午宴之歌

（如果有錯的話，概不負責：p）

“It's an ordinary day
in a publishing house
of ill repute.
Another moronic manuscript
comes crashing down the chute
to be turned into art.
This morning it was Wayne Wanker's
latest dog's dinner
of sex, teenage philosophy
and writing-course prose.
Abracadabra, kick it up the arse -
and out it goes
to be Book of the Week
or some other bollocks.
What a fraud. What a farce.
And tomorrow: who knows
which of our geniuses
will escape from the zoo
and head straight for us
with a new masterpiece
lifeless in his jaws.
That's about the size of it.
What about you?”

  這才是英國式的毒舌，英國式的嫉妒和鬱憤……太地道了，反而覺得作者有點可憐……我沒看過原作，不過如果不是影像的話，大概也不會是我的菜吧，太英國中年男人了，而且還是比較失意的那一掛，看太多會内傷的。

  Alan Rickman杯杯深藍色襯衫上面鐵棕色的西裝，看起來説不上風雅，也顯不出落魄，Emma Thompson阿姨白色的裙子質地顯得極好，趁出一身的風韻尤存。


  她招來侍者，他就說她誘惑，她說他是嫉妒，他表面不動聲色的否定，可内心的聲音說著完全相反的態度，“madly jealous”，“madly jealous”：P


……
…………
“The very table linen
has lost its patriotism.
Plain white: we surrender.
twanging And this menu, this twanging
laminated card,
big as a riot policeman's shield? ”
……
…………
………………而其實從這裡開始，我就一直不停的在怪笑了。

 Alan Rickman杯杯的“内心的聲音”和表面的不動聲色實在是太精彩了，面對爲了一個“小”男人離開他的女人，深深的相信這要是多麽愚蠢的女人才做得出這樣的決定啊，可人家如今是暢銷書作家……看著杯杯“說”著“how could she have been so stupid”，一邊不懂聲色的把紅酒倒進杯子。那看著waitress的裙子不小心翻起來的眼皮一跳，那精彩的在肚子裏罵這“笨女人”實則“強烈的嫉妒”，那對她新老公的諷刺，那個沉默，對著侍者的那段挖苦……其實Rickman杯杯都沒怎麽動嘴皮，甚至臉皮XD 那雙不大的眼睛一轉再配上那些心里的聲音，再加上另一根戯骨Emma Thompson阿姨的風韻和配合，就十足的撐起了這將近一個小時。



“Massimo……”
………………
個人覺得Massimo也很是個點：P 這個結尾滿絕的。

於是整個好英國，好中意：p

对于Alan迷来说，这部电影并不是一个花痴圣品，虽然将近50分钟的电影几乎全是Alan的特写，但这里的Alan既不是性感魅惑的优雅反派，也不是深情款款的英国绅士，而只是一个小有才华却有点潦倒有点猥琐的中年老男人，在一个默默无闻的小出版社里混日子，对着光彩照人的前女友不知所措。

一部由诗歌改编成的仅47分钟的短片，在轻柔醇厚如红酒般的男声旁白中娓娓道来，诉尽平生辛苦，有着四两拨千斤的气魄。

或许是诗歌本身的凝练含蓄所致，影片情节虽然细碎却不失紧凑，其中的戏剧性也都集中在他和她毫不搭调的对话上，他满脑子神游，说话刻薄而带有讽刺，失魂落魄，她却显得居高临下，对于他的种种毛病带着见怪不怪的包容，就像每一个对前男友仍有感情，怀着歉意，但还是恨铁不成钢的前女友一样。

故事中并没有说明两人见面的原因，是他在拥挤的办公室里闷得窒息了吗？是想给庸烦的生活找个出口？还是他根本还在期待着什么？

然而，一切一如往昔却已今非昔比。

我愿意相信他是去唤醒那沉睡的青春记忆，今日生活已如此无趣，当初怎么也不相信会活到这个境地，还是去找找过去甜蜜的时光吧，哪怕只是一顿午饭也好。曾经的柔情蜜意如今想来仍历历在目，甚至都不敢相信都过了这么久了？

