I’m happy and not happy to say I got some more translation work. I wanted the work because I need the money, but it also means I’ll have to prepare for this weekend (a meeting in Fergus Falls, then a Viking event in Brainerd) during whatever chinks of time I can find in between work sessions. It’s times like this when I feel kind of old.
Older than usual.
For your entertainment, I found a trailer for one of the previous projects I’ve worked on. “Wisting,” based on the book series by Jorn Lier Horst, one of whose books I listened to driving to Madison and back last weekend. This was one of the first projects I worked on (not much of my work actually survived the revisions), but I was taken with it, and found the books enjoyable. You can view it, as you’ll see, if you subscribe to Acorn TV. (Assuming they’re still running it)
Reading a long book, and I have a heavy translation project to fill my hours. So, nothing to review. About what shall I write today?
I don’t want to write about the state of the world. I’m not very happy about the state of the world, or the nation, or the state, or the community. I’m not all that happy about the state of my house, either. One of my sinks just clogged up.
At bedtime, I’ve been reading Jeremiah. Appropriate, in a tragic way. There’s Jeremiah, this young man who loves God, and what job does God give him? “Tell the people to repent or they’ll be punished. They won’t listen to you, but tell them anyway.”
“God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.” The problem is, His idea of wonderful is different from ours. From mine, anyway.
If I didn’t have a strong impression (very likely wrong) that I have a Calling to finish my Erling saga before I die, I’d be strongly considering taking up an even more unhealthy lifestyle, just to avoid the disaster that seems inevitable now.
Anyway.
I did accomplish one thing. With my hands, for a change.
I built (with my brother’s extensive help) a Viking chest, some years back, for use in reenactments. The picture above (my chest is red with yellow decorations) isn’t a very good one, but it’s the best I can find in my collection. A Viking chest is wider at the bottom than at the top (prevents tipping) and the two end boards are longer than the rest, creating “feet” that keep the chest off the ground (or out of the bilge water). It’s a practical design. I used a lot of construction cheats to make it looked joined, though it’s actually all screwed together.
A while back one of the feet broke. It’s been breaking off again periodically, under stress, ever since. I’d been planning to fix it for some time, by running a couple long screws up inside the boards the long way.
Last week I drilled starter holes for the screws, but found that the holes were too short for the very long screws I’d found somewhere. I went to the hardware store for a longer drill bit, and the guy sold me one he swore was the right size. It was not. It was too wide; the screws barely bit.
So yesterday I unscrewed the screws (not very hard) and dumped some toothpicks into the holes, along with Elmer’s glue. Then I coated the screws with glue as well, and tightened it all down. Seems solid.
I needed some sense of accomplishment. Finishing my translation work will help with that too. Better get back to it.
Today is one of my industrious days. A little translation work came in. Proofreading, actually, which is fairly easy and I believe I do it well. It doesn’t pay much because it goes fast and this employer pays by the hour. But it’s income. And not devoid of fun.
The project – which I won’t give you a hint about, not even the format – is one we’ve been working on, off and on, for years now. I recall remembering it recently, and thinking, “Well, that one must have died in production.” But here it is again.
The wheels of cinema grind slowly.
Not long ago I saw a news item that announced they were starting production on the very first project I ever worked on. I’d long written it off as a sad casualty – I’d really liked it and wanted to see it made. And behold, it’s getting done, at last.
Makes me feel better about the rate my novels are coming out.
I expect I’ll be able to post something tomorrow, but if I don’t show up, remember I’ll be at the Little Log House Antique Power event in Hastings, Minnesota on Saturday and Sunday. God willing.
Weird week. Good, but weird. I am a dull man leading a dull life, but occasionally things pick up. They’re up right now.
Saturday I’ll be doing the first actual Viking event I’ve done in over a year – not strictly a Viking event, but a military history timeline thing at Dundas, Minnesota: Minnesota Military History Days. I’ll only be there Saturday. But it’s an event, and I’ll be setting up the tent, so I’m feeling the “tension.” (“Tent,” “tension,” get it? They actually do come from the same root.) Sunday is another event, but that’s not open to the public, so I won’t tease you with it.
(I probably won’t be posting anything Friday, because it takes me at least a day to do anything.)
And then translation work showed up. Fairly big project, fairly tight deadline. On top of that, it’s got a subject that really appeals to me (can’t tell you what). So I’m busy with that right now (should be working on it this minute, in fact).
