“Solange’s Side” is a reader-supported Tuesday letter in which I ramble on about idiosyncratic or divisive topics, à la Carrie Bradshaw or Larry David—minus the high-heels or bald head.
I may be the only person with a beating heart who’s perturbed by the multiple-award-nominated movie CODA about a young girl born to deaf parents who wants to leave her family (and their business) to pursue her dream of being a singer. It sounds innocent enough—and the film itself is, in fact, lovely—but stick with me.
About a month after moving to Paris in late 2014, I decided to go see my first French film without any subtitles. The movie? “La Famille Bélier.” The plot? A young girl born to deaf parents wants to leave the family (and their business) to pursue her dream of being a singer.
Sound familiar?
I went to see this film, which itself had been nominated for French cinema’s highest honors (a César) and starred a talented young singer (Louane Emera) who had been a semi-finalist in France’s The Voice. The movie really touched me. In fact, I wrote a whole blog post about it back when I was doing such a thing.
Here are some highlights:
During the viewing of this French film, while there were certainly jokes I didn’t get and dialogue that was beyond my comprehension, overall, I totally understood the movie—by way of feeling it.
The main songs highlighted in the film—Je Vais T’aimer and Je Vole—are by French singer Michel Sardou. While I was able to translate “Je Vais T’aimer” to “I will love you,” I could only guess what she was trying to say when she sang “Je Vole.” That is, until she started signing while singing so that her parents could understand her, which made the whole experience powerfully meta: me, not being able to completely understand the French, her parents not being able to hear her.
Not only did this movie do what all good movies should do—generate feelings—it also strengthened my own resolve to “voler.” To fly. I was only about a month into living in Paris where I myself rarely understood the language of those around me. I empathized both with Louane’s character, who is hearing and wanted to get away; and her parents, who are deaf and wanted her to stay. I wanted to experience the unknown; to be daring and to soar, yet I also couldn’t fathom how to tackle what lie ahead. (Note: In no way do I mean to diminish or downplay the struggles surrounding the disability of deafness. I am merely saying that, in a very small way, the language impediments felt parallel to my own at the time.)
I spent the next few weeks thinking about the film’s message and listening to Louane Emera on repeat, writing:
I feel thankful for the ability to be able to listen to [both songs] in their purest form. But I feel even more privileged to have felt them first—no subtitles needed.
So you can imagine my frustration when America took the film and overhauled it for American audiences. La Famille Bélier became CODA (which stands for “Child of Deaf Adults”) and the Béliers became the Rossis. They didn’t own a cheese farm (because rural France), but were fishermen (because Gloucester, Mass.). But both Dads have bushy beards and the parents like to have a lot of sex. In fact, for the most part, the films are otherwise identical.