五年？十年？……十五年！

我想他只是发现自己老了，他害怕老去，他或许后悔了？当初为什么没有留住他呢？如果他留住了她呢，生活会怎么样呢？我们也许可以想象出他年轻时是个什么样的人，才华横溢，幽默潇洒，却脆弱而狂妄，就如同身边的很多男孩一样，而她，也可以想象一下，温柔甜蜜，开朗明媚，聪明而优雅，渴望华丽多彩的生活。哪个女孩对自己的终生伴侣不是精挑细选呢？哪个女孩不是希望把婚姻当做一生的依靠呢？谁敢去选择一个毫安全感的人呢？他还是不能明白她离开她的原因，他不去管那些庸俗的现实，其实我们无法评说谁的选择是对的，是像他那样寄情于诗酒，还是像她那样面对现实。

但她俨然像个胜利者那样去数落他，破坏了他追忆往昔的雅兴。她仍是优雅迷人，却难有往日的柔情，他醒悟了吗？哦，不，红酒入喉，还是醉去吧！

英国人特有的幽默，如同这个国家出了名的保守与含蓄一样，它不像美国那种迪斯尼式的夸张，而是同所有英国贵族一样，优雅地，默默地，不动声色地讲述。它不会让你捧腹大笑，整部电影没似乎没什么笑点，但细细回想起来，一个落魄的中年老男人的各种失态却会让人忍俊不禁。英国人颇爱调侃，带着一种风轻云淡的贵族气质，竟把一个细想起来辛酸又无奈的人生故事讲得这般风趣，是骨子里流着莎士比亚的血吧。

一次本该温情脉脉的共叙往事的午宴，却在他的满脑子神游和酒后失态中草草收场，他一定觉得人品低爆了！可是你笑过之后可会惊醒？或许我们的人生也都是这样，带着后悔，带着遗憾，带着自欺，七分醉，三分醒，晃晃悠悠就老啦！

买了这本书. 一来为了仔细研读,力图翻译准确; 二来为了留做纪念, 毕竟是第一次看诗歌改编的剧, 更是第一次接触诗歌翻译.
片子本身我不想再评论, 这种片子需要自己逐字逐句去体会. 看的次数越多, 便越是感叹语言的魅力. 就是这样在字斟句酌之间, 不经意的,好些台词几乎都记在心里了. (然而我要再啰嗦一句: 这种文学性太强的诗歌并不适合当作教材'学英文', 本诗一些用词和表达方式, 英国人表示他们自己也看不太懂, 更别提使用了.)

剧中的台词, 全是直接用的原诗句, 但不可避免有删掉的部分, 所以打算把原诗当中没有编进本剧的章节敲出来, 有兴趣的可以看看.

------
注1: 括号中的是剧中出现过的, 方便大家定位.
注2: 大小写, 换行, 标点, 均依照faber&faber出版社2010年版 (http://www.faber.co.uk/work/song-of-lunch/9780571273522/).
<1>
(Keep your imagination peeled and see
Virginia Woolf
loping off to the library
with a trug full of books.)
At every twentieth step,
she takes a sharp drag at a cigarette
and pulls a tormented face
as if she had never tasted anything
so disgusting.

(And there goes T.S. Eliot,
bound for his first martini of the day.
With his gig-lamps and his immaculate sheen,)
he eases pastyou like a limousine:
a powerful American model.

<2>
(Gaggles of tourists straggle
more provocatively than ever;)
the approach to Bedford Square is blocked:
orange plastic barriers--
our century's major contribution
to the junk art of street furniture!

(Never mind, he's making good time--
note the active verb--
and he expects she'll be late.)
So he allows himself to feel
pleasure in his own fleetness,
in not being carried but riding
the currents and eddies
of the human torrent.

