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‘Atlantic Crossing,’ translator’s reaction

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Although I’d already seen the first two episodes of “Atlantic Crossing,” I wasn’t about to miss the big premiere on PBS Sunday night. I found a friend who was willing to have me over to watch with his girlfriend on his big TV (I even got a free meal out of it).

As I told you before, it was as good as I remembered. Well acted (I’m highly impressed with Kyle Maclachlan’s performance as FDR. He really nails the character), nail-bitingly dramatic, and beautiful to watch. Just a class production all the way.

I know this script intimately. Not as a writer would – as I keep telling people, I had zero creative input – but as someone who helped translate through multiple revisions. I know where certain minor cuts were made to tighten things up. I remember how I imagined the scenes when I worked on them, and in every case they’re more spacious on film (or on tape, or however it’s done nowadays). And I had the opportunity to lecture my fellow viewers about Norwegian history, and the unspoken dynamics behind the historical events.

Based on the reactions I’ve seen on Facebook, American readers liked the show very much indeed. I will say nothing about historical authenticity here, or anywhere. That’s not for me to discuss. I’ll only say that this is a miniseries, and that dramatic form involves certain iron demands. You’ve got to have a full dramatic arc for each of the eight episodes, and that involves massaging actual events to some extent. I think “Atlantic Crossing” ought to be evaluated as a work of art. And on that level it succeeds brilliantly. There ought to be awards.

If you missed Episode One, you should be able to stream it here.

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‘Atlantic Crossing’ 2nd chance

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If, in spite of all my exhortations and horn blowing, you somehow missed the premiere of the miniseries ‘Atlantic Crossing’ (which I helped translate; I probably haven’t mentioned that) Sunday evening, you can stream the episode here.

It’s awesome. And I’m only partly responsible.

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This Sunday: ‘Atlantic Crossing’

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I trust you’ll be going to church this Sunday. In the evening, after the celebration and the feast, you’ll have the opportunity — 9:00 Eastern, 8:00 Central, etc. — to watch “Atlantic Crossing,” a superior miniseries I helped translate, on PBS Masterpiece. PBS has an interesting intro video, which I tried to embed, but I can’t make it work. So here’s the link.

One of the people you’ll see on the video is Alexander Eik, one of the co-writers. The other co-writer is Linda May Kallestein, my original film translation boss. But she’s shy.

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Translating Journal: A good day

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Big day. Put my clothes in the wash. Went to the gym. And when I got back from my grueling workout, I found translating work waiting for me. A nice large job, too. Better still, it’s a project about something that interests me – can’t tell you what, of course. Still, that means all my big plans for a wild Friday night on the town had to be put on hold. But my immunization will mature on Monday, and then all this pent-up social energy will burst forth upon the world. Look out, Robbinsdale.

Another gorgeous day, it was. Not as warm as some days we’ve had, but it was nice – the little time I spent outside. On the way home from the gym, I actually had the presence of mind to stop at the drug store and pick up the prescription that’s been waiting a couple days. At my age, that’s what they call, “He’s having one of his good days.”

I had a plan to call a guy to inquire about printing up a paper version of The Year of the Warrior (I have the rights for that), but I’ve been too busy translating to look into the details. I’ll keep you posted if it happens.

Have a good weekend.

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Writing Journal: Rainy day

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Today was a rainy day. Not snowy, rainy. This is not unheard-of in March in Minnesota, but it’s far from the norm. My front yard is entirely free of snow – there’s a little left in back, where the stuff gets piled up at the northeast corner of the house, but even that may be gone now. I haven’t looked out there in a few hours.

The rain has been slow, drippy stuff through most of the day, but I’m hearing thunder now.

A wild surmise begins to burgeon in my heart – we may have seen the last of this winter. The forecast doesn’t show any cold weather or snow for a couple weeks. Of course, we can still get snow even in April, and often do. But the sunshine seems to have gained the upper hand at this point. If we get any more snow, it’s unlikely to establish a beachhead.

Work goes slowly on the new Erling book, but it does go. I’m mostly adding stuff at this point. I’ve got the armature of a book, but it needs fleshing out.

Just wrote a scene (meant to be funny) about haggis, because Macbeth is in the story. This sort of thing is a tad self-indulgent, and if I were a purer artist, I’d probably consider it beneath me. But in my experience, very little is beneath me.

