It happened in the late sixties and I do not know who started such a modern initiative. They called it cinema of art and essay. Without blushing, copying the always hypercultos French. I do not want to imagine the devastating response of an incontestable artist like Ford to those who framed his films in that emphatic and silly art and essay. The genre was inaugurated in Spain with the disturbing The servant. The biggest incentive that the cinema had for someone as frivolous as the signer was that most of those films received the moral qualification of "4. Seriously dangerous. " That is, you expected incessant sex. But neither. Suicide, blasphemy, subversion or adultery embodied something seriously dangerous for the viewer.
I also discovered for the first time The servant that the actors and actresses had their own voice, not bent, better or worse, but theirs, and that some signs (as the plain people called them) in the lower part of the screen allowed you to understand what they were saying. And, since then, I only admit subtitled movies. The dubbing is a very beastly attack, a film different from that conceived by its authors.
I followed with initial stupor and progressive fatigue the absurd controversy about the convenience or inconvenience of placing subtitles in Spanish for certain Latin American cinema. And we already know the hang of Franco with that pompous and absurd day of Columbus Day. Maybe I have hearing problems, but I swear I do not know about half of what the characters say in many movies from Argentina, Mexico, Peru, Chile, Colombia and other countries, brothers or sons of the Motherland, what the monster would say of the mustache and the atiplated voice. They ensure that a picture is worth a thousand words. This phrase should be negotiable. For me, it is essential to understand what I hear on the screen. I admire the will of realism on the part of the creators, but they subtitulen the indigenous languages to me.