And occasionally stopping
to let another pass,
unthanked politeness being
the ultimate gesture
of the metropolitan dandy.

<3>
(The restaurant
is an old haunt,
though he hasn't been there for years;)
not since the publishing trade,
once the province
of swashbucklers and buccaneers,
was waylaid by suits and calculators,
and a strict afternoon
curfew imposed.

Farewell to long lunches
and other boozy pursuits!
Hail to the new age
of the desk potato,
strict hours of imprisonment
and eyesight tortured
by an impassive electronic screen!

Sometimes, though, a man needs
to go out on the rampage,
throw conscientious time-keeping
to the winds,
help kill a few bottles--
and bugger the consequences.
If not a right, exactly,
it's a rite,
and therefore approved in the sight
of some notional higher authority.

<4>
Lunch being a game with few rules,
and those unwritten,
it's important to him that the field of play
remain the same
as he fondly remembers it.

(Zanzotti's: unreformed Soho Italian.
...
cultureless, fly-by-night.)

He stops for a scrawny lad
wheeling a big, unsteady,
rust-patched, festering bin
to park at the roadside,
and wonders what he will find.

<5>
And that's where Dylan Thomas
scrounged ten bob off him,
then set about seducing his girl.

Not.

Seriously, though,
what will they say when they look back
at our demythologised age?

Postmodern Times:
garrulous, garish classic
starring

some idiot off the box.

Charlie Cretin!
Needs work.

Craplin? Forget it.

He cuts down Meard Street,
now much too smart for its name
but where he remembers
a knocking-shop henever went into--
feral whores at the window--
turns the corner, crosses,
and (hey presto:
Zanzotti's edges into view.)

<6>
Same tricolore paintwork,
thick from repeated coats
and somehow suggesting edibility.

Same signwriter's cursive
festooning the fascia-board
and flanked by the same brass lamps.

It's so much the same, it almost
looks like a replica.

The Wardour Street wideboys and creatives
must love it,
must think it's the campest retro--
when it's the real thing.

Through a gap in the blind,
he can see quite a few of them in there already.
Well, never mind.

He wishes no one ill.

Democracy of the feeding-trough;
swill and let swill.

He and his hand on the door-handle,
and foot on the grooved step,
(when he suddently recollects--
what, precisely?

Deja vu? Some artistic analogy?)

A true liminal moment,
or simply a trick
of the dictionary-picker's skittering brain?

Eye-corner glimpse
of fugitive epiphany
that, for several beats,
he pursues in vain.

(Too bad. Let it go.)

He has his hand still on the dimpled
brass bul of the door-handle.

Which he turns, noticing
the familiar loose-jointedness:
that's a promissing sign.

With the meekest bump of resistance
from the spring contraption overhead,
the door yields and he steps inside
to stand on the prickled mat,
peering into the gloom.

Midday twilight,
requiring adjustment
of all the senses
before it delivers its secrets.

He scans the room,
which is deeper than you might guess from the street,
registers its busyness,
and wonders which of the few
untaken covers will be his.
Not that one by the door
to the toilets, he hopes;
nor the one with too much window light.
Snug privacy is what he wants:
to be tucked away from the bustle:
ideally, over there.

(On the threshold, on the edge
of a shadow-world)

<7>
(Without a smile, without a word,
he is eybrowed and nodded to follow.)

Which he does, past tables,
past people at tables,
he is careful not to brush
with either himself or his shoulder-bag.

Aloof carriage, side=steps,
calculated indirection:
it's as much a dance as a walk.

And it gets him nicely
to the spot he had spotted
from the door.
Laid for two. A little island. An eyot.
Perfect.

<8>
(We said we wouldn't look back.)

Innocent jaunty wistful
ditty from the wings
and would run uninterrupted
if he didn't shoo it away.

Just one of those things.
Ditto.

A song for every cliche!

Though it was more, he's perfectly sure,
than a bell that now and then

(Why did she e-mail him
suggesting)
No, he

Woofs of laughter
in imprecise unison
from a table, all men,
jolly good company,
off to his right.

