Lost In Translation (2003)

4.0

DRAMA

U.S. Release Date: 09/12/03

Running Length: 102 Minutes

MPAA Classification: R (Profanity, Brief Nudity)

Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1

Cast: Bill Murray, Scarlett Johansson, Giovanni Ribisi, Anna Faris

Director: Sofia Coppola

Screenplay: Sofia Coppola

Cinematography: Lance Acord

Music: Kevin Shields, Brian Reitzell

U.S. Distributor: Focus Features

Review by: Carter Moulton

12/27/09

Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation is a film about loneliness, reflectivity, and the beauty of conversation—all of which are universally felt.

Imagine you’re walking on a star. Far away from the galaxy we live in—far away from Earth and the moon and the sun. Listen to the quiet of the universe. It’s silent, as if every molecule in eternity is fast asleep. You look around. You’re surrounded by the LiteBrite Display that we so often take for granted—completely engulfed and glowing. The stars resemble candles hung from different lengths of string. You turn around and see a star in every direction. You’re isolated; you’re absorbed.

Lost in Translation may be the closest alternative to this state of consciousness. Coppola’s story about an out-of-date actor and his business trip to Tokyo is told quietly, slowly, with a focus on stirring the audience’s reverie.

Surrounded by noticeably shorter, happier people, Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is alone in Tokyo. Although he’s never been to Japan before, he’s constantly on the road working and away from his family—he even forgets his son’s birthday. But the film doesn’t paint him as an awful father or an inconsiderate self-indulgist; he’s just someone going through the motions, not feeling much of anything on either side. “I gotta get outta here,” he says to his agent over the phone.

Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) is much younger, but her situation seems to result in the same feeling—or lack thereof. She’s often by herself as well, as her husband John (Giovanni Ribisi), a photographer, is constantly out snapping portraits of bands and celebrities.

Photo © Focus Features

Harris and Charlotte glance at each other on the hotel’s elevator, but it isn’t until a sleepless night that they converse for the first time. They both head down to the hotel bar, which is dimly lit with city lights sneaking through the lounge windows. And they talk. Much of what Bob Harris and Charlotte do in the film is talk and listen, listen and talk, and listening has never been so meditative.

Lost In Translation offers to different views of Tokyo—the illuminated modernity of its city and the handcrafted traditionalism of its culture. We see American advertisements peppered on the streets and Japanese youths clustered inside of arcades, but we also see the culture’s love of nature and peace within the region’s landscapes. It’s this dichotomy that nestles in snuggly with Harris and Charlotte as characters, both of whom are trying desperately to find themselves.

Through dialogue and composition, the film observes their time together, sometimes friendly, sometimes fatherly, sometimes romantically. Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine provides some of the original music, and his contributions provide an ample soundtrack for Coppola’s movie.

The film is a comedy, but its dramatic elements outweigh the gut-busting. Coppola doesn’t turn the narrative to Gak just to create a laugh; she finds humor in the nature of human beings. For instance, Bob receives a fax from his wife, who’s obviously forgotten how time zones work, at four in the morning, and we see Bob nearly injure himself on an aerobic exercise machine because he has no idea how to read Japanese—ignorance most of us can relate to.

It may appear as though the film takes a few jabs at Japanese stereotypes—Bob towers over a dozen Japanese businessmen in the hotel elevator—but Coppola also pokes fun at American culture’s fascination with dim-witted celebrities.

The cinematography pops out and is overflowing with ingenuity—one night, while Charlotte and Bob talk in their hotel room, Coppola points the camera out the window, letting us to stare at the city below. The way the scene is framed allows us to watch the two talk via reflection if we want to—the choice is ours. Coppola uses a shallow depth of field during many scenes, including the opening credits sequence where Harris (Bill Murray) gazes out of his limousine at the neon fields of Tokyo.

While listening to quiet conversation in hotel rooms and finding camaraderie and adventure in the most unlikely of places, the blurred city lights of Tokyo seem to turn into stars, and it’s at that point you realize you’re there. You’re isolated; you’re absorbed.