LET'S GO TO THE MOVIES!

Twice in the last week, Chinese women asked how come I could speak Cantonese. In both cases I explained it was primarily because of movies. Several years ago there were movie theaters in Chinatown, and every week I would go watch the double bill at whichever venue had new releases. I got to see all of the Chou Yunfat (周潤發) gangster movies, as well as Andy Lau (劉德華) and Leslie Cheung (張國榮).
Three great actors, with phenomenal screen presence.
The ideal man, in several different portrayals.

That last part I did not say, though. Sufficient to acknowledge that they were incredible to watch, enormous art and entertainment combined.
I also didn't mention the great actresses, whose radiant on-screen personalities absolutely embodied the feminine hero-type and the model maiden much more than any of the modern Hollywood actresses, many of whom are scandalous slags, most of whom have only two talents.
Great Hong Kong actresses, however... total dynamite.
Cherry Chung, Maggie Cheung, Anita Mui
鍾楚紅、張曼玉、梅艷芳。

If I had to name perfection among non-Chinese womanhood, three examples come to mind: Agent Scully in the X-Files, Louise Belcher from Bob's Burgers, and Suzie Derkins from Calvin and Hobbs.
Brilliance, chutzpah, and strong-mindedness.

Seriously.


There haven't been any movie theatres in Chinatown for several years.
The neighborhood has changed over time. There are still movies, but you need to buy a converter for the discs, as whatever is available at reasonable prices with the original crappy subtitles will not play on American machines. Remastered versions with allegedly better subtitles, or even dubbing, are the standard outside of Chinatown.
Watching those isn't the same at all.
I liked the original subtitles.
Unique uses of English.
Very creative.


Nothing conveys the whomp of a Cantonese gangster flic better than snarled HK slang, and nothing expresses what the protagonist means more effectively. Adding surreal English-language subtitles underneath adds to the experience.

Dubbing, as an art form, is only worthwhile in German. The teevee series 'Bonanza', Marlon Brando, and Frank Sinatra, plus the film 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas', are so much more sparklesome when the characters speak that language instead of English.

One watches Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro snarl and gibber in the language of Goethe, and the world seems a brighter stranger place.

Dubbing for an American audience dumbs the material down, and when you throw in fake Asian accents and really bad voice-talent, the result is positively putrid. Simplified translations in subtitles, because the average Texan dumb-ass knows nothing of the contexts and cannot construe, makes the whole experience even less enjoyable.


The only possible exceptions: Anime series dubbed in English.
Genuine and realistic speech-patterns.
An educated audience.



KWEILO TO DA MAX! 
十分之十鬼佬！

I have to wonder what I sound like in Cantonese. My ex usually cringed when I spoke the language, and most American-born Chinese cannot quite figure out what that weird whitey is saying. Yet there are people who have no problem when I talk; the alternative, obviously, is that they otherwise wouldn't be able to have any conversation with me.
 Still, I have no doubt I sound painfully goofy.

Kind of like the white people in Hong Kong movies. The nun in that series of courtroom dramas. The female cop in several comedies.
The brutish blond thug in a couple of gangster tales.
But evenso, it could be far, far worse.
I could speak only Mandarin.
That's totally white.

One woman the other day speculated that my parents must have been Chinese. If that had been so, I would have been a very defective adopted son. Not fluent at all, and very very Honky.

Nice Chinese men don't smoke pipes.
And never have facial hair.
Or speak Dutch.



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