He draws a breadstick,
wrong brand, from its ripped sheath
and beheads it with a bite.

<9>
In twilight himself
(he commands, nice word,
a clear view of the entrance,
...
What will she look like?)

On his third tasteless
but moreish breadstick,
he's startled: she's changed.
But he's wrong. She hasn't. She isn't.

Back to his chewing:
the fragmentation
and mashing of rusk
soothingly loud
in the isolated chamber of his skull.

<10>
(Hello?)

He jolts. Ice cubes
slurrily clatter
to the bottom of the tumbler
as he bumps it back on the table.
Wiping his wet lip
also expresses surprise.

(She's here. How did that happen!)

<11>
(Have some wine,) he adds,
any stage business
being better than a dry.
(I'm afraid it hasn't really had time,
but

He pours into the two glasses,
measuring by ear
identical notes,)
then doesn't put the bottle down.
He has a speech to deliver.

(...
And they drink.
Becoming palatable.)

Her expression expresses no judgement
and she puts the glass down.

(You haven't changed.
...
It's almost all pizzas,)
he apologises
before she has read a word.
(I'm afraid the place has gone to the dogs.)

She looks around, cursorily.

(Don't be absurd, it's fine.)

<12>
Across the table
across clean cloth and clutter
she leans and wooingly twice
with middle finger
nudges him on the knuckle.

(Come on, no sulks. Be nice. Sois sage.
...
Pax,) he agrees, aggrieved.

And they shake hands,
a squeeze of fingers rather:
hers light then tight
then light again in his,
then efficiently retrieved.

<13>
He is startled from this reckless
plunge into memory
by his own awareness of it:
like snpping out of a doze.
How long can it have lasted?
Gone some time.

(But she seems not to have noticed,
...
you were practically seducing him
a minute ago.)

She swivels her gaze back:
smiling, surprisingly.

(It's nice to know
you're still madly jealous.)

<14>
(And we'll need another bottle of this.)

The waiter goes:
one of those fellows
you'd describe as nondescript
if the word wasn't forbidden.
How many times
in some author's manuscript
has he crossed it out and written
There is nothing that cannot be described.
But in this particular case,
searching in ain
for any distinctive feature,
he may allow and exception.

From that thought idly
on a ride of the eye
around the room--
the bustle, the hubbub--
he travels to the next:
a small dark waitress carrying
three filled plates
from the kitchen hatch
reverses pauses turns proceeds
with such practised fluency
that he'd like to catch
her eye to show her
his appreciation
and be rewar

文艺片范畴，通常为法兰西的特长；但谈到将“文学艺术”在影像上辗转呈现的热情，则非英国人莫属。拥有自中古时代起就大放异彩的足以自傲的文学史，莎士比亚的后裔们自然非常自负于他们独有的如同贵族世袭制一般的文学宝藏。不提自莎翁以来，英国的戏剧和小说如何成为了文艺复兴文学中的旗帜和标杆，对于18世纪往后类似简•奥斯丁和勃朗宁姐妹这种广受好评的大众情人类的文学作品，英国人向来不遗余力地加以推广。类似于将《傲慢与偏见》和《理智与情感》这样的名著改编在银幕上，从单集到系列的BBC古典剧目再到电影，翻拍了无数遍也不嫌烦。在互联网一统江湖、快速浏览网络讯息的方式几乎争夺了所有传统书读者的当下，这个闻名的岛国则永远竭力为正统文学留下一方不染尘埃的净土。

