Over the last few weeks I’ve been bombarded by many bizarre methods of translation which have left me confused as to what is actually happening on screen. On Friday, Tenzo presented me with numerous translations of street signs or murals, which in most films are often untranslated, but for each it translated there were many more I was left looking at in complete incomprehension—perhaps they were irrelevant or perhaps more subtle, but I can’t know. In a similar way Honeyland translated the characters’ rarely spoken dialect except for during a key scene where our protagonist sang a song to her mother—what was said? Was it enlightening or meaningful in the narrative? Later in the film a child walked off fuming at his father shouting swears back at him which were simply translated as ‘#$%@*’, not to mention the confusion translation of the character’s affirmations and questions (eh? or u-huh) being subtitled as, simply, A and Aha. In Ash is Purest White, I received subtitles for only select lyrical songs in its soundtrack and the word Jianghu, central to the plot, was subtitled in pinyin but unexplained in English leaving a ravine in my understanding. Finally, and most confusingly, in The Ascension of Han Ne our protagonist addresses the character Han Ne as agashi (young lady, in Korean) but it becomes a plot point that she asks him to refer to her by name, not as agashi. Nevertheless he continues to call her agashi while the subtitles translated him saying her name, Han Ne. All this confusion endlessly posed the question why do we actually subtitle? What is the goal here?
Let’s tackle this by considering the two key challenges of subtitling; accessibility and retaining meaning.
Accessibility
On one level this question seems quite stupid. Obviously we primarily subtitle to allow an audience access to foreign language films, translating an unknown spoken language into a known written form (while also providing access to even a known language for those who are deaf/hard of hearing, however I shall focus on the former in this article). Thus the written subtitle wears the burden of expressing all the nuances of spoken language and screen information in short, concise, lines at the bottom of the screen. This may be a relatively simple task when two characters have a mundane conversation in a vacuous space. But, when other elements are introduced—let’s move our conversation into a busy Japanese street rampant with signage and blaring lyrical music, while changing our conversation to a culturally specific topic—it is not so simple. Is it the subtitle’s duty to still convey all this information? Clearly not as even national viewers will often ignore signage and background lyrics of music, but then that is presupposing the signage and lyrics are irrelevant to the plot. Furthermore the cultural specificities of the conversation, for example discussing the arts of Kabuki, Ukiyo-e, Irezumi, and Shunga in Edo Japan, become a point of contention. Should we be given the natural names (as they are called in English) or Kabuki, etc, or translate/explain what they are for an unfamiliar audience to actually gain some understanding? Suddenly subtitling seems like a pretty insurmountable wealth of decisions and suppositions that need to be made.
Here we see what I believe is the most predominant divide in types of subtitling; (1) subtitling exactly the proposed information, without explanation, and (2) subtitling to make the film accessible to a different national audience. A transparent example of this would be the rice ball snack in Pokémon being referred to as onigiri or, as in the dub, jelly donuts. The jelly donut is not, in any way, equivalent to an onigiri, but is easily interpreted by its target international youth audience as a tasty snack. From here on I’ll refer to (1), using onigiri, as national subtitling and (2), changing to jelly donuts, as international subtitling.
Back to our hypothetical situation, in the background there is a sign for an onsen (a type of bathhouse), and this is somewhat irrelevant to our characters conversation until one is asked where they’re about to go and points to the sign. At this point should we subtitle the sign? Should we have previously subtitled the sign? Or does subtitling the sign at all confuse things, suggesting that one of them said the word onsen without it being spoken? Here we run into the challenge of what I’ll call (a) full or (b) partial modes of subtitling. I would say the vast majority of commercial cinema subtitling would be of the partial mode, avoiding street signs or song lyrics. Of course these modes cross-over with our national or international modes. For our scene, 1a (national full) would write onsen while 2a (international full) would write bathhouse and, of course, 1b and 2b would write nothing. Yet there is a third mode here, which is only really found in independently produced (non-commercial) subtitling, commonly found in anime fan subs—subtitles written by fans themselves. This mode, which we will call extra (EX), will often combine both national and international modes of full subtitling, while providing extra information and context for international viewers. Looking back at our character pointing to the onsen sign extra-subtitling would subtitle the word onsen, while a secondary title (often at the top of the screen in a different colour) would explain An onsen is a Japanese hot spring or bathhouse. Thus extra-subtitles provide a best of both worlds for viewer comprehension, providing both original internationally understood terminology and descriptions for those who are unfamiliar with the term.
