Pip Pip Cheerio Y’all: What’s in an Accent?

Apr 18, 2012 |

My wife and I watched “The Man in the Iron Mask” this week and I ruined it for both of us.  I’m about to ruin it for you too.

Have you seen this movie? It came out in 1998 (just one year after Titanic).  It’s a gripping story that places the characters from the Three Musketeers (famous for candy bars) into a dramatic clash that challenges their allegiances to love, duty, honor and brotherhood (I should write DVD jackets).

click here for the trailer

It’s got all of the pieces . . .

  • The headstrong father bent on avenging his son’s death:  John Malkovich as Athos
  • The tainted holy man bent on redemption: Jeremy Irons as Aramis
  • The loose cannon loverboy bent on wine, women and a good fight:  Gerard Depardieu as Porthos
  • The nobility driven aid to the King bent on duty above personal desire:  Gabriel Byrne as D’artagnan
  • The selfish, bratface, overrated King bent on self above others:  Leonardo DiCaprio as King Louis XIV
  • The pure hearted twin of the King, victimized but too sweet to be bitter:  Leo again as Phillipe in the iron mask

It’s a melodramatic love story with violence, betrayal, sword fights and bad acting made in the 90’s . . . all the elements of a good movie.  So here’s what ruined it for us . . .

. . . the accents.

D’artagnan and Aramis (Irons and Byrne) spoke perfectly proper, Queen approved English.  Athos, King Louis and the man in the Iron Mask (Malkovich and DiCaprio x2) were obviously Yanks (that means Americans for those of you who are and don’t know that’s what the rest of the world calls us . . . when their being nice) and Porthos (Depardieu) was the lone Frenchy.

now click here to watch it again . . . ruined

The irony here is thick.

First
Poor Gerard was the only French guy in a story THAT IS SET IN FRANCE!


Second
Neither my wife, nor myself, nor anyone that I have talked to since (and they are numerous) has ever noticed this before.


Third
This is the tip of the misplaced accent ice berg.


Fourth
I’m all worked up because their accents were off (which makes the whole movie less believable for me) but THEY WERE ALL SPEAKING ENGLISH . . . in FRANCE (and honestly that doesn’t bother me as much as it does that the accents they were using when they spoke THE WRONG LANGUAGE were not accurate).  I feel so shallow.

Here are my observations on accents:

1.  Accents (at least in the movies and in bad jokes) represent personality more so than nationality

  • A British accent means proper, brave and heroic
  • A French accent means free spirited and romantic
  • A Hispanic accent means passionate and impulsive
  • An Australian accent mean tough and adventurous
  • A German accent means strict and rigid
  • A Russian accent means evil and generally carrying plutonium
  • The list goes on and on . . .



2. Our understanding of what an accent means comes from our broadest, personal pool of reference points.
My pool was shallow.  For a Midwest American, wanna-be farm boy who grew up in the middle of a corn field and only knew two people in my first 18 years that might have been bi-lingual, these were my points of reference when my stereotypes were developed.



3. Misplaced accents (accents that don’t line up with our stereotype) are confusing and funny.

Seriously . . . watch this.




4. Accent stereotypes are not just international
If you’re from the States what personality is attached to a . . .

  • Southern accent?
  • New York accent?
  • Minnesotan accent?
  • Mafia accent?
  • Surfer accent?
If you’re not from the States how many accents can you think of within your own country?

5.  You talk funny
Doesn’t matter who you or how standard and proper you think your speech is . . . roughly 99.7% of the global population thinks you talk funny (higher if you’re from Texas).

Flip the Coin:  Imagine this scenario

You’re watching the Super Friends at a Chinese restaurant (stick with me).  The Wondertwins are standing in the Hall of Justice arguing over who is going to the go rescue the girl scouts from the abandoned coal mine but you can’t understand a word because Zan and Jayna are speaking Chinese.  The waitresses at the restaurant are all laughing hysterically and it’s killing you because you are obviously missing the best bits of the episode.  So you ask your waitress to translate the funny part for you and she responds . . .