文学视觉化
将文学经典翻拍成影视作品并不见新奇，但将一首诗歌扩展成一幕剧的做法，却是将缪斯精神发挥到了极致。由瑞克曼（Alan Rickman）和汤普森（Emma Thompson）主演的《午宴之歌》即是这一出小小银幕舞台剧的绝佳代表。电影改编自诗人Christopher Reid于2010年获柯斯达文学奖（Costa Book Awards）“年度代表作”的同名叙事诗，也是他最杰出的作品之一。诗歌讲述的是某位不知名的图书编辑和他早已嫁做他人妇的旧情人在分手15年后再聚伦敦某餐厅叙旧的故事。如此小众的文艺剧最初依旧是在傲娇的BBC播出——作为某档晚间节目的单集剧目。按照BBC 2台《午宴之歌》节目监制人Greg Wise的话来说，BBC一定深得上帝眷顾。“因为除了BBC，我不知道还有哪家广播公司有这样的洞察力，勇气和责任心来保证这项工作完成。”——显然，这种吃力不讨好的手笔，是一贯的BBC风范。
深得上帝眷顾的可不光是只有BBC。满世界都忙着在捞钱，大英帝国却有闲暇为“国家诗歌月”造势——《午宴之歌》即是为2010年国家诗歌月应景而推出的。该诗所获的柯斯达文学奖也是大有来头，其前身为英国惠特公司自1971年所赞助的“惠特笔奖”。柯斯达奖的奖项内容、奖金及评选方式皆沿用传统，评审员广泛涉猎作家、书店老板和新闻工作者；其评判的标准是选出一本写的尽善尽美、富娱乐性并且值得向大众推荐一读的好书。其中，《午宴之歌》所获得的“年度代表作”（Book of the Year）奖项的审查小组则有九位成员，包括各审查小组的主席及其它三位热心读者，于全部得奖作品中评审出的唯一的一部作品，成为年度代表作。当年，《午宴之歌》获得的评论是：它展现了“Christopher Reid的全部智慧，诡计和人道”。这导致了诗歌最终被搬上了银幕，并获得了英国影界两位老牌戏骨的首肯：“他们几乎是迅速就确定了同意出演此剧的意向。”
事实上，BBC的《午宴之歌》确实是将诗歌的文学性还原到了最佳状态。在这幕不足50分钟的短剧中，没有连贯的完整剧情，没有清晰度人物设定，镜头的设置和运用多半为静止局部特写的画面切换，慢镜头的运用将各种细节展现的分毫毕现。而电影中最佳看点即为大段内心独白似的优美台词。这些提炼自诗歌的戏剧语言，配合着画面传达出这个无法止住失落情绪的带点残酷的故事。万事皆变，而昔日的旧情人在一顿并不愉快的午餐中依旧未能达成双方预想的愉快期许。对于故事主角的他来说，目睹在巴黎过着精致生活的她，比较自己的现状，暗生失落的情绪导致了荒诞的戏剧性结局。这种悲剧式样的宿命往往是人们不愿意面对的生活真实所在，却借助文学和影象艺术的方式完美呈现出来。也许这才是文学作品在瞬息万变的时代洪流中，最为珍贵的存在意义。

