When Lenny Borger arrived in Paris in the mid-1970s, this young New Yorker from Brooklyn brought with him a love of the French language.
This language, so foreign to him, enchanted his ears when, as a young boy, he discovered, almost in real time, the songs of Jean Ferrat, Léo Ferré and Jacques Brel. The rhythm, like the poetry of the lyrics, would have a lasting effect on him.
It was this unique love that led him to leave the United States for France. And what does an American do in Paris when he also loves the movies? In addition to becoming a frequent moviegoer and visitor to the Cinémathèque française, Lenny became a film critic for Variety, the leading American entertainment newspaper, a position he held until the early 1990s. But translating French films really allowed his mastery and knowledge of the subtleties of the language of both Molière and Shakespeare to shine.
In 1980, Bertrand Tavernier asked him to subtitle his film Une semaine de vacances, starring Nathalie Baye and Gérard Lanvin. It was the start of a long career during which Lenny Borger would translate over a hundred French films into English, with a particular predilection for the cinema of the interwar period. Marcel Carné, Jean Renoir, Julien Duvivier, Henri-Georges Clouzot, Robert Bresson, Georges Franju, Luis Buñuel, but also Jean-Pierre Melville, Claude Chabrol, Jean-Luc Godard, Claude Sautet, Patrick Chéreau, among many others.
Welcoming us into his Parisian apartment next door to the Grand Rex, Lenny recalls his work with words and how it served French cinema.
At the start of 2020, the Cinémathèque française paid tribute to Jean-Luc Godard. You've worked with him and translated some of his films. Which ones?
In the 2000s, Criterion asked me to translate Jean-Luc Godard's classic period, the films of the 1960s. À bout de Souffle was a gem for any translator, as it's a film with an enormous number of puns, some of them very funny. In fact, I'd found a linguistic trick in English for the phrase: “T'es vraiment dégueulasse” / “You make me puke”. When I did the translation, I looked at what had been done before. It has to be said that not everything was well translated, it was much more succinct, we didn't really try to convey the flavor of the dialogue, it was still quite literal.
And then, how can we fail to mention one of the worst puns in his entire filmography, with his film Une femme est une femme (1961)? Anna Karina's last line gave me a hard time. Jean Claude Brialy and Anna Karina are in bed together, and he says to her: “Angela, you're infamous”, to which she replies: “Me? I'm not infamous, I'm a woman”. I found the equivalent in English: he says “Damn you, Angela!” She replies: “No, a dame me”.
When the film was to be re-released in America, I worked alone on it. It was at the Malakoff studio. I remember that Jean-Luc Godard's sister was present in the lab when I wrote that last sentence. I had asked her to come, as I was having translation problems. Much later, Anne-Marie Miéville, with whom I'd had the opportunity to work while working on his films, recommended that I work with him again on Éloge de l'amour.
My colleague Cynthia Schoch and I translated the film, which is a bit of an oddity. It went perfectly. He invited us to see the film at his home in Switzerland. I remember I was a bit grumpy. I didn't want to travel so far for a job I'd be doing in the Paris region anyway. Nevertheless, we took the train to Lausanne, and then a bus to Rolle. He made us feel very welcome and was very friendly, as was Anne-Marie Miéville. It was quite a funny experience. The day after the Cannes premiere in May 2001, he called to tell me how pleased he was with the subtitles. I think I should have stopped there, because after that it got a bit more complicated. With Notre musique, everything became a little more complex, with several languages to translate. But above all, he didn't want everything to be translated.