However here we must step back for a moment, and consider the original intention of the work being subtitled. In terms of viewer experience extra or international full subtitles may provide the most complete translation of comprehension, but in many instances this can fundamentally alter the work’s meaning. For example shifting onigiri to jelly donuts or Edo (the Japanese period) to Rennaissance provides an unclear reading which brings with it excessive baggage, not to mention confusion to those who understand the words onigiri or Edo who are confronted with a bizarre translation. But furthermore defining a word at the top of the screen adds a completely new, and almost always irrelevant, element of education to the piece. Don’t get me wrong it can be endlessly helpful in understanding the culture more generally but, for example, I doubt it’s Jia Zhangke’s intention to educate his international viewers in the meaning of Jianghu during Ash is Purest White. But in a similar way, full subtitling can often draw unnecessary attention to irrelevant information, drawing our eyes from the one-screen action towards text of a pop-song or coincidental sign. Such attention to the irrelevant makes us prize certain elements, again, as much more than they were intended.
Then, how can we tread this line between complete clarity and constant confusion? Honestly, I don’t know.
I would, ideally, say that we should stick to a national full translation (2a), which would solve many of my problems of missing signage, lyrics or confusion over changing nationally specific vocabulary. However, of course, the further afield you travel from your audience's knowledge pool the more this mode of translation will leave you confused and in the dark, so it is impossible to give a hard-and-fast rule. That said after watching much of the anime Samurai Champloo online in a fan sub, being provided with lots of extra information about the period and locales, and then watching End of Evangelion on Netflix which utilises a more traditional mode of partial-subtitling, I must admit that I felt like I was surely missing some things as signs, national vocabulary and specific references easily passed me by without explanation. Yet, in many ways, is this not the natural way to view a foreign film? Most foreign things come with some confusion, ambiguity and ignorance of the specific and often subtle cultural references that pepper them.
Conceptually, as I always insist, the least addition of information will always strike me as the most optimal, simply translating what has been provided without adding unnecessary baggage, be it linguistic or educational. But such a mode is prone to excluding certain audience members. In this vein it always surprises me when I see loan-words being used in English translations, from a simple bon appétit to raison d’être or à la mode, I always imagine the person in the audience who has no idea what these mean and, thus, the subtitles failing at the point of accessibility.
Retaining Meaning
We have already covered this topic quite extensively, in whether to retain an original specific word like onsen or to replace it with a more internationally recognised bathhouse. Here it is important to remember that although an onsen is practically a bathhouse it has many other points of linguistic value; it specifies it as Japanese, traditional in heritage and signifies specific methods or activities that would only take place in a Japanese onsen. For contrast a Hammam would also be translated as a bathhouse but the connotation, from activities to function and social symbol, are very different indeed. In this sense the national translation will always help to retain and iron out such ambiguities. But what if things were less clear cut?
Before our character walks away and into the onsen, the person they are leaving grabs them and exclaims dai suki da yo—something that sits somewhat ambiguously between I like you [dai suki] and I love you [ai shiteru yo]. In this situation we’d assume that it meant the latter, due to the drama, and would be able to verify this by looking at the rest of the conversation and narrative (if this were a full film). However the linguistic differential is still there. In English the difference between these three terms can be embodied in I love you when delivered differently. Yet subtitles eradicate any chance of expressivity beyond plain text, making this situation quite difficult for the subtitler where, in this case, the inevitable title of I love you will come off much stronger than intended. Similarly, I notice the polyphony of translated meanings of the Japanese hi (yes) or the common East-Asian affirmation ng/uh, being translated as yes, yes-sir, OK, I’ll do that, I can, etc. These are quite a specific instance and similar moments of conflicted meaning are relatively rare in subtitling, at least in my knowledge of it, and are most often a result of genuine linguistic incompatibilities instead of creative choices. Thus the only true resolution to this issue would be to learn the languages and, well, that's just not practical!
