Lost in Translation (2003)

I was hesitant to watch this film as every hipster and their mom loves it, and I began watching it with my arms crossed daring it to impress me. I regret to say that the hipsters were right about this one. A moody comedy, or a comedic drama, Lost in Translation is an irony about a girl searching for meaning, and a man searching for fulfillment. They find these things and more when they happen upon each other in a hotel in Tokyo.

He is Bob Harris (Bill Murray), a fading American film star who is being paid $2 million to represent a Japanese whiskey. Frustrated by his job, lackluster marriage, and young children who get used to his absence he finds as much solace as a man can in the hotel bar. He is constantly told to give "more intensity." She is Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), the wife to famous photographer accompanying him on one of his trips abroad. Recently out of school and unsure of where her life is going, she tries to take in the Japanese culture--viewing chanting monks, listening to Zen CD's--all to no avail. After some exchanged glances and passed drinks they finally talk, and a week long friendship of intense love is formed. Their days together are spent experiencing Japan in its entirety, pointing out its lunacy, and its beauty.

Sofia Coppola has created a work of great art for this new age of film-making. The comedy of her work is situational and not particularly clever, but it got genuine laughter from me as she made me realize that Japan is really a world away. It is a strange and baffling place full of stereotypes and wonderment and, like her characters, we wade through it trying to find something to cling on to. What that something turns out to be is a complete stranger, but avoiding the cliches of the two star-crossed lovers plot, it is a story told in a way that is not only endearing, it is one that made me envious. The genuine chemistry betwen the two characters was so convincing that I could imagine it happening anywhere in the world, and will make sure that I smile at everyone that I meet in elevators on the off chance it inspires a similar story.

I was never one who really understood the cult of personality that seems to have grown around Bill Murray. Some people really dislike me for this, but I have always felt that behind all of his incredible comedic timing there was a jerk lying somewhere underneath, and I have found that repugnant. His work in this, however, startled me in the best of ways. So calm and understated, he caught me off guard with his likability. To be sure he had his comedic moments--this was his film, and he harnessed it with authority--but he approached each one with restraint and only the slightest wink to the audience that he understood the ridiculousness of the situations, and that is where the best moments came from. L.C. Knight writes that "comedy is the first-born of common sense," meaning that the best comedians are people who know best how the world is supposed to function, and therefore see the things that stray from normality most clearly. But more than that, it is the comedian's job to relay that information in such a way that the audience sees how it strays from the normal without clubbing them over the head with it. Murray did this with exemplary skill. It was a joy to watch him wield comedic swords with such swiftness and precision that they are almost unseen.

I spent a while trying to figure out what "Lost in Translation" as a title meant, in more than just the literal meaning of cultural barriers. Both characters suffer from insomnia while in Tokyo which becomes something of an ongoing joke between Bob and Charlotte. In one scene Bob slips a message under her hotel room door with "Are you awake?" typed on it. In another--the film's most quiet and reflective scene--the two are on Charlotte's bed talking of their past and of their fears with such sincerity that I believe I discovered the meaning. There are several phone conversations between Bob and his wife that are so guarded that it is impossible not to notice the difference between the way he talks to her, and how he talks to Charlotte. Perhaps the only time when we are completely honest with all of our defenses lowered is when we are with people we don't know; those we have spent all of our lives around may know more about us than others simply because of the longevity of the relationship, but do we talk to them with an open heart as we should? Do we second-guess ourselves, and anticipate reactions? If we know how a person behaves would it not make sense that we shape our words to obtain a positive reaction? A complete stranger disarms our security and exposes our true feelings. Nothing, then, is lost in translation--we say precisely what we mean.

Coppola fit so much into such short amount of time that I feel I would need to watch it again to be able to give an analysis of half of it. There is a wonderful bit added for all of the film-buffs of the world. One evening the two of them watch Fellini's La Dolce Vita with Japanese subtitles--it was the scene in which Marcello joins Sylvia in the fountain. It struck me that Marcello was a man that fit the descriptions of both Bob and Charlotte, and that Sylvia was the personification of their situation. It was wonderfully paralleled. The film, however, is summed up in its final moments. What a magnificent decision not to let the audience hear what he whispers to her. Perhaps he told her he loved her, or that she shouldn't worry about her future, or that he would search for her when he returned to the United States. It doesn't matter, because it was exactly what he wanted to say, and that is beautiful.

4/4