“No no, it’s not really funny but Zan is speaking Chinese with a Swedish accent and Jayna sounds like she’s from Mexico . . . and we never noticed it before.”

Weird right?  Yeah . . . that’s the flipside equivalent of “The Man in the Iron Mask”

and Robin Hood

and Gladiator

and Braveheart

and . . . come on, help me out.  Can you think of any more?

Here’s this just for fun

A Valenwhat? Explaining Valentine’s Day to a Chinese Friend (repost)

Feb 15, 2012 | 3 comments

I’m starting a petition to ban Valentine’s Day in China.  Judah and I had to wait 6 hours (gross exaggeration) to buy two red roses for our girls yesterday.  It was much better when us foreigners were the only ones who felt the pressure of blowing it and all of the Chinese people stood back, stared and laughed.  Now the flower shops are packed with frightened Chinese men who dare not return home empty handed.  Sorry about that China.

Anyway – here’s a fun repost from last year.

Sweet Valentines made by my Valentine Sweety for her
Sweet Valentine Sweety (that’s me)

Like most other Western holidays, Valentine’s Day has landed in the Middle Kingdom and planted it’s flag of sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism.  I was excited this year, one because I didn’t forget it and two because my wife and I were actually getting to go on a real date.  After a lovely afternoon foot rub (one of the perks of living in China) and a quite pricy dinner at one of the city’s finest Italian restaurants, I found myself feeling woefully inadequate and riddled with guilt (which everyone knows is the underlying conspiracy behind Valentine’s Day that fuels the sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism).  In the five minutes that it took us to find a taxi after leaving the restaurant we saw 37,000 young Chinese women carrying massive, gaudy bouquets of multi-colored roses decorated with sparkling sequins and glitter.  Each stomped with a catwalk confidence and was followed by a pompous young man grinning with the pride that only comes when you get it just right.  My wife, on the other hand, had very clean, relaxed feet and a full stomach, neither of which could be seen by the crowd’s of flower toting, love struck gloaters who were now laughing, pointing and high-fiving each other because the Western guy (who should know something about Valentine’s Day) didn’t even get his wife the massive, shiny bouquet.  I was completely assured that China understands Valentine’s Day. 

However, explaining the word Valentine is not so easy.
My Chinese friend asked me a simple question.  “What is Valentine’s Day?”
“Well, it’s a special day for . . . umm “
She helped me out, “It’s just for people who love each other, right?” 
“Yes.  It’s a day for people who love each other.” 
“So what does it mean, ‘Will you be my Valentine?'”
I had never considered this to be a confusing topic but the more I tried to explain the more I learned otherwise.  “Will you be my Valentine is kind of like saying I want you to be my girlfriend or my boyfriend but I would still say it to my wife who is already my wife so obviously she doesn’t have to be my boyfriend or girlfriend because she already is . . . my girlfriend . . . or was . . . before she was my wife . . .  a long time ago, but she’s still my girlfriend, it’s just that we’re married now.  And I can give my daughter some chocolate and a card, which I would also call a Valentine, that says “will you be my Valentine?” because I love her but obviously not in the same way that I love my wife but it’s still ok for me to give her a Valentine and be her Valentine.  Also, she will take Valentines to her first grade class, that say ‘will you be my Valentine?’ and give them to all of her friends but not because she wants to profess her love for them or ask them to actually be her Valentine because she is not allowed to have a Valentine (in the boyfriend sense) until she is 28 . . . but she can have Valentine’s in the card and chocolate sense now, so in that respect a Valentine is just a nice thing to share with friends.  So it’s not only for people who are in love but it’s still a special holiday . . . for people . . . who are in love . . . or love each other . . . but not always . . . sometimes . . . kind of.

