I’m going to have to give you a little bit of Sissel tonight, and then I’ll be gone for a couple days. I have to go out of town tomorrow to do a lecture, and today I got a (relatively) big translating job I have to finish before I leave. So I must post and run.
The song is a Norwegian classic. The tune is by the violinist Ole Bull, a world celebrity in his time. The words are by Jorgen Moe. The title is “The Seter Girl’s Sunday.” A seter was a mountain pasture, where livestock were kept over the summer, so they could graze there and take pressure off the home meadows. Servant girls would be sent up with the animals, and would commonly spend long periods of time up there, sometimes in relative solitude.
The girl in the song is watching the sun, knowing that when it reaches a certain point above the mountains, the folks at home will be hearing the church bells and heading to church. It’s an important social time in a country community, and she is lonely.
It’s a moving scene in the book, and moving in the movie too – the scene with the “healing hands of the king.”
“For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known.’
Then Aragorn exercises his healing arts on Eowyn and Merry and Faramir. It’s beautiful in itself, and an evocative image of Christ as King and Healer. Lovely.
I don’t know where Tolkien first came across the idea of the king having healing hands, but I’m pretty sure I know one place where he read about it – Snorri Sturlusson’s Heimskringla. But in Snorri it’s a far darker story. Snorri generally shows conventional reverence for Olaf Haraldsson as the patron saint of Norway. But his treatment can be ambivalent, and it’s at this point in Olaf’s saga, not long before his exile to Russia, that Olaf loses the sympathy of a lot of readers. Historically, it certain lost him some allies.
The situation is this: Thorir Olvesson, a young man with important family connections, is getting married, and King Olaf and his entourage are invited. The hospitality is splendid. Food and drink are plentiful, and everyone is having a good time. But one of Olaf’s men whispers to him that Thorir, the bridegroom, has been bribed by King Canute of England/Denmark to murder the king.
From Lee Hollander’s translation:
When the king sat at table and the men had drunk for a while and were very merry, while Thorir went about, serving the people, the king had Thorir called before him. He came up to the king’s table and rested his elbows on it.
“How old a man are you, Thorir?” asked the king.
“I am eighteen years old,” he replied.
The king said, “A big man you are for your age, Thorir, and a fine fellow.” Then the king put his hand around Thorir’s right arm and stroked it above the elbow.
Thorir, said, “Gently, sire! I have a boil on my arm.” The king held on to his arm and felt something hard underneath.
The king said, “Haven’t you heard that I am a healer? Let me see that boil.” Then Thorir saw that it would not do to conceal it any longer and took off the ring and showed it to the king. The king asked whether it was a gift from King Knut. Thorir said he would not deny it.
The king had Thorir seized and put in chains. Then Kalf [Arnesson] came forward and asked for mercy, offering money for him. Many supported him and offered compensation. The king was so furious that no one dared to address him. He declared that Thorir was to have the same sentence [of death] which Thorir had intended for him, and had him killed afterwards. But that deed created the greatest ill-will….
Reading impressions: I was struck, as most readers will forever be now, I suppose, by the differences between the movies and the books. I know this, and yet it always sort of surprises me. The impression I always get from the movies (and of course it’s much easier to watch the movies than read the trilogy) is that the movies are pretty faithful, except for a few obvious changes. The role of Arwen is the most famous. The omission of Tom Bombadil is another. And we could go on and on, in orders of relative importance.
But in fact, the movies are very different from the books. The general plot lines are largely the same, though the order of presentation has often been shuffled. But there are actually few scenes in the films that are presented substantially as Tolkien described them. Compression and economy have had their effects everywhere. Most of the dialogue is new, too. We notice the direct quotations when they come, and quote them in Facebook memes. But they’re actually relatively rare. Most of the dialogue is new – streamlined paraphrases of Tolkien’s general sense.
Every fan of the movies should read the books at least once.
Of course, they won’t.
Looking at the story through the eyes of a Viking buff, one thing struck me in my recent reading. When Denethor commands that Faramir be carried into the kings’ tombs, the entrance is described like this:
Turning westward they came at length to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Fen Hollen it was called, for it was kept ever shut save at times of funeral, and only the Lord of the City might use that way, or those who bore the token of the tombs and tended the houses of the dead.
In other words, bodies were not carried in through the main entrance, but through a separate, smaller, door. I’m probably reaching, but this reminded me of a Norse custom known from the sagas. We’re told that when someone died in a house, the corpse was not carried out through the main door. Instead a hole was broken into a side wall, and the corpse carried out that way. Then the hole would be repaired. The idea was that if the dead person were to “walk again,” they would try to get back in the way they left, and be unable to find that door. This would protect the residents.
The two things are different, in that one involves carrying corpses in, and the other involved carrying them out. Still, I thought it might have been in the back of the Professor’s mind.
I’ll write about something other than the (brilliant) Norwegian miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (on which I did translation work – not sure I’ve mentioned that), one of these days. But that will only be when there isn’t amazing news to tell about it. And today is not that day.
