by Jaime Grijalba
“I read the introduction to Dionysos by Karl Kerènyi. He begins by returning to the theme of the untranslatable nature of languages. “Each language is a different way of apprehending the world”. Our current language would be the set of misunderstandings created by translations. (It’s not a quote. It’s my personal extension).” – Ruiz Diaries, October 24th, 1997
There are people who live in a constant state of translation: migrants, refugees, exiles, people who’ve found themselves needing to leave their birthplaces in search of new horizons. Some of them learn their local language by simply powering through it upon arrival, while others have the chance to learn prior to their departure.
Raúl Ruiz wasn’t ignorant of other languages, so his situation wasn’t as dire as others. He surely had studied English and French, as they were part of the curriculum in the Chilean education system at that time. But his inherent fascination was with Spanish, and particularly Chilean Spanish: a rambling, sped-up, extremely local way of speaking the Latin American language that is mostly unintelligible for the majority of Spanish speakers.
Ruiz explored the nuances and particularities of that language in all of his Chilean films. From Tres Tristes Tigres (1968) (the title itself a reference to a famous Spanish tongue twister), to the last film he directed La Noche de Enfrente (2012) (with its fascination with the magical power of the word “rododendro”) and extends into his posthumous work, particularly La Telenovela Errante (shot at the start of the 1990s, but released in 2017, a testament to Chilean speech and culture and how 17 years of dictatorship had damaged it).
Ruiz’s fascination was supported by study, reading books on Chilean speech patterns and even writing about it at length, but he also lived it. Even if he left Chile in 1973 after the USA-supported coup, he never stopped speaking or writing like a Chilean. That can be patently seen in his published Diaries (edited by Bruno Cuneo in two volumes back in 2017).
From the outlandish style of ordering words in a nonsensical manner, to the use of native analogies and metaphors, to the curse words and even the typical phrases of any other Chilean dirty old man, Ruiz’s diary can be read as the testament of someone that clearly never truly left Chile behind.
Chile can be seen and felt in nearly every film he made, through the casting of old Chilean friends in bit parts, or the constant presence of Jorge Arriagada’s music throughout the years. Sometimes Chile can appear out of the blue, like in Love Torn in a Dream (2000), when pirates are mentioned as they take over the city of Coquimbo, or as a pivotal plot point, as it happens in Three Crowns of the Sailor (1982), where the protagonist shares that his Odyssean tale starts in the port city of Valparaíso.
“If in poetry it can be said that the language goes on holiday, in cinema it can be said that the real world goes on holiday.” – Ruiz Diaries, February 22nd, 2003
Ruiz’s Chile, at least in the films he didn’t make in Chile, always feels far away, like a half-remembered dream. It’s the place where something fascinating could happen, or the butt of a joke. But the most fascinating example is found in On Top of the Whale (1982), a film about an anthropologist who moves to the Chilean Patagonia to study the language of the last two members of the Yachane tribe.
We’re immediately thrown by the mix of languages spoken by every character, moving from Dutch to English to, yes, Chilean Spanish, and even adding an invented language that the indigenous people speak and is the object of study for the anthropologist. I bring special attention to the verbose Chilean characters that sneak in a curse word every two or three words when they speak among themselves—a very Chilean trait. But which Chilean was watching On Top of the Whale in 1982? This is a joke for Ruiz and Ruiz only… and for viewers who find his films decades later.
“Attempt to translate “A Poem in October” by Dylan Thomas.” – Ruiz Diaries, July 29th, 2003
The constant translation and revolution of the languages (this phrase would be much more beautiful in Spanish: “la constante traducción y translación de los lenguajes”) gives it a dizzying effect, but also manifests Ruiz’s state of mind a few years after his forced exile.
That dizzy feeling is also present in Ruiz’s diaries, but also in my daily efforts in writing about film and in the translation of those diaries. That constant feeling of moving back and forth between two languages, two ways of understanding the world, and then to find out that what you wanted to say wasn’t correct. At times, it ends up feeling like white noise.
In February 2018, I started a Tinyletter (now Substack) called “The Ruiz Diaries”. In it I vowed to translate every entry from the diaries of Raúl Ruiz that had been published in Spanish. Since there was no translation announced, and some friends in my networks were curious about the stuff I was finding out as I read them, it gave me the idea to just try to translate them into English so they could find a wider audience.
My intent was for “The Ruiz Diaries” to be a useful repository of information that people might use in their work regarding the Chilean filmmaker. Also, I think he was very funny and I wanted to share that.