I was glad to be able to clear that up for her.  After further confusing discussions with others on the same subject it was my Valentine (the one with the clean feet, full stomach and lack of roses) who cleared up the dilemma of defining a Valentine. 

What is a Valentine? 

“It’s a noun.” Enough said.  

“Hey Fatty” and other Chinese Greetings

Feb 8, 2012 | 12 comments

After five weeks in America it was good to see our friends in China.  Until they called me fat.

Last week I was walking home and ran into Lotus.  She’s our friend who runs the vegetable shop in our apartment complex.  She’s also the one who said my son (who is half African-American) looks better when he’s white (click here) and organized a community event to help me find a cure for my diarrhea (click here).  Lotus is genuinely one of the hardest working and sweetest people I have ever met.  From early morning to mid evening, seven days a week, she spends her time organizing her little shop and delivering fresh oranges and broccoli to families in the more than 20 buildings in our complex (who are too busy or too cold to walk to her well organized little shop).  Always with a smile, usually with a laugh and generally with a bit of free fruit if there are children involved.

Ironically, when I saw her she was coming from our apartment.  She had dropped off our oranges and broccoli and my wife had given her the small gift that she had thought to buy for her little boy in the States.  Her smile was bigger than usual and she stopped her bike to chat.  

“Ohhh Jerry, it’s so good to see you.  Welcome to come home!”

Me, “Hey Lotus! Good to see you too.  We’ve missed you.”

“Yes, I just go to see your wife. I’m so thankful for your gift.”

I wasn’t actually aware that we had given her a gift but obviously we had since she had it in her hand even though I couldn’t make out what it was.  “mmm. Oh yeah . . . we’re happy to give you that ummm . . . so how are you? Did you have a good Spring Festival?

“Oh yes, it was very good.  How about America?”

“Very good.  We had a wonderful time.”

“Good! I’m so happy to see you. And I’m so happy for the gift.  My son will love it!”

Again with the gift that I was still clueless about.  “Ohhh gooood  . . . all little boys need one . . . of those . . . things . . . that we got for him . . . Ok see you later.”

“Ok see you! You look a little fat!”

Caught off guard for the second time in a 20 second conversation I stumbled around in my brain for something to say.  I gave an awkward laugh and said the only thing I could think of  . . . “Yeah well I’ve been in America.  Zai Jian.”

“Zai Jian”

As I walked away I realized that I had just fed the Chinese stereotype that all Americans are fat which is obviously not true.  That’s like saying all Chinese people have black hair.  Oh.  Wait.

I’m afraid that I may have contributed to the gross misconception that there is something in American oxygen that immediately causes people to reproduce fat cells or even worse that Americans shovel food into their faces, like barnyard animals, straight from a feed trough.  I could imagine that she had a mental picture of restaurants with multiple tables the length of the room overflowing with every conceivable fattening food sopped in butter and gravy with massive Americans piling plate after plate full showing little or no restraint.  I felt it was too late to run after her and scream, “Noooo, you’re only thinking of a midwestern Chinese buffet!”  I also thought it might be a weak argument to tell her we have other restaurants . . . with steak . . . the size of my torso.”

China has much less of a weight problem than most Western countries and consequently less of a stigma.  No one wants to be fat but it doesn’t seem to be socially obsessed over from Kindergarten on here.  In the West we build a massive, albeit contradictory, piece of our culture around fatness.  Greasy fast food and high intensity workouts are both equally marketable products and feed off of each other (no pun intended).  “Here . . . eat this.  Now do a supercrunch.  That’ll be fifty dollars.”