It was just announced – and I just got word – that Atlantic Crossing will be part of the Spring 2021 lineup on the prestigious PBS “Masterpiece” series (which most of us still call “Masterpiece Theater”) this spring (scroll down to the Spring listing).
I need hardly mention that I’m over the moon about this. While I was working on the series, I thought more than once that this was perfect material for “Masterpiece.” But I had the idea they only broadcast British stuff.
In point of fact, this will be the first time a Norwegian series has ever been broadcast on “Masterpiece.”
I humbly take personal responsibility for all this success.
“Vanity, vanity,” said the author of Ecclesiastes, “all is vanity.” Most modern people, on hearing that verse in the King James version, assume it refers to an attitude of arrogant self-centeredness.
In fact, though (as I’m sure all our readers know), the meaning of “vanity” has changed over time. Nowadays, a better translation would be, “meaninglessness” or “futility.”
I think I’m guilty of both.
I learned that translators are not customarily listed in production credits in movies and TV. This began to nag at me, because I expect someone, someday, to challenge me on whether I participated in Atlantic Crossing (and other fine productions, I hope). I won’t be able to say, “Pause the credits on the DVD. My name’s right there.”
So I joined IMDb Pro today. I hesitated, because membership isn’t pocket change. But finally I went ahead and did it, and attached my name to the Atlantic CrossingIMDb page. I’m not sure how much non-members can see, but I can now be found under “Series Additional Crew.” At the very bottom, until such time as the Master of the Feast shall call me up unto a higher place.
This action plunged me immediately into confusion and distress.
Was this hubris? Where did I get off, trying to pass myself off as an entertainment professional?
On the continuum between self-abasement and self-aggrandizement, I never know where the sweet spot is. All I know is, I’m usually at one extreme or another, and mistaken about it. I have two great regrets in my life – not putting myself forward enough, and ever putting myself forward at all.
The great thing is that I’m pretty sure nobody will ever notice.
Martin Molin, member of Swedish band Wintergatan, and his marble machine
A Swedish engineer and musician created this marble-driven music box a few years ago. I believe this is an early version or model, and Martin has since moved on to a larger, more complex marble machine.
What’s your initial reaction to suggestion that evangelicals love doctrine over people? It’s a common claim in come circles, perhaps most common among those who feel rejected.
The other day on Twitter, a believer with a successful academic career (judging from a distance) retweeted this claim, noting its truthfulness, and another believer with a successful publishing career pushed back, saying anyone who has taught Sunday School should know how little doctrine most evangelicals understand.
This second point rings true to me and seems to be supported by surveys like Ligonier’s State of Theology, conducted again this year. If members of evangelical churches love doctrine so much, why are so many unsure of certain basic facts every Christian should know? But why is the charge of being unloving to their neighbors assumed by so many, even within the church?
Perhaps evangelicals are one of the many groups of people who claim to hold to doctrinal standards but in reality hold only to a comfort zone. I mean they love people about as much as everyone else does, but they talk up the doctrine side of things. They claim loyalty to a creed or church, but the truth is they only know what the creed sort of looks like, because what they really hold to is the comfort of the group and place. They like the habits they do all together, the people who hang out here, the tone the pastor sets in each service. They call that comfort zone the Christian faith.
If that’s true, their comfort zone won’t stay Christian long.
Of course, only some evangelicals do this; the fear is that most do it. Cultural observers frequently ask why the church isn’t known for loving our neighbors above anything else. It isn’t only due to the reporters who only report on a public figure’s faith when he or she is using it to beat down others.
The midday heat was quite something. It hit Bunny like a punch in the solar plexus. Nevada temperatures were the kind you only experienced in Ireland when they were cooking instructions.
The Bunny McGarry Stateside series (a spin-off of Caimh McDonnell’s Dublin Trilogy) rolls along with a brand-new entry, The Quiet Man. And sorry, this story has no connection to the famous John Ford movie, except for the presence of a heavy-drinking, pugnacious Irishman.
The background, if you haven’t read the previous books, is a little complicated. Bunny McGarry, former Dublin police detective, is now officially dead. He has come to the US on a private quest to locate Simone, the love of his life. She disappeared entirely some years ago in order to escape some dangerous people who were looking for her. But now Bunny has learned of a credible threat to her safety of which she needs to be warned. To locate her, he has formed an alliance with the Sisters of the Saint, an unofficial order of “nuns” who are not necessarily religious (or celibate), but who have banded together to fight evil. Sort of a female A-Team with a mother superior. One of their members may know where Simone is, but she and another sister have been kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel. The cartel’s price for their release is that the Sisters find a way to spring one of their members (the titular Quiet Man) from a super-high security prison in Nevada.
Got that?