A more common instance of meaning being lost or altered is through the necessary shorthand that subtitles often require. We’ve all viewed a scene where a long rambling of a character has a petty singular lingering line of subtitle. Moments like this are quick to draw one out of the film, forcing the question “what am I missing?” . An example of this that has always stuck with me was the female protagonist of House of Flying Daggers being subtitled as Mei while it was clearly audible that all the characters would call her XiaoMei. This had me endlessly questioning whether they were giving her a pet name or whether it was purely coincidental due to some grammar. Only later when my Chinese language improved did I realise it was a common feature of female names in Chinese to begin with the prefix Xiao-. But then why was this removed? It lead to my confusion when, ultimately, her name being Mei or XiaoMei didn’t effect me as an audience member as neither are English names (although, I suppose one could argue Mei is both easier to read and understand in English).
If anything, I suppose the shorthand is the perfect marker and reminder than a text translated is not the same text in spirit. The retention of meaning is an endless battle between linguistic, situational, emotional and implicational factors.
All of these problems extend far beyond the notion of film and video, rooting themselves deep within any act of translation from live conversation to written texts of fiction, non-fiction or poetry. Even given those few situations we can already configure a hierarchy of importance relating to the modes, methods and types we have identified here. Poetry, in many instances, would value emotion, implication and national language, while non-fiction may prefer linguistic clarity through an extra-international translation.
In a similar way film is always different, and will often require a unique mode of translation to express itself. For example if the ‘#$%@*’ in Honeyland came from an inability to translate the curse then perhaps delivering the overall sentiment is valid (for example translating the insult Gardan Koloft (thug) from Persian would literally give us thick neck, which quickly becomes incomprehensible and nonsensical in English). While most fiction films wont have the intent to educate you about a specific culture, word, food or tradition, permitting the word to be used without proper explanation provided the context is clear.
So, why do we subtitle? Well, it remains a fact that it is to allow viewers into a different world, one which they would usually be unable to understand. But perhaps that confusion and cultural difference should sit dormant within the subtitles, through the use of national subtitling, ensuring that national elements stay within the text regardless of the viewership. The only form of subtitling I cannot really redeem or forgive, beyond a reason of pure necessity, is that of partial subtitling. As we have seen this not only removes some key peripheral meaning (whether that be removing the meaning of a sign, or leaving a song’s lyrics ambiguous to their relevance) but also results in a perceived shift in meaning when shorthand subtitling is used in conversation.
I would definitely push the ideal that we should get all the information that is contained within the film to paint a full and representative picture of the film’s content. However I would draw a sharp line there, and exclaim that any additional information is changing the text and was unintended by it’s creative team.
And one more thing… what’s up with credits never being properly subtitled? I've never understood that.
~Leo
Afterthought
After watching Bangkok Nites last night a film which, spanning Japanese, Thai, Isan, Laotian, Tagalog, English and French languages, used a fantastically rich national-full mode of subtitling, my thoughts have solidified. The feeling of being distant, lost and often confused by national dishes, place names, people and more (often even confused at which a certain word refers to) kept me aware of the context of the film. Ultimately, if all these elements had been edited—with onigiri being replaced by jelly donuts or Onsens and Hamams by bathhouses—what would remain of the specific context in the film’s transcript? One of the key joys of foreign films, at least for me, is gaining a window onto a new and different part of the globe, which quickly becomes a process of experiencing, learning and understanding cultural difference which inevitably returns to the thoughts of how close we all really are. And to remove, or miss out, such specificities through international or partial subtitling seems to be hugely missing the point of why this film is being taken abroad in the first place.
Tenzo (2019)
2/4/2
8/13
Honeyland (2019)
3/3/2
8/13
Bangkok Nites (2016)
2/5/2
9/13