We publicly label being overweight as the absolute worst possible state of being.  We make jokes about it (your Momma’s so fat).  We make movies about it (Shallow Hal and most Eddie Murphy movies) where the moral of the story is always, “it matters what’s on the inside” but the first 98% of the story is fat jokes, (or fat momma jokes).  We laugh about it.  We complain about it. We even acknowledge that its a problem (Supersize Me) BUT time itself comes to a screeching halt when it gets personal.  Children, in an effort to be cruel write poems (fatty, fatty boombaladdy) but once you reach the 6th grade you should know that it is physically dangerous to draw attention to anyone’s heavy-setedness, big-bonedness or even their pleasingly plumpedness.  And by the time your married you should know that the only acceptable response to, “do these jeans make me look fat?” is to fake a heart attack.

In China they just call you fat.  It’s not an insult.  It’s not a compliment.  It’s a statement.  However, we don’t generally hear what people say until we filter it through who we are.  China can be a challenge for the Westerner whose greatest, unspoken pain is being bigger than they want to be and I’ve heard some shocking stories from people who have come face to face with a perceived blunt response to their weight (which I dare not post on the internet without permission).  If you live in China and you’re big, you’re different than the norm and they’ll tell you.  If you live in America and you’re big, you’re not quite so different and no one will ever say a word . . . until you leave the room . . . and then they’ll make a fat joke.

So which way is better?  To say “you’re fat” and think nothing of it OR to not say, “you’re fat” and think, “fatty, fatty boombaladdy”?  I personally prefer the second one (especially when I’m the boombaladdy) but that could be because I’m an American . . . and pleasingly plump.

Anyone got a fat in China story that your not afraid to post on the internet?  Go for it.     

 

I Think I Might Be Amish

Feb 5, 2012 | 5 comments

I could totally pull off the Amish look, don’t you think?

I felt strangely amish today . . . in a bizarre, science fiction, alternate universe, I live in China where there are no Amish people kind of way.  From now on I will be blogging by candlelight.

I grew up in a part of America that we call the midwest.  Actually, if you look at a map, most of the “midwest” is geographically closer to the East coast but no one in that particular part of the country prefers to say they live in the Middle East . . . so we call it the midwest.

Midwestern values are simple.  Sit up straight, don’t cuss in front of your mother, buy American and don’t stare at people.  Like all values though, there are exceptions.  For example as important as it is to buy American products (we start riots over this) it is acceptable to buy imports if and only if said imports are 1. cheaper . . .  2. better quality . . . or 3. closer to where you live.  Hence Wal-Mart . . . and Toyota  . . . and everything else.

The two exceptions to the “no staring” rule are as simple as the value itself.  

1. Staring is allowed if the person or persons being stared at are obviously unaware that the staring is taking place.  It’s a little known fact that Midwesterners have distinctively over developed neck muscles and a keen sense of peripheral vision.  The neck muscles are developed by repeated “glance aways” which is the proper response when one is caught staring.  The peripheral vision allows them to intuitively sense when it is all clear to turn back and commence staring.

2.  It is acceptable to stare if the person or persons being stared at are the exact combination of really strange AND not a threat to your physical well being.  Ironically “strange” can encompass a broad range of traditionally non-midwestern characteristics but non-threatening is pretty cut and dried.  For example, large tattoos on a pasty white teenager with orange hair and multiple face piercings leaning against the wall outside of the mall smoking a Virginia Slim cigarette.  Ok to stare.  Large tattoos on a huge, bearded man with a pony tail and black leather jacket that is embroidered with a human skull and the words “Kill em’ all, let God sort em’ out” straddling a Harley Davidson, smoking a Marlboro Red . . . Look away. Determining who fits the exception and who doesn’t is complex and confusing to the outsider but for the midwesterner it is second nature.

The Amish fit perfectly into exception number 2. 

They are a fascinating group of people who migrated to the States from Europe in the 18th century and have been led by their religious convictions to live the simple life, free of modern technology such as electricity, automobiles, telephones and iPads.  They also embrace very simplistic, non-commercial fashion guidelines similar to that of Ma, Pa and Laura from Little House on the Prairie (all of which makes them really strange . . . at least in the spying eyes of the common mid-westerner).  They are famous for outstanding craftsmanship, building barns in one day, long beards and non-violent, pacifist living (which makes them non-threatening and even a little bit cuddly).