无戏剧，不演员
和好莱坞大片打造出的流水作业一般的标杆型帅哥靓妹不同，英国演员通常都被赞誉为气质绝佳，功底深厚——那是因为他们几乎个个都是经历过舞台戏剧的浸淫，而不仅仅是一个杵在那儿当摆设的花瓶。比起肌肉救世主男和波霸性感尤物，考究的仪容、整洁的服饰、谦卑的姿态、优雅的举手投足才是英佬奉行的精髓，万般情绪在浅笑中流露；抑扬顿挫的语调和拿捏得恰到好处的诵读更是备受推崇的唯一标榜。虽然并不是每一个英国演员都能在戏剧舞台和电影银屏的双料上玩得左右逢源，但从十四行诗到弥尔顿，文学素养已成为英伦人深入骨髓的特征。对于演员来说，在舞台上的功力是其银幕上更多发展的基础，而对于这些老戏骨来说，举手投足，腾挪辗转中，未曾开演，自成戏剧。
《午宴之歌》中的两位主演——艾伦•瑞克曼和艾玛•汤普森可不仅仅只是《哈利•波特》系列里的两位知名教授而已。艾伦除了演员身份，还任英国皇家艺术戏剧学院副主席，在舞台剧、电视节目、导演、编剧、乃至戏剧配音上都有卓越的成就。在英国皇家戏剧艺术学院（RDRA）求学时，他就已经接受了正统科班的戏剧训练；毕业后，他并未一头踏入影视圈，而是在英国各种定目剧团和实验剧场中演出各种话剧和戏剧，深谙莎士比亚的经典作品。这些经历无异于对他日后进军银幕积累了宝贵经验。而演对手戏的艾玛•汤普森也是戏剧班底出身，就读于剑桥大学纽纳姆学院英国文学系；在学生时代，艾玛就加入了剑桥大学的戏剧社团“脚灯俱乐部”（Cambridge University Footlights Dramatic Club）并担任社团副主席——这是一支建于1883年的学生戏剧社团，在英国高校广泛享有盛誉。大学毕业后，艾玛在音乐剧和BBC电视剧中取得表演领域的成就。她同时还做过戏剧评论，改编剧本——总而言之，在英国，演员们基本遵循这样一条定律：无戏剧，不演员。《午宴之歌》中，大段的旁白和诵读，其语境之优美，音调之抑扬，展示了两位出众演员深厚的戏剧功底。提及戏剧，艾伦曾表示：“你可以在表演中表述真情实感，抑或谎言以蔽之。你可以揭示你的内心，或是掩饰你的情感。观众们能通过你的表演，认识和发现到自己身上的一些东西，或者没有。这是非常具有挑战性的——你不会期待他们在观看你的表演后，走出剧场，脑子里仅仅想着‘哦还不错吧，可是出租车在哪儿？’”

失落的财富
对于英国佬来说，保持着如此高姿态的文艺架势一方面基于古老传统，一方面源于自傲的贵族精神。如同古老的英国皇室一般，这种唯我独尊的优越感一直是老牌帝国昂然自居的资本。如今，英国人为之自傲的悠久传统在时代浪潮的冲击下，正面临着土崩瓦解的局面。当所有的人都在追寻感官的刺激和快餐式的享乐时，坚守着精神层面的孤芳自赏显得分外孤僻，但这其实是不可或缺的。《午宴之歌》是这样的一个例子，让人们意识到，即便再功利，诗歌这样一种优美精致到不容亵渎的高昂“消费品”，也有存在的理由。对于某些传承下来的珍宝标准而言，不是追寻利益最大化，也不是游戏人间；而在皇室也平民的世风日下中，某些固执的精神贵族对最后一块阵地的坚守，却是用最值得钦佩的一种方式来保卫着最具高贵精神的人类文明和他们自创的珍贵文化财富。

有的文字能带给人画面般的遐想，而她的节奏、韵律就是音乐。

有的影音加上人物的表演同样能带来文字一样的思索，是诗、是歌，同样也会成为自省后人飘忽然的动机。

看了两边，第二遍尽量不受画外音的干扰，不一样的感觉，同样的感、伤。长度也恰到好处，饱满却令人意犹未尽。

Now, according to my logic, the Eurydice that you're trying to rescue with your brave little song must be yourself, your inner self, your soul.

But you've not been in touch with that in your entire life, which puts you in a hole, strategically speaking.

And who was it dumped you there in the first place?

The kidnapper i was talking about whom i can now reveal to be the Lyric Muse, who should have left you alone to work out your problems in some healthier fashion, and not led you on, not made you confuse poetry with therapy.

It's not just that you're stuck in the past.

You're stuck in your poems which have their merits. They're nicely written. They're clever and so on.

But they're misconceived, false, hollow, wrong.

You should never gone there. Yet you did. That's the catastrophy.


Ever the escape artist, ever the clown.


特意从巴黎跑来吃一顿午饭的女人，说这么些话是为了讽刺还是责骂么？

Emma演的真切，Alan对的自然。真实生活的结尾，往往如此。