to the watchmaker sounded kinda silly, because changing the batteries would cost most than the watches themselves. Well. Almost.

And it turns out the batteries by themselves cost virtually nothing, so I bought all the required types and a watch repair set.

And a rum and coke.

Popping open the back cover of the watches is trivial if you have the right tool (seen to the left there): It’s a kinda blunt knife. And then you need a teensy screwdriver to push stuff around inside the watch to make the battery pop out.

If you have a watch with a screw-on back, you need the tool above. It’s pretty obvious if the watch is of that type, because the back has notches going around the circumference. It’s, however, not completely obvious to use this tool, so search Youtube for a how-to. It’s really easy when you understand the concept.

Look! Watches! Telling approximately the correct time! Now I don’t have to wear the same one more than twice a month!

There’s apparently four different battery types that cover the gamut of watch types.

So there you go: Swapping watch batteries is very easy. You just need a) batteries, and b) a watchmaker tool set (there’s a bunch of cheap ones out there), 4) rum and coke, and xvii) very good lighting.