Prime for staring at.

When I was a kid we would occasionally drive through “Amish country”.  There was a giddiness that came with the trip.  My mother, who was generally the prime enforcer of the “no staring” rule, would transform into some kind of Amish marketing rep.  “We’re in Amish country Jerry . . . better look out the window we might see one . . . I wonder how many we’ll see today”.  Now that I have kids I realize that this was just a sneaky parent trick to buy a few minutes of peace and quiet but it worked like a charm, every time.  I would sit with my face pressed against the window waiting for the adrenaline rush of a big black horse and buggy.  Just being in proximity where I knew we MIGHT see a real, live Amish person was electric.  In my mind I drifted to a strange place, dreaming of how awesome it would be to live the Amish life and knowing full well that I wouldn’t like it one bit.

“There’s one!  There’s one!” It’s like we were whale watching.

Dad would slow down and as we passed I would wave as excitedly as if they had been Mickey and Minnie themselves.  They waved back with less enthusiasm than I would have expected from the Disney’s but still . . . they waved.

Several times on our recent trip to the States we had an occasion to drive through the Amish communities and the magic lives on.  The moment I would see the big yellow horse and buggy sign I would have the kids perched on their lookout.  “There’s one! There’s one!”  One day we counted eight.  Good times.

I live in a Chinese community that is also home to a lot of foreigners (like me).  While we come from all over the world most of the foreigners around here share two characteristics.  We are really strange and generally non threatening.  Walking home today I saw a mother grab her daughter and playfully whisper something into her ear.  The little girl laughed and looked at me.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what the mother was saying . . . “There’s one! There’s one!”  

Nothing new.  That happens everywhere we go.  It’s the price of being strange and non-threatening but I wonder if it’s different around our apartment where so many the foreigners live.  Do Chinese parents elbow their kids and say, “hey we’re in foreigner country, pay attention you might see one”? Do kids keep track of how many they see?  Do they dream about what it would be like to live the life of a foreigner and know that they would never like it?

As they passed the little girl smiled and gave me the all too familiar, “HALLO!” I smiled back and with the enthusiasm of an Amish Mickey Mouse said, “HALLO!”

Sometimes its good to see myself through the eyes that I use to look at the rest of the world.  I’m so Amish.  

What if China met Texas?

Jan 14, 2012 | 2 comments

I got a steak the size of my own torso for Christmas.  At least it was the size of my torso before I ate it.  Now my torso has grown considerably and the steak is . . . well . . . gone.  This incredible piece of beef alone was worth the trip back to the States but the cultural insight that came from the experience along with my smoking hot date made for a phenomenal night.

I love me a good ol’ Texas steak house but tonight I couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to bring a Chinese friend into a place like this.

Let me back up and say that part of my job is to help foreigners (and by foreigners I mean people who are not Chinese) make a healthy transition into life in China.  Part of that part of my job is to talk about restaurants.  Foreigners (like me) often get overwhelmed by the volume and the chaos of a Chinese restaurant (see diagram).  In the West we like our space.  We like to talk at a reasonable level to the person or persons at our table and we lay unspoken claim to the airspace around us.  It’s considered inappropriate  to even listen into another table’s airspace.  That’s called eavesdropping and if you get caught you could be arrested or even worse . . . given a dirty look.  On the flip side it is your responsibility to maintain a volume level that makes eavesdroppers work for their reward.  Get too loud and management will say  “Sir, I’m gonna’ have to ask you to keep it down or leave the premises.”  In Texas they just shoot you.

In China restaurants are typically loud.  The meal is often a family, office or community event and it’s common to see large groups gathered around a massive round table with all of the food placed in the middle and spun around for easy access.  You can have your space but there is no obligation on the part of anyone else in the room to stay out of it.  If you want to be heard . . . talk louder than the person at the next table.  If you don’t want them to hear you . . . wait until you get home.  Restaurants in China are not designed for starry-eyed, candle lit romance or personal conversations about chaffing.  A challenge for most Texans who are of course known for romance . . . and chaffing.

