What Did He Say?

I'm old enough to remember when the Godzilla movies were first run in the theaters. Not the first one, mind you, but the later versions that got gleefully campier with each new edition to the franchise. The special effects even then were cheesy beyond reason but at the ripe old age of eight it was all great fun. I may have mentioned previously that I never could figure out how they managed to rebuild Tokyo so quickly after one of the big guy's walks through the center of town.

What made it more palatable to my young ears and certainly to larger audiences of the time was the fact that all of the dialogue was dubbed in English. At the time we kids were too young to care that the words didn't match the movement of the mouth supposedly uttering the dialogue. Nor did we concern ourselves too much with the fact that the American accents were no match for how the language WOULD sound if the Japanese actors had in fact been speaking English in the first place. None of that was the point. Godzilla was the point! Or whatever other foreign film, French, German, Italian, Brazilian, whatever was being watched by whoever was watching it.

I'm older now. And I've traveled a bit. Few things delight me so much as the sound of a language complete different from my own. It matters not that I understand precious little if any of the sounds I am hearing, I simply enjoy the rhythm and cadence of the language in its natural form. The rapid fire, almost hurried staccato delivery of Japanese or the smooth as silk but equally fast sound of French in full voice is part of the fun of being overseas. Why shouldn't it be THE only soundtrack available in a foreign film?

On business recently in Los Angeles I flipped through the channels until I found the NHK Network, the Japanese channel that broadcasts much of its programming in that language. Couldn't understand a word of it but I used to also travel to Japan for business and, now that I live in Texas, rarely if ever hear the language in these here parts! I didn't need or want sub-titles, I just wanted to hear the language. In a foreign film I get distracted if I hear some disconnected language and accent that has nothing to do with the setting of the story. I prefer subtitles!

Don't get me wrong...I enjoy foreign films quite a lot but admit that I need to be in the mood to devote up to two hours in the dark to reading while rapidly shifting my eyes to the action on the screen so I can put the two together. I felt, however, that the experience was richer to watch "Y Tu Mama Tambien" in the original Spanish or "Central Station" in Brazilian Portuguese than waste time wondering if the voice-over talent hailed from the accent neutral environs of Nebraska! Hearing the language simply makes me want to know more about the language, the culture and the country, to go there one day if I haven't already gone and long to go back.

"Das Boot" in German? It flat out would not have had the same impact in its initial release if the U-Boat crews were speaking the Queen's English, I'm sorry.

So, having seen films in Japanese, Mandarin, German, Xhosa, Portuguese and Spanish, are there any good films in Russian or Arabic out there that I should know about?

Gotta go.

Bonito Brasil

"Dallas is not available," my managers stated flatly. It was June and the end of the one year assignment I had taken in Los Angeles. They were now trying to find new homes for each of the six of us on the team and after telling me my first choice was off the table made me an offer: San Francisco.

"Give me the weekend to think about it," I countered. Neither city offered a cheap cost of living but I knew I didn't want to stay in L.A. Taking the position meant secure, high visibility employment. Turning it down started the 30-day clock for me to find something else within the company or leave. I needed to think and I had to act fast.

I took the rest of the afternoon off, dashed to LAX and hopped a flight to Miami from where I picked up a connection to South America. Some 17 hours after leaving Los Angeles I arrived in Rio de Janeiro, the legendary Brazilian party town that I was about to experience in legendary fashion.

After arriving at the hotel I immediately signed up for a half-day tour. Our itinerary included the beautiful stained glass cone of the Sao Sebastiao Cathedral. The design of the building allows naturaly light to shine in from all sides but the most memorable moment here for me was being scolded by the tour guide for wandering off to get a better picture angle. Rio's opportunistic street urchins were everywhere and any tourist was fair game.

The biggest lesson I learned was that Carnival is indeed a citywide event but only after each samba "school" competes in tournament at the Sambadromo, a mile long boulevard where performances are staged in front of judges and high society. This quiet, unassuming stretch of concrete dead-end comes alive in ebullient grandeur once a year but otherwise sits empty. We ooh'd and ahh'd politely at the canyon like risers around us but the thrill is definitely of the need-to-be-there variety.

A drive by of the massive Maracana Stadium sufficed as a visit on the tour as we motored on to the statue of Christ the Redeemer high above the city. Words only minimize the impact of the view. Religious or not, even Christian or not, the site, the statue and the setting never fails to bring the strongest emotions to the fortunate visitor. We could have stayed the rest of the day but had to press on.

The beach culture being what it is in Rio it seems natural to include at least one on the tour. Unexpectedly, though, we were taken to a fairly quiet section of a park and down a path through some greenery to a forlorn, sand-pitted stone statue. This impressionistic earth-toned carving, intoned the guide, was as important to the rhythm of Rio as Carnival itself.