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Amazon Prime film review: ‘Castle In the Air’

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Temperature around 50 today. This pleases me. I left the house three times – to the gym, to the grocery store, and to pick up pizza. All the trips were satisfactory, except for the grocery store, because I forgot to get pizza. Which isn’t so bad, because I’d planned to get carryout today anyway. I can get a large Domino’s for about nine bucks with a coupon, and I get four meals out of it. Which turns an indulgence into an economy.

Something about that scheme doesn’t seem right, though. I’m still waiting for the universe to rain justice down on me, for my hubris.

Watched an amusing old English movie this afternoon. Castle In the Air, from 1952. Based on a stage play. It’s slightly Wodehousian, in having a mix of classes, romantic misunderstandings, and competing prevarications.

The Earl of Locharne is played by David Tomlinson, who seems to American eyes a strange choice for a romantic lead (he’s best remembered for a later role, as the father in Mary Poppins). I have an idea that the British film industry was slightly short on talent in those days, and had to cast less-than-beautiful people just to fill the roles. The same is true – to an extent – of Helen Cherry (Mrs. Trevor Howard), who plays “Boss” Trent, the earl’s assistant and love interest. She’s just slightly less than beautiful, but I can easily imagine falling in love with her anyway.

In any case, the earl’s great cross to bear in life is the ownership of Locharne Castle, which is falling apart faster than he can afford to fix it. He operates it as a residential hotel, for tenants who constantly complain about the cold drafts and the lack of hot water. And oh yes – there’s a ghost, a beautiful phantom named Ermyntrude, who is actually good-natured and helpful. (Filmmakers loved superimposing ghost images in movies back then. It was a special effect that was easy, cheap, and didn’t look cheesy.)

A man from the National Coal Board arrives to assess the property. The board is considering acquiring the castle (by requisition, not purchase), so everyone is doing their best to impress him with the castle’s ruinous condition and unsuitability for habitation. But when a rich and beautiful American divorcee shows up, pondering buying the place for good money, he has to talk it up to her. Meanwhile, a genealogist with Jacobite sympathies (played by Margaret Rutherford) is on site, working out charts to prove that the earl is the rightful king of Scotland.

All very silly, and pleasant, and the ending’s happy. Enjoyable fluff, in the tradition of… did I mention Wodehouse? Cautions for sometimes incomprehensible Scottish accents.

Uncategorized, Writing

Spring, our false friend

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False spring is what we call it. At least I think so. I’m not actually sure I’ve ever heard anyone say “false spring.” But if that’s not what they call it, they ought to. I’ll take full credit. Registered trademark.

Anyway, the sun shone, and the temperature got into the upper 40s (farenheit, for our European readers). The snow is more than half gone from my neighbors’ lawn to the east. It seems barely diminished on my neighbor’s lawn to the west. And I’m kind of in the middle. I supposed the inequity has to do with the angle of the sun. Or systemic sexism – but in that case, it favors the woman.

Anyway, it was so nice out I decided to go on the back porch this afternoon and work on the new Erling book. I’d been stalled in my revision; a timeline problem that overwhelmed me one evening a month ago. Since then I’ve been spooked about it, sure it was beyond my powers to solve. I decided I was in a rut and needed to change my writing environment, so I sat on the porch, rolled my pants up to get some sunlight, and gave it another look.

I think I solved the problem – which means there’s probably a couple loose threads I’ll still need to fix in a later revision. But anyway, I’m on the job again.

James Lileks complained (sort of) about this warm spell a few days back. He noted that it won’t last, that we’ll get more snow and all this warmth and sunlight will have been but a cruel tease.

I sympathize keenly with that sentiment. If there’s one thing I’m all about, it’s looking at the dark (and cold) side. But you know, the knowledge that more snow is coming doesn’t make today less sweet. The air was no less mild. The photons my legs absorbed were no less Vitamin D-incentive.

It’s not just about false spring, either. You’ve got to think that way every day, when you get to my age.

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Blathering post, in lieu of actual thoughts

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Why is it taking me so long to finish this book I’m reading? I haven’t been that busy – just some volunteer translation. And the book’s interesting enough. And yet I’m proceeding at a very slow pace. I could finish it tonight and then offer up a late review, but my Kindle tells me there’s 2 hours of reading left.

So what to write instead? Post a YouTube video? Did that last night. Writing advice? The night before that. Report on my afternoon movie viewing? Today it was one of the Renfrew of the Mounted Police series, and it wasn’t memorable for anything except the original concept that a group of thieves at an airfield would kill their enemies by sabotaging their own airplanes – an expensive modus operandi, that one.