And I got an invitation to be interviewed on a talk show a good friend does on a station in Des Moines (Truth 99.3). I can’t find a way to link to the recorded interview yet, except through Facebook. I’ll let you know if I find it (or, more likely, if somebody points it out to me, as one directs an elderly tourist to local points of interest).
Last night, I got a toothache. Went in to the dentist today on an emergency basis. He looked inside my maw and found nothing. He asked, “Have you been tense lately?”
“Wistful” isn’t a word I use often (not in front of strangers, anyway), but I’m feeling a touch wistful now that “Atlantic Crossing” has finished its run on PBS Masterpiece. It’s the most famous thing I’ve ever had a hand in, so there’s a sense that my fifteen minutes are over now. Future generations of my family will say to their kids, “Yes, your great-grandfather and great-granduncle had a brother who never married. Weird guy. Religious. Grumpy all the time. Wrote some novels, and did some kind of translating of Norwegian movies and TV shows. Wrote subtitles or something.” [Voiceover: “But they were mistaken. He was a not a subtitle writer, but a screenplay translator. They are different things.”]
What follows is not a review of “Atlantic Crossing.” I cannot do a review. My legal obligations to the people I work for prevent me saying anything negative about the production in public (assuming I even have any criticisms to make). I want to talk about the things I appreciated in this remarkable and memorable production.
First of all, I think it was masterfully produced. The visuals were tremendous – taking advantage of the glorious Norwegian landscape in the segments filmed there, and beautifully recreating the US in the 1940s. There was a real epic quality to it all, especially in the first and last episodes.
I found all the actors’ performances top-notch. Sofia Helin, who played Märtha, is not actually the right physical type – she should be taller and slimmer. But she did an excellent job of portraying an essentially shy woman, trained to act as a public figure as a matter of duty, who is then forced to get her hands dirty in practical politics. The strain shows under the gracious facade.
The performance that impressed me most was Tobias Santelmann as Prince Olav. Frustrated in his military ambitions, he grows jealous of his wife’s relationship with the US president – although he virtually pushed her into the situation. At last he gains perspective when he realizes that many people have made greater sacrifices than he has, and he steps up into a wiser maturity and greater responsibility. There’s a movie called “The King’s Choice” (I reviewed it here), which is often compared with “Atlantic Crossing” in terms of historical accuracy. One thing I disliked about the movie (which is very good, overall) is that Olav doesn’t look very impressive in it. I think “Atlantic Crossing” gave him his due, though with a dark side.
The performance most Americans talk about, though, is Kyle MacLachlan’s as President Franklin Roosevelt. “Creepy” is one description I’ve seen, though I don’t think that’s quite fair. I think MacLachlan created a faceted, nuanced portrait of a pre-feminist American alpha male. He’s charming, easygoing in company, empathetic, and never in doubt that any woman he makes a pass at will take it as a compliment. It was a (publicly deniable) given, in those days, that powerful men deserved some sexual perks, and could be good guys in spite of it. Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton were in the same tradition. Kudos to the producers for not papering this over, I say.
Oh yes, the script translation, though it takes an exquisite sensitivity to perceive it, was excellent.
Imagine, if you will, my bedroom. It is a palatial space, done in Wedgewood Blue in a Regency style, adorned with wholesome yet costly art, open and airy in ambience, with broad windows overlooking the ocean.
It’s nothing like that, of course. But you don’t think I’m going to describe my real bedroom, do you? You didn’t sign up for that kind of ashcan realism.
Anyway, my mornings in semi-retirement have acquired a sort of routine. I wake up way too early, as is the way of old people, and then try to get back to sleep. I can often achieve this (not always), but in between attempts, I check the email on my cell phone. You never know when translation work will show up, and they’re 7 hours ahead of us in Oslo.
This morning, I managed to get back to sleep around 7:30 a.m. I know this because that was the time when an email came in with a little job of work. Which I didn’t see until I woke up again, an hour later. The message was, “Can you do this small job? It’s not big but I need it in a couple hours.” Of which I’d already wasted one.
But I rolled out, postponed other things, and set about the task. Finished in plenty of time. Back to the usual Friday morning schedule then. Which involves washing clothes.
Shall I tell you about the new sheets I bought?
No, you’ve committed no sins to deserve that.
Maybe I should address the picture I posted above. Yes, why don’t I do that?
I posted that photo on Basefook precisely 3 years ago, whenViking Legacywas finally released, after many delays (if you want the paper version, I think this link works now). I’m still quite proud of it.
Just ordered a supply for events this summer. Did the same with West Oversea. I’m now invested in the prospect of a post-lockdown, semi-normal summer. When the paper version of The Year of the Warrior materializes, I’ll be all in.
