Learning

Anna, the young Russian woman who’s the daytime Reception person at my pensǎo, says she learned English from watching American movies. As millions have done before her. (Think of the Macedonians in Ondaatje’s In The Skin of The Lion gathering in Toronto, 1930s, to watch the gangster movies of Cagney or Robinson, Bogart or Raft, and shouting back at the screen the phrases they’d picked up.)

In Portugal, I’ve enjoyed watching the odd American movie myself. Unlike other western Euro countries, Portugal subtitles, rather than dubs, the imported movies. So I can listen and read along, picking up some Portuguese that way.
I’ve learned, however, of a third grade of Hollywood movies, after “theatrical release” and “straight to DVD”. This third lot might be called “straight to late-night Portuguese tv”—a motley collection of action films, cop dramas, contemporary romances and comedies, teen flicks and vampire thrillers. All bad. Embarrassing, really. (Years ago, teaching high school in Papua New Guinea, I used to show films on Friday nights. Hugely popular, no matter what the film. Then too, the only films I could get were all d-grade crapola—with some exceptions, like the fantastic documentary on the later years of Elvis Presley.)

Here’s an idea: You’ve just emerged from your morning shower—the moment when, says José Saramago, you are most beautiful—and you hear a siren from the street below. Your body, in fact, is the emergency, with consequences ranging from the cry of a peacock to the desertion of sea-going ships from Lisbon harbour. And make it about learning language while you’re at it. Good luck!