The final cut.
Last images of a dying art.
Well damn me!
I regret to inform you that I am now a casualty of progress.
Each year for the past twenty years at the turn of the year, I would say to myself:
"That's the last year I am doing that short-film dubbing for the Festival de Court Metrages."
A few days later, a leaflet would drop in the letter box with this year's poster, followed by the program.
It never took much persuasion, that wierd nostalgia for working under pressure kicked in. I would go and get this year's film list and... abracadabra! I was back in the translators' cabin again, staring blankly through darkened glass at the crowded audience down there (on a good night).
This year, everything happened as normal, the leaflet, the letter box and....
Then no news.
It has finally happened.
I am obsolete.
Those years of mastering multi-voice dubbing, the dim light, the fiddly controls of the headsets, the avant-garde directions, all for nothing. I am a throw-back to a golden age. I am a part of cinematic history. I am gone, ignored, forgotten.
No more shall I be credited in the festival program...
So now it is all wrapped up and done, I embrace the silent movies, the VHS, the DVD and I reflect: I was there, hidden far up behind a shadowy window, part of it all.
I love the movies.
