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Lost in Translation 2003 |
Review by Jonathan Cornwell |
Directed by Sofia Coppola
R, 105 min. (some sexual content) |
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Starring: Bill Murray, Scarlett Johansson, Giovanni Ribisi, Anna Faris, Yutaka Tadokoro
Producers: Ross Katz, Sofia Coppola
Screenplay: Sofia Coppola
Cinematography: Lance Acord
Distributor: Focus Features
Released: 9.12.03 (Limited) |
Rating:
 (out of ) |
Director Sofia Coppola's brilliant and absorbing Lost in Translation only confirms that her fledgling talent evident
in her first film, The Virgin Suicides, was no fluke. As her father, Francis Ford Coppola, catapulted his career with the
visionary The Godfather, Sofia has found the perfect foundation upon which to build her own. Simply put, Lost in Translation is
a masterpiece - a film whose director understands the undertones of everyday life and how to coax career performances from
her cast. To see this film is to understand how mainstream Hollywood filmmaking has gone astray; instead of emphasizing
the obvious, Lost in Translation underscores the mystery and wonder of human relationships and their impact on the
the unsuspecting souls that find themselves lost in its dizzying grip. The two people here that find each other amidst cultural
and domestic turmoil do so out of a need to communicate with someone who is simply there to listen. Coppola's rare gift
for highlighting the peripheral needs over the medial wants buoys her film's distinctive elegance, a wistful examination
of loneliness trumped by the simple exuberance of newfound friendship.
Coppola's film is so unforced it's hard to believe filmmaking could seem so easy, which is usually a sign that a masterwork
is in progress. The relationship that ensues between a fading film star, Bob (Bill Murray), and a lonely young wife,
Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), is a study of the human desire for comforting in the midst of communicative isolation.
Set in a plush hotel against the bright lights of Tokyo's fast-paced economy, Bob and Charlotte find the perfect salve for burgeoning
emotional wounds that threaten to sqeeze the life out of their outwardly successful lives. Bob, somewhat of an icon in
Japan, is in town to shoot a whiskey commercial to capitalize on a suddenly dwindling amount of work as an actor, something
that is painfully difficult to accept. Meanwhile, Charlotte's growing discontent with her husband's (Giovanni Ribisi) inability
to discern her need for attention only exacerbates the thought of her hotel room being nothing more than a prison cell in which
to further contemplate her lack of purpose in life. The two meet, at first a glance in the elevator, and then through casual
conversations at the hotel bar during sleepless nights, and soon find themselves inseparable for the remainder of their stay in Tokyo. They share
both surface and deep conversational subject matter, finding the ear and understanding of a stranger strangely preferable
to their significant others. But the brief interlude from their routine lives is only temporary.
The brilliance of Lost in Translation is evident in what the film doesn't do. It refuses to give in to the ordinary,
eschewing obligatory love scenes for the intricacies of friendship. Bob is in his 50s, Charlotte her early 20s, and although
the sexual attraction simmers beneath the exterior of their earnest selves, they both fear the loss of a special bond that
has formed between them with the complication that sex brings with it. These are two people that find each other at the
perfect time and the perfect place for mutual cathartic healing. It seems that their common "translation" is found only with
each other in a locale that forces their hand. Tokyo's unique customs and frenetic nightlife provide the unsettling backdrop
for their relationship, one that sparkles between coquettish dialogue and fanciful glances. Together, it seems, they finally
feel at home.
Coppola, who also wrote the insightful screenplay, has found the perfect balance between melodrama and comedy, although her film could hardly be neatly categorized
as either. And she certainly understands the value of quiet, moody scenes that create atmosphere. One of the strengths of her film comes from its
willingness to portray the ordinary with enthusiasm. Consider the scenes in the hotel, absent of musical accompaniment,
emphasizing the usually ignored sounds of the hallways, bar, gym, and natatorium. It's these simple scenes, especially
during a sequence when Bob carries Charlotte to her room, that reveal the film's attention to detail. Coppola frames her
characters in darkly lit bars and rooms, the bright bustling of the city streets, and even around the mass of people that
invade the characters' space. She has certainly learned from the great directors that background and atmosphere is critical
to providing the right framework for her story.