Bunny, always game, agrees to get himself arrested, and the Sisters’ resident internet hacker manages to get him placed in The Quiet Man’s cell. The Quiet Man is a mysterious prisoner, very large and strong, who never leaves the cell without a Hannibal Lecter mask, and to whom everyone is forbidden to speak. All Bunny has to do is persuade him to come along when the Sisters disrupt prison security. And, incidentally, stay alive while being threatened by various prison gangs, an old enemy who unexpectedly appears, and a homicidal chief guard. And, oh yes, survive in a place where they think a biscuit is what Bunny calls a scone.
I didn’t think The Quiet Man was quite as funny as the previous books (which may be only a trick of memory), but it was an engaging light thriller, and there were a lot of amusing moments and a neat resolution. I recommend it, if you can handle the rough language and “earthy” humor.
Crown Princess Martha (Sofia Helin) and Crown Prince Olav (Tobias Santelmann) with the Roosevelts in “Atlantic Crossing.”
Now and then I write about things that I’ve seen or read, which you can’t enjoy because I read Norwegian and you don’t (nya nya nya). But this is about Atlantic Crossing, which I and some of you had the opportunity to enjoy (first 2 episodes only) yesterday, thanks to a special feed from the Cannes Film Festival. (The Cannes people and I are like that, and we often do favors for one another.)
My gloating is mitigated this time because we can all hope to see the full series in this country soon, perhaps early next year. This article from Yahoo! News says that AC is being eagerly snapped up by markets in various countries:
Sales have been struck with Italy’s RAI and Deutsche Telekom’s Magenta TV for Germany and Austria, as well as with France’ Chérie 25. The series was produced by leading Norwegian banner Cinenord for public broadcaster NRK, and was co-produced by Beta Film, SVT and DR.
“Atlantic Crossing” was also snatched up for Russia (more.tv), the Australian public broadcaster SBS, Greece and Cyprus (Forthnet) and across Eastern Europe, including Lithuania (LRT). The event series is competing at Canneseries and will bow on NRK on Oct. 26.
The eight-hour show has been sold throughout Europe and a US deal is in final negotiations, distributor Beta Film said.
So I look forward to seeing the whole thing soon. And I truly mean that. When I watched the preview yesterday, it amazed me.
I’m prejudiced, of course. I put in a lot of work on this project. Linda May Kallestein, who you’ll see listed as co-writer, was the woman who originally got me into script translation, and I still work for her often (due to her forgiving nature). I got the Cannes Festival video link from her.
But I don’t think I’m talking with blinders on when I tell you this is an astonishing production.
The photography is gorgeous (Norway has rarely looked so beautiful on film). The actors’ performances are uniformly excellent. The dramatic pace is relentless – sometimes as tense as a superior thriller.
I know this script (at least the first four episodes) better than almost anybody in the world outside the writers, because I worked (though not alone) through several revisions, and did the final proofing (again, of the first four episodes) before shooting began. And yet I was constantly surprised as I watched. When I’d visualized it in my head, it wasn’t as compelling as this. It’s all in the execution. Original direction, creative cinematography, and fine acting bring it all to life in ways that took my breath away. There wasn’t a false note from the titles to the credits.
And the final scene of Episode 2, when Märtha and her children have to leave Norway for an uncertain future, had me in tears like a little girl.
I told Linda May, in an email today, “I think you might be stuck with a classic on your hands.”
I think Atlantic Crossing may set a new benchmark for quality in miniseries.
Catch it when you get the chance. I’ll be sure to let you know.
I’ve been boring you for some time, talking about the big miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (trailer above), on which I did a whole lot of translation work (often when I say I worked on a project, I mean an episode or two. On this one I helped translate several episodes, and I proofread the entire first half, four episodes). Right now, it’s being judged at the Cannes Film Festival. If you sign in with your email address (or so I’m told; I haven’t tried it yet) you can view Episodes 1 and 2 right here. But the showing only lasts 24 hours, which means you’ve got to get to it before sometime around early afternoon tomorrow, my time (Central), Tuesday (if my reckoning is right. Which is not something to bet your life on).
I’m authorized to give you that link, by the way. I’ve messed such things up in the past, but I have this on good authority.
I like that trailer. Very moving, it seems to me. I hope it gets lots of awards at Cannes, so I can brag about my association even more. I’m an old man. I covet the gratifications I can still get.
“Well, our first event of the year kind of sucked,” said one of my friends in the Viking Age Club on Saturday. Some of us had gathered in another town for the funeral of one of our older members. (Cancer, not Covid. I know you were wondering.)
What a year it’s been. But, as Thanksgiving approaches (and Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, to any Good Neighbors to the North who happen to be reading this), I have to say I have much to be thankful for. Aside from my continued good health, I’ve gotten enough translating work (just about exactly enough; it’s kind of like manna) to sustain me through the year.
The funeral day came equipped with beautiful weather; today is about the same. Almost enough to make me an Autumn fan. Autumn days can be delightful; but I’m too much of a worrier to ever forget that Fall is the door through which Winter enters (with horns in a minor key, like Darth Vader).
But, day by day. That’s what I need to remind myself.
