The Sandman by Netflix. 5.5/10. I talk about the episodes watched, as I can't continue.
There is a thing in linguistics called language transfer. Pretty well described by "talking in Ukrainian with English words and grammar." In fact, it's not uncommon to treat a language as the set of words and rules to unite them while forgetting that it is an ancient living organism that has surpassed a nation. It is a creature full of history, as almost every word traces out centuries of meanings and relations, dynamics and interactions. There are reasons for taking a bus instead of sitting on it, or working hard instead of hardly working, and even saying "good for you, my dude," instead of "happy for you, a dear of mine."
The language is as much a tool as art is. One might be calling a language a tool while taking off at first note of a melody or a word of a poem. The language is a skill as much as the art is. Although it might have rules and conventions, one has the freedom to bend or augment them once mastered. And one truly uses the language only if they do little to no conscious thinking in the process. As a blade appropriates inertia of the muscle, a word seizes the momentum of the mind, delivering the phrase of no direct translation but creation.
One can truly notice this when attempting the translation of a text of their own. The words that laid so flawlessly before do not match anymore, the thoughts manifest in unrecognizable forms albeit preserving the meaning. The process starts to resemble an endeavour of stretching a flaring skirt over a globe, tearing apart the remains of motivation and hope. The only way to avoid disappointment is in rewriting the whole thing, expecting the final product to befit the original.
And here we go back to the Sandman. Originally a graphic novel, it was first turned into an audioplay by Audible, followed by screening on Netflix. I like to think about it in terms of languages: the static visual combined with a raw text versus the audio and finally versus the dynamic audiovisual. How did the translation go then?
The Audible version had no visuals by definition, so they compensated by adding another dimension, the one that the original missed. And hell they succeeded! Not only one can hear the sound of her and of their wings among the sinister steps on staircases, but can close their eyes and dream the Sandman they desire. To me, this version beats the original offensively often, but I embrace my comprehension of a slave of pace that must be provided externally. And so I yield my mind to an imposed governance that leaves a lot visual freedom still.
The visuals, one thus would say, must strip me off the remnants of the freedom I shall seek. But the cinematographic version starts confidently good, redoing the original in a captivating way. As the true translation is in recreation, the lesson's learned and illustrated. But things do fall apart when one tries to preserve the essence that does not yield to translation. And precisely at a supposedly iconic Sound of Her Wings they go too literal, adding nothing and removing with an acting performance that cannot reach the level of imagination of a viewer. I doubt they show at all, sticking to the telling and hence finding themselves in stinking shit.
The 24/7 was a perfect redo of a 24 hour diner. One can recognize it's translatable elements and enjoy the non-translatable ones reborn in the new century of cinematography. Might be my favourite episode so far btw. At least till it reaches the copy of the battle of the Doctor Destiny. Screw that shit.
Mixed feelings with the mixed messages, luckily I still got the earphones.
I am a passenger.
I and moving through your dreams. All your dreams.
I talk to a bus driver while a couple in the back fiercely copulates.
I jump on a platform following a yellow dragon.
You had a passenger, and you never knew.
There is a thing in linguistics called language transfer. Pretty well described by "talking in Ukrainian with English words and grammar." In fact, it's not uncommon to treat a language as the set of words and rules to unite them while forgetting that it is an ancient living organism that has surpassed a nation. It is a creature full of history, as almost every word traces out centuries of meanings and relations, dynamics and interactions. There are reasons for taking a bus instead of sitting on it, or working hard instead of hardly working, and even saying "good for you, my dude," instead of "happy for you, a dear of mine."
The language is as much a tool as art is. One might be calling a language a tool while taking off at first note of a melody or a word of a poem. The language is a skill as much as the art is. Although it might have rules and conventions, one has the freedom to bend or augment them once mastered. And one truly uses the language only if they do little to no conscious thinking in the process. As a blade appropriates inertia of the muscle, a word seizes the momentum of the mind, delivering the phrase of no direct translation but creation.
One can truly notice this when attempting the translation of a text of their own. The words that laid so flawlessly before do not match anymore, the thoughts manifest in unrecognizable forms albeit preserving the meaning. The process starts to resemble an endeavour of stretching a flaring skirt over a globe, tearing apart the remains of motivation and hope. The only way to avoid disappointment is in rewriting the whole thing, expecting the final product to befit the original.
And here we go back to the Sandman. Originally a graphic novel, it was first turned into an audioplay by Audible, followed by screening on Netflix. I like to think about it in terms of languages: the static visual combined with a raw text versus the audio and finally versus the dynamic audiovisual. How did the translation go then?
The Audible version had no visuals by definition, so they compensated by adding another dimension, the one that the original missed. And hell they succeeded! Not only one can hear the sound of her and of their wings among the sinister steps on staircases, but can close their eyes and dream the Sandman they desire. To me, this version beats the original offensively often, but I embrace my comprehension of a slave of pace that must be provided externally. And so I yield my mind to an imposed governance that leaves a lot visual freedom still.
The visuals, one thus would say, must strip me off the remnants of the freedom I shall seek. But the cinematographic version starts confidently good, redoing the original in a captivating way. As the true translation is in recreation, the lesson's learned and illustrated. But things do fall apart when one tries to preserve the essence that does not yield to translation. And precisely at a supposedly iconic Sound of Her Wings they go too literal, adding nothing and removing with an acting performance that cannot reach the level of imagination of a viewer. I doubt they show at all, sticking to the telling and hence finding themselves in stinking shit.
The 24/7 was a perfect redo of a 24 hour diner. One can recognize it's translatable elements and enjoy the non-translatable ones reborn in the new century of cinematography. Might be my favourite episode so far btw. At least till it reaches the copy of the battle of the Doctor Destiny. Screw that shit.
Mixed feelings with the mixed messages, luckily I still got the earphones.
I am a passenger.
I and moving through your dreams. All your dreams.
I talk to a bus driver while a couple in the back fiercely copulates.
I jump on a platform following a yellow dragon.
You had a passenger, and you never knew.
Forwarded from Μακάριος
блін а що якщо казати їм що українці настільки підтримують PoC що ми маємо другий прапор, присвячений чорним та індіанцям?
Машинний викладач ∆ | #УкрТґ
Шановні, є робота.
Відпишіть якщо йдете