It was Yemanja, goddess of the sea. Afro-American traditions across the ocean identify her as the queen of the ocean, protector of children and the essence of motherhood, from whom all life comes. Every New Year's Eve, citizens of Rio in the millions come to the ocean to honor her spirit and then, of course, they party, in sort of a just for family warm-up to the international madness of Carnival.

The last stop for the afternoon just as the sun was beginning to wane belonged to Sugarloaf Mountain, the bookend to Corcovado as an international symbol of Rio. Looking like half of an American football sticking out of the sand, Sugarloaf sits at the mouth of Guanabara Bay, guarding sun-soaked beaches laid out in all directions and stocked with speedos and T-back thongs. The mountain offers panoramic views of the ocean, city and mountains; the trouble is getting to the top for that world class view.

Rock climbers help themselves, the rest of us take a hanging cable car. The fight scene from "Moonraker" playing in my mind, the contraption sailed quickly and smoothly to the summit where the view exceeded its billing, as everything in Rio does. Facing west we viewed a textbook golden sunset over the city, the welcoming arms of Christ the Redeemer enveloping us in warm silhouette. Later, sighs of relief at reaching solid ground mixed in with sighs of satisfaction at the end of probably the best half-day city tour I've ever experienced.

And the timing was perfect, too. Back at the hotel I changed clothes, caught the shuttle back to the airport and flew back to Los Angeles that same night. Thirty-five hours of flying for barely 12 hours on the ground in Rio? It was worth it, and I made my decision about San Francisco, too.
Gotta go.

Why Not Washington?

Firstly, congratulations to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for winning the bid to host the Olympics in 2016. I'm already tingling at the thought of the opening ceremonies with the samba schools putting on a serious clinic! One wonders how many Carmen Miranda knock-offs and in how many gender-bending varieties will we see! Will there be a revival of the old Don Ameche musicals accompanied by a rush on CDs by everyone from Antonio Jobim and Gilberto Gil to Sergio Mendes?

It's all only just beginning but, while Chicago goes home crying "Mama eu Quero," what about Washington, D.C? Exactly why is it that the capital city of the United States of America has never hosted the Olympic Games? The Olympics have been held in 12 capital cities around the world and in some cases more than once. Six different cities in the United States have had the honor, with repeats for both Lake Placid and Los Angeles but not once for the American capital? What does a city have to have or build to win the games?

International exposure and appeal? Please. Infrastructure? The Metro could use two or three cross-town lines which would certainly happen if the Olympics came to town but otherwise it does a sufficient job of funneling commuters and tourists in and out of the city and to popular attractions and venues. Dulles Airport handles most of the heavy lifting with major airlines from Europe, Asia, Africa and the Middle East checking in so no issues here, either. Accommodations? Again, please. Now that 16,000 athletes, trainers and journalists have landed, eaten and been put up for the the night where will they compete?

Fed Ex Field, home of the Washington Redskins with nearly 94,000 seats, is the de facto site for the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. Venerable RFK has hosted DC United, the local soccer side for years, with the new Washington Nationals Stadium handling baseball and softball. Choose between the University of Maryland, Georgetown University, Catholic University and George Washington University for tennis, ping pong, track and field and swimming. And that doesn't count Orioles Park at Camden Yards, M&T Bank Stadium or Johns Hopkins University up the road in Baltimore or even Byrd Stadium or Navy-Marines Corps Memorial Stadium as available options, either. The only thing that seems to be missing is a velodrome.

Of any city in the United States if there is no history or culture in DC, well....

Virginia has been equestrian country ever since it was a crown colony. Pick a field and you'll find horses, a rifle range or a golf course. I can't imagine a more dramatic setting for rowing than under Mt. Vernon on the Potomac. There is also the Chesapeake Bay with either the Naval Academy as a setting or maybe Fort McHenry, still guarding the Inner Harbor up in Baltimore.

So why has "DC" never mounted a successful Olympic bid? The last time around, in 2002 when the city tried for the 2012 Games there was a unilateral war in the offing which, sour grapes claim, torpedoed the bid right from the beginning. London won the games for the fourth time over bids from other would-be repeat capitals Rome, Paris and Moscow in spite of siding with the Yanks who had picked a fight?

I was in Paris when the early bidding for the 2012 Games were being mounted. Some Parisians didn't want the games for a third time because of the utter chaos it would bring to the city.

"Paris is choked with tourists in the Summer anyway," they said. "Why bring the Games to make it even worse?" Maybe some of the locals in Washington/Baltimore, a metropolitan area of six million people, feel the same way, given the notorious traffic in the city and on the Beltway on any given Summer day.

Rio doesn't have a Beltway much less anything close to the interstate system feeding Washington. There are two - count them - t-w-o subway lines in Rio with 32 stations serving over 14 million! Yet withall in all the years of the modern Olympic Games they have never been held in South America. It couldn't have happened to a better city and it's about time.

Same goes for Washington, D.C. It's about time.

Gotta go!