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Lost in Translation
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If you think about the relationships in your life that have been the most memorable and affecting, you might realize that they're not always the ones that have been the longest. Lost in Translation, the small and heartbreaking new film from Sofia Coppola, is the story of such a relationship - the kind that just can't work out, for one reason or another, and stops almost before it starts, but has an emotional richness that changes both participants greatly.
In telling the story of two Americans abroad in Tokyo, who unexpectedly find themselves in the middle of a short-term friendship, Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson turn in absolutely sublime performances. Creating a memorable portrait of two lonely hearts disconnected from the confines of reality, far away from home, they are not searching for anything in particular