Speaking of clichés, every time I watch a foreign film—recent, older, ancient, it doesn’t matter—I fall helplessly, irretrievably in love with the leading lady (whether she is German, Russian, Asian, Mexican or especially French).
The language barrier could be problematic, but that’s only if you are actually trying to understand one another. I could read her novels rewritten in English and she could tell me what I was losing in translation. We would also listen to music, which always sounds best when no one is talking.
I need a woman with some sort of disaffection—not because she is unhappy or incapable of joy, but because there is something missing, something only another person can provide. She is lonely, like me. I need her to stop by the side of the road and pick up a stray dog in a thunderstorm (no American women do this—not even in movies, much less real life).
Maybe if I could speak to someone in another language, I might find myself saying things I otherwise could not imagine. I might even hear myself saying things like love and feel myself believing it.
Why can’t I find it? Or is it because it’s too easy to find? Anyone can find anything they want, even the things they aren’t necessarily looking for, in a foreign film.
Or, at least they can dream.