The Diaries begin in 1993 and end with Ruiz’s death in 2011. At the time of writing this I’m still doing it and I’m up to 2004. It’s been a project of ups and downs in terms of regularity, but I’ve been consistent for the past few years, a daily entry from Monday to Friday, no matter how long or short they are.
“Intimate question: why did I bring to Portugal an Easter Island language grammar book?” – Ruiz Diaries, November 26th, 1993
In almost seven years of writing these, an official translation has come out, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. It wasn’t a complete translation (the two volumes are quite hefty and I doubt any publishing house would be willing to bet on the financial success of a translation of the diaries of a still mostly obscure Chilean director), and it didn’t give much context to the more esoteric and bewildering phrases that Ruiz writes down.
I try my best to give enough context to what’s happening, especially considering his use of the most extreme Chilean Spanish writing, which sometimes leads to what seems to be broken-down English. Ruiz is an excellent writer, but he repeats himself a lot, uses a lot of the same phrases to refer to the same daily events, and sometimes he just doesn’t finish his thoughts.
“Leafing through Agamben. He cites Wittgenstein: “When marveling at the world, the world is perceived as a miracle“. From the point of view of the miracle, language is seen as an act of marvel (the second part is mine).” – Ruiz Diaries, April 6th, 1997
Here and there I make horrible and egregious mistakes that sometimes have to be addressed in the next day’s entry. Have I already told you that I’m not a professional translator? Call me an amplifier. I just want Ruiz’s thoughts to be shared and I’m doing the best I can, and sometimes that just isn’t good enough, but through the diaries I’ve found people that have helped me improve the translation, reworking my thoughts, giving me advice and sometimes scolding me over the use of certain words.
The diaries have also brought me closer to Raúl Ruiz in a very intimate way. The first film by Ruiz I saw the day that he died, as Palomita Blanca (1973/92) was shown on public television. I was still young and I didn’t know better. The diaries have made me appreciate his work and above all his friends and those that he touched, as some of them have come forward through email to tell me stories about Ruiz, especially when their names appear on specific days.
Throughout the years I remember about the chance I had to meet him, that was before I had seen any of his films. It was a book launch, a book on Ruiz by one of my teachers at university. I was on my way and instead I had to meet someone that I, at that point, loved and had to stay with them. With hindsight, I can see myself and how I was manipulated, how I was hurt and how I was forced into telling them something I didn’t want to tell them, only so they could be at ease with themselves.
It still stings, because while Ruiz did visit Chile more frequently in his later days, this was probably the best chance I could’ve had to actually talk with him. But with time it hurts less and less as entries pile up and I share them with more than 300 subscribers on the Substack. Sometimes I find myself talking with Ruiz, laughing with him, finding his friendship through his friends and admirers. I’m not someone that can write about Ruiz in a way that is scholarly or thoughtful, because I’m too close to him.
He’s a friend, even if he’s grumpy, prone to sickness and hates going to Chile every time he mentions it. That memory of losing the chance of meeting him fades away more and more with each passing day, and that’s somewhat healing.
“Regarding the translation, is there an archetypal language to which every translation references?” – Ruiz Diaries, September 15th, 2004
I come back to those who live in that constant state of translation and then I think of those who find themselves in a precarious situation and have to learn a third language, a “universal” one, before they can speak what’s more commonly spoken there, a crutch in lieu of learning the complexities of the supposed “correct” choice.
They think in their mother language, speak in one and have to translate the other. What can translators learn from the experiences of these language exiles? We all know that not a single translation is faithful. What do we do with that?
Ruiz’s spoken English was fabulous but his French was atrocious (sounding out every syllable, as if you were reading from a book instead of speaking it). He speaks of being able to translate Romanian into Spanish after only reading a booklet, and then he mentions how he can’t seem to be able to make himself understood to British producers. I’m far away from being even similar to Ruiz in any way shape or form, but I can understand him. Every day a little bit more.
To support Grijalba’s work, make sure to read and subscribe to The Raúl Ruiz Diaries substack, which is updated daily. Any tips or donations are welcome.
Jaime Grijalba is a Chilean writer, programmer, filmmaker and translator based in Santiago, Chile. His work has appeared in The Brooklyn Rail, Notebook, Film Comment, The Film Stage, among others. He’s publicly translating the Raúl Ruiz Diaries on his Substack “The Ruiz Diaries”.
If you enjoyed this article, please consider tipping the author and/or supporting Ultra Dogme on Patreon so that we may continue publishing writing about film + music with love + care.