Look at me, the avaricious capitalist risk-taker, living out my politics.
I’d been waiting a long time to see the Wisting miniseries. It was one of the very first projects I worked on as a screenplay translator, and the scripts impressed me so much I tried the original books by Jørn Lier Horst. I became a fan, and I generally don’t like Scandinavian Noir.
When the series was finally released for American audiences, it was streamed on the Sundance Channel, which limited its audience. It’s now available on Amazon Prime, but you have to pay an extra fee to stream it. I waited in frustration for further developments, and finally broke down and ordered the Blu-Ray.
More than I usually pay for discs, but I have a personal stake in this one.
I was in no way disappointed.
If you recall from my book reviews (here’s one), William Wisting is a police detective in the small city of Larvik, Norway. He’s played here by Sven Nordin, who possesses perhaps the perfect glum Scandinavian Noir face. He’s still mourning the recent death of his wife, and copes by obsessing on his work, with the result that both his adult children feel neglected and resentful. Justifiably.
When a murdered man’s body is found under a tree on a Christmas tree farm, an item on the body carries the fingerprint of one of America’s most wanted serial killers. Once forensics prove that the dead man could not have been the fugitive, a pair of FBI agents, led by Maggie Griffin, played by Carrie-Ann Moss, are sent over from the US to “consult.” Naturally there is friction between the two teams, but unsteady progress is made.
Meanwhile, Williams’ daughter Line (Thea Green Lundberg), a journalist for VG, one of Norway’s major newspapers, decides to do a story on the man who lived next door to the Wistings, who was found dead in his chair, unmissed by anyone for months. When she begins to suspect the man was murdered, her father thinks her imagination has run away with her… an attitude he will come to regret.
That’s the first five episodes. The second five involve a separate, but slightly related case a few months later. The FBI is gone now, and all the dialogue is subtitled Norwegian.
The discovery of the serial killer in the previous case calls into question a local man’s conviction for kidnapping and murder in the same period. His lawyer accuses Wisting, as chief investigator, of evidence tampering. Wisting is temporarily suspended, but that doesn’t stop him investigating secretly (and illegally). Plus a young girl who had appealed to the police for protection because she “felt” she was being stalked, actually disappears.
Line, at the same time, is doing a story on a man who was murdered in a park while walking his dog. Her interviews with the man’s few friends raise her suspicions about who might be responsible; she too gets suspended from her job.
Themes of social alienation and human barriers pervade the series, enhanced by wonderful photography. Especially in the first half, set in the winter, black-on-white, angular winter landscapes convey an evocative, barren mood. This is not picture-postcard Norway – Larvik boasts neither magnificent fjords nor high mountains. It’s a workaday place for workaday human tragedies.
Wisting was extremely well acted, tightly plotted, and suspenseful. It sucked me into bingeing on it, and I’m pretty sure it would have done so if I hadn’t had a (small) part in the production.
In fact, I was surprised how little I had contributed. There were only a handful of scenes in the 9th episode that I remember translating. A couple earlier scenes, I think, were highly revised and compressed versions of ones I worked on as well.
Highly recommended, though pricey. Cautions for language, disturbing situations, and some nudity.
And the translation work keeps coming. This is most gratifying to me, though it means some long hours at the keyboard for a few days. Also I’ll have to bow out of something I meant to do with the Vikings tomorrow. One must prioritize, and I choose money. Not for my own sake, of course, but for the sake of the people who send me bills.
Above, another newsreel clip giving background on the “Atlantic Crossing” miniseries. Here you’ll see the arrival of the SS American Legion, on which our principal characters fled to America. We see Mrs. Florence Harriman, Ambassador to Norway, a character in the series, as well as Crown Princess Martha and her children. The news conference is precisely the one re-created for the series, even down to the dress Martha is wearing.
Another notable figure who travelled on the SS American Legion was the humorist/musician Victor Borge, a Jew fleeing Denmark.
Suddenly, I have lots of translation work. For a day or two, anyway.
This helped divert my thoughts from the impending verdict in the Chauvin trial. This was of particular interest to me, since my city was likely to burn if the “wrong” decision was made.
But the verdict was just announced. Guilty on all counts. I’m pretty sure at least part of it is unjust, and likely to be overturned on appeal. So I have the uneasy sensation of being relieved, due to what looks like a lynching.
Of this I am ashamed.
I wrote down some thoughts for The American Spectator Onlinehere. They are not happy thoughts. Though some are clever, I think.
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.