Today the weather was beautiful, and I didn’t get out in it at all. Should have, but the sidewalks are still icy, and I need to remember I’m an old man with hips made in China (I assume that’s where they were made – everything else is). When I was younger I had other excuses for not going for a walk, but this one should last me the rest of my life.

My volunteer translation project is moving along. I figure it’s better to take the tortoise strategy – I do one page a day, every day, rather than wearing myself out on a long, obsessive session one day, then being too tired of it the next day to do anything. I’m better than half-way through, so steady as she goes. That’s how I write novels too. When I write them at all.

Personal note: Like so many American men, I’ve gone about a year without a haircut. I’ve now reached the point where I can tie my mane up in a queue and it doesn’t all work itself out in floating strands over the course of the day. I remember a time, back during the tumultuous ‘70s, when I facetiously told my dad I was thinking of growing a bicentennial queue for 1776. He was not amused.

It’s not a ponytail, by the way. It’s tied low, at the nape of the neck. In my world, a ponytail sits high on the back of the head, and resembles the south end of a north-bound horse. Girls have ponytails. I have a queue.

One advantage is that when they come to take us away to the re-education camps, I might be able to sneak away through the crowd, disguised as an old member of the Weather Underground.

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No kidding about the captain

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Captain Kidd buries his treasure, by the great Howard Pyle. William Kidd looked nothing like this. Of course, he looked nothing like Charles Laughton either.

Today the temperature soared to near 40˚ Farenheit. Spring-like. It won’t last, of course, but we feel as if we deserve it. Or if not, we’ll take it and hope whoever monitors these things doesn’t add it to our bill.

The big activity today was a visit from my friendly plumber, who extracted a clog from my bathroom sink drain (must have been some clog, judging from the time it took), and then extracted a wad of my substance from my credit card. Even with the loyalty club discount, it seemed excessive. But I suppose the man who has no power snake must be servant to the man who does.

Kids, go into plumbing as a career. You’ll love the sense of power.

Then I watched the old 1945 film, Captain Kidd, starring Charles Laughton and Randolph Scott. Ahoy, mates – yonder be cheese! Laughton has a high reputation as an actor, but I never liked him much. In this one he marlin-spikes the overacting meter pretty constantly. And Randolph Scott is convincing neither as a sailor nor as an Englishman. Barbara Britton was lovely, though. Wikipedia says this was one of Stalin’s favorite films, according to Khrushchev.

Captain Kidd himself is an interesting, and rather pathetic, historical character. Opinions of his career vary. Some historians say he was innocent and should not have hanged, others say he was guilty and deserved it by the standards of the time. All agree he was nothing like the fearsome figure he cuts in legend and fiction.

He was, in fact, pretty bad at being a pirate. He set out to hunt pirates, had no luck, and seems to have allowed his crew to pressure him into marginal activities. Rather than a psychopathic monster, he seems to have been an incompetent commander – the kind who let discipline drift until he finally blew a fuse and killed a man. Hanging seems a heavy price to pay for poor management skills, but the British admiralty was not a merciful institution, and the killing did complicate it all – even if he only brained the guy with a bucket.

When I was a kid, I was a fan of Robert Lawson’s juvenile historical novels about the pets of great historical figures. One was Captain Kidd’s Cat – a strange story to include in an essentially lighthearted series, considering that the main character hangs in the end. Lawson’s take on Captain Kidd seems to have been influenced by the story of the pirate Stede Bonnet, who claimed he took to freebooting to get away from a nagging wife. In the book, William Kidd is a henpecked husband whose wife sends him on his voyage with strict instructions to bring her home a Turkey Carpet (the same thing as a Persian carpet, I assume). His whole tragedy springs from his successive, blundering attempts to secure that rug.

Why did Captain Kidd go into legend as a monstrous sea wolf? Probably because of his connections to New York City, and the rumor that he left a treasure buried on nearby Gardner’s Island. The legend of that treasure sparked a lot of imaginations in old Gotham.

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New Tolkien Biography will Emphasize Author’s Faith

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Jeremy W. Johnston, author of All Things New: Essays on Christianity, culture & the arts and Undiminished Returns: Poems of a Christian Life, is working on “a short, accessible, spiritual biography of the Maker of Middle Earth.”

He talks about his experience with reading The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and how he came to start writing this biography on his blog.