Because Coppola has done her homework, the stage is set for two of the year's best performances. Bill Murray and
Scarlett Johansson give assured, natural performances that are easily the best of their disparate careers. Murray's
resume is filled with high-energy, zany efforts that have defined his comedic talent for decades, but here his toned-down performance
results in the discovery of another side of his now multi-faceted ability as an actor. His humor, of which there is considerable
reserve, has never been better or more pronounced. He allows his Bob to remain the character that he has painstakingly
built, a man with a sense of humor that seems ready to burst at the seams if given the opportunity but is kept in check by
an overriding feeling of helpless midlife crises. Bob's wife is strangely distant on the phone, and even though he considers
his children a "miracle," he wonders where his place really is. Murray is able to muster the calm demeanor of a man
who is obviously anything but at peace with himself, a man with questions that have no real answers.
Johansson, whose career has steadily grown in stature over the years, most recently in Ghost World, plays Charlotte with a real world
resonance that culminates in a role that also should earn her recognition come Oscar season. Her Charlotte craves the attention
that her preoccupied husband keeps from her, thereby opening the door for the emotional kinship that Bob's similarly searching
soul seeks to find. The long hours staring out the hotel room window and searching for contentment are met with Bob's
world-wise presence and conviction. Johansson offers Murray the kind of chemistry that similar screen couples dream of as
they play off each other as if they've known each other for years, eliciting the relaxed, open-hearted trust in each others'
most hidden secrets. Her luminous effort here reminds me of other young actresses that also made the transition from
child actor to matured adult performer.
Lost in Translation reminded me of two other films, Richard Linklater's Before Sunrise and Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love;
one that reveled in intellectualism, the other in moody, unrequited love. This film is a fusion of both influences; it uses the
deep conversations of Before Sunrise as the primer for In the Mood for Love's heartfelt emotional connection, as Translation's
characters are stimulated by both each others' kindred mind and spirit. The surreal bonding that takes place between two
people that would normally only cast a casual smile at each other becomes almost transcendent. That Coppola is able to
create such an environment is further testament to her now obvious masterful direction.
If it seems that the film is dominated by its moody introspective nature, it's wonderfully offset by light touches of comedy
that ease the existentialism brooding at the surface. Murray's offbeat comedic presence lends itself to moments of
hilarity rarely found in most comedies today. Consider the scene when the blinds in his hotel room suddenly open at daybreak,
or his curious disgust with his own oversaturation in the Japanese culture, or his daily routine that finds humor in its simplicity,
or his karaoke performance that remains even-keeled, or even his appreciation for Japanese nightlife. Then there's his
response to a hooker sent to his room for a "massage," where he can't understand her intentions. And so on. These sporadic
moments elevate Lost in Translation above its intended destination. And they come to life because Murray, more
than anyone else working today, understands comedy.
In the end, I think Lost in Translation is about the various "translations" that are lost between people and cultures.
Bob can't understand his gang of caretakers, Charlotte can't communicate with her husband, Bob can't understand his
wife anymore, Charlotte doesn't understand herself, but somehow, someway, Bob and Charlotte understand each other
completely. Their translation is perfect, a language that only they seem to understand. There's a final sequence in the picture
that's one of the better, more thoughtful, conclusions in some time. Bob whispers, inaudible to us, something in Charlotte's ear,
which could be almost anything. But their bittersweet parting is, at least for the moment, once again overshadowed by
their radiant appreciation for each other's presence.
© 2003 Jonathan Cornwell
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 |
 | Masterpiece - Film perfection |
 | Excellent - A Must See |
| Good - Highly Recommended |
| Fair - Worth seeing |
| Average - Viewable, but not recommended |
| Below average - View at own risk |
| Poor - Avoid at all costs |
| Very poor - An embarassment to the film industry |
| Zero | Awful - One of the worst films ever made |
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