I am a lover of subtitled films.
There, I’ve said it.
The first one I remember watching was Jean de Florette and I was hooked. The deliciousness kissed me and captivated me. I find subtitled films, especially French films, slower and more character based. The wild pace of so many English speaking films is put aside for a film which spends longer showing the scenery and the movements of someone walking along the street than usual. I love it.
We watched Renoir this last weekend and the majority of the film took place around the beautiful house, as we watched him paint, then the rest showed his son fall in love with his Father’s muse. I can’t help feeling that if this had been a non-French film it could have been packed into a 3 minute advert for holidays in Southern France. But I was there. I felt the sun on my face, the water on my legs from wading in the stream, and tasted the peaches and pears eaten. The slow and lingering filming transports me.
Once I watched enough subtitled movies and got comfortable with the process of watching and reading at the same time, I barely even noticed the subtitles, much less made the conscious effort to concentrate on them. I love the fact that you have to devote yourself to the film. . . no reading the paper or surfing the net at the same time. If you don’t engross yourself in the film you might as well turn it off.
I have however discovered a downside to subtitled films. Yes, there is one I’m afraid.
I had to stop watching while I ironed. Too many burns on my hands.