That said, I think the Texas Roadhouse would throw most of my Chinese friends into some type of cross-cultural cardiac arrest.  Open the door and BLAM!  Loud speaker Country music. . . 

“SHE THINKS MY TRACTOR’S SEXY!!!” 

I’m imagining trying to explain to my Chinese friend (over the volume of the loud speaker) the concept of sexiness and how that can apply to a farm vehicle.  At the same time a group of senior citizens are hovered around a barrel filled with peanuts which they are sucking the salt off of, eating the nuts and then throwing the shells on the ground.  In fact the entire entry way floor is layered with spit covered peanut hulls.  “This is why we don’t take our shoes off in America.”  200 people are wading through the peanut shells while they wait for a table and a dozen twenty year olds with matching t-shirts and headsets are working like ants to push them in and out.

BLAM! Country music “WAY DOWN YONDER ON THE CHATTAHOOCHEE  NEVER KNEW HOW MUCH THAT MUDDY WATER MEANT TO ME” 

Me explaining . . . “See the muddy water is actually a good thing because it’s kind of a symbolic reminder of his childhood when he learned how to swim . . . and about girls . . . and probably beer.”  A twenty year old with a head set leads us to our seat in a room filled with enormous moose and buffalo heads and big screen TV’s all playing different versions of ESPN except for the three over the bar which are all playing the exact same version of ESPN.  None of them can be heard however, because . . .

BLAM! Country music  “I WANNA’ CHECK YOU FOR TICKS . . .” 

Explaining again . . .  “A tick is a tiny little parasitic bug that lodges onto your skin and sucks your blood until it swells like a balloon and can give you lyme disease . . . or mule fever . . . or fresh water malaria unless you yank it out and crush it with a spoon which makes it splatter all over.  But the singer is really trying to be romantic because . . . what he’s trying to say is  . . . um . . . I like you.”

Our uber-friendly server bounces to our table  “Hey folks, my name is John Bob are ya’ ready to order, or do ya’ need a few minutes?  If you’d like I could start you off with drinks and some Rattlesnake Bites.”

Frightened look.  “Not what it sounds like.”

BLAM! Country music  “I GOT FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES WHERE THE WHISKEY DROWNS AND THE BEER CHASES THE BLUES AWAY . . . Cunningham party of three, your table is ready!”

My inquisitive friend asks, “Why does he want to chase blue away with alcoholic drinks? He doesn’t like blue?”

“Yes.  That’s exactly right.  He hates the color blue and in some parts of Texan culture it is believed that the only way to chase blue away is to pour massive amounts of alcoholic beverages on it.  In other parts of the country they use chocolate and ice cream but in Texas, mainly alcohol.”

“WHHHOOOOOP! “WHHHOOOOOP!”  A parade of twenty year olds with headsets and identical t-shirts emerge from the kitchen clapping and yelling loud enough so they can be heard over the music and the thousands of people who were already trying to talk loud enough to be heard over the music.  “HEY EVERYBODY PLEASE JOIN US IN SAYING HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY TO JOE BOB.  ON THREE LET’S GIVE HIM A BIG YEEE HAAAWWWW!  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!”

And a whole section of people screams “YEEE HAAAWWWW!”

Confused look.  Running out of explanations, “I think ‘Yee Haw’ means Happy Birthday in some parts of southern Tex . . .  never mind.”

BLAM! Country music  “CAUSE IT’LL FEEL LIKE THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS COMIN’ DOWN ON YOU.  BROUGHT TO YOU COURTESY . . . OF THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.”

Raised eyebrows.  “um . . . you ready to order?  They’ve got a steak the size of my torso.”

Culture shock shows no favoritism.