I started working as a kid doing dubbing, and then I started doing television when I was 11 or 12, and then movies, and I worked mostly in French, and then I started working in English, and then I moved to New York. So I think I managed to find a way to always make it a challenge for myself.
The dubbing of the music and effects is really incredible today. You're feeling gun shots. I mean, it's not the way people say it is, but the gunshot sounds real. And cars sound real. Among the many things in the evolution (of movies) is to make the sound in the movie incredible. That's what you feel.
Yet in recent years I have witnessed a new phenomenon among filmgoers, especially those considered intelligent and perceptive. I have a name for this phenomenon: the Instant White-out. People are closeted in cozy darkness; they turn off their mobile phones and willingly give themselves, for ninety minutes or two hours, to a new film that got a fourstar rating in the newspaper. They follow the pictures and the plot, understand what is spoken either in the original tongue or via dubbing or subtitles, enjoy lush locations and clever scenes, and even if they find the story superficial or preposterous, it is not enough to pry them from their seats and make them leave the theatre in the middle of the show. But something strange happens. After a short while, a week or two, sometimes even less, the film is whitened out, erased, as if it never happened. They can't remember its name, or who the actors were, or the plot. The movie fades into the darkness of the movie house, and what remains is at most a ticket stub left accidentally in one's pocket.
Abraham B. Yehoshua