Wishing for the Silent Screen

by Beth Tally  

Since being in Central America, we’ve made quite a few long distance trips on buses.  For the most part they’ve been comfortable enough with fares so cheap one is hard pressed to complain about any discomfort.  They are usually packed and surprisingly reliable on their schedules.

Regardless of whether it’s the Litegua bus to Guatemala City or Linea Dorado from Flores or the TICA bus from Mexico to Panama, they all have one thing in common – movies.  Hardly before you’ve stowed your carry-ons, sat down and wrestled with a most-often useless seat recliner lever to adjust your seat, an attendant is pumping a DVD into the player to be broadcast throughout the bus on strategically placed monitors.  And these are not just your ordinary, everyday movies.  They are all voice-overs in Spanish.

As one who normally devotes travel time to reading, snoozing or working a Sudoku puzzle, I consider this activity quite an intrusion.  There’s no way to ignore it.  On most occasions a speaker blares from right above my seat.  So, I’ve acquiesced into somewhat of an academic exercise – using them as fodder for my writing.

Basically, the movies fall into two categories – ones you’ve seen and ones you haven’t. It’s very helpful to have seen a movie in order to overcome the language barrier.  We were doing a leg on the TICA bus in Honduras from San Pedro Sula to Tegucigalpa when “ET” popped up on the screen.  Even with the distraction of Elliot’s voice sounding like that of a 35 year-old man, it didn’t really matter that I couldn’t literally translate the dialogue.  Drew Barrymore’s scream when she sees ET in the closet is the same in any language.  And all of the Gringos on the bus almost fell out of their seats as ET plaintively points to the heavens and says “Telephono mi casa.” 

Sometimes, though, even familiarity with the film doesn’t help a whole lot.  On our overnight leg from Costa Rica into Panama, we endured “Lord of the Rings – Return of the King.”  I say endured because every time the bus would stop – for dinner, to change a fan belt, to cross the border – the movie would start over again.  About 3:00 AM, my hard won REM sleep was interrupted by Smegal’s schizophrenic conversation with himself.  His voice sounded like a toad with a horrendous sore throat.  Forget recalling what he was saying.  It was painful.

By far, the more challenging are the movies you’ve never seen like “Night in the Museum.”  It’s not hard to figure out the gist of the plot.  Some guy is a night watchman in a museum that comes alive after dark.  He has conversations with Teddy Roosevelt and gets shanghaied by some Lilliputian types, then has to figure out a way to convince people that he’s not crazy.  But, I have no idea what a miniature Owen Wilson was saying while clutched in the fingers of Ben Stiller.  It must have been funny.  Everybody on the bus who spoke Spanish was laughing.

Then, there are the ones where it doesn’t really matter whether you’ve seen them or not, or even whether you can understand the language.  These would be not only “Transporter I” but “Transporter II” as well.  We had the delightful experience of seeing both on our way from Rio Dulce to Guatemala City.  The fact of the matter is, the “Ugh’s” “Umph’s” and “Ows” of a fistfight transcend all languages as do the orgasmic moans and groans of lovemaking.

Once on a return trip to Rio Dulce, I tried to watch “Apocolyptico.”  But, a movie with dialogue in ancient Mayan and Spanish subtitles was just too complicated, not to mention the violence.  I just stared out the window.

The most memorable bus movie experience that I remember occurred on our way from Flores to Rio Dulce.  Once we boarded the bus, but before we left the station, a very attractive, professional attendant passed out snack bags and water bottles to all the passengers.  She then plugged the DVD into the player and left the bus.  The movie “Cheaper by the Dozen” with Steve Martin began.  No sooner had the title run when a man steps on the bus with a Bible in his hand and begins to preach to us.  He marched up and down the aisle, all enthusiastic about what he was saying.  He came back to the front of the bus and kept slapping his Bible repeating “Las Palabras de Dio….. las palabras de Dio.”  He was so earnest and determined all the while right behind him, from monitors over both shoulders, Steve Martin was whirling around holding on to a ceiling fan yelling something in Spanish at the top of his lungs.  The preacher was oblivious.  He wrapped up his sermon, smiled, took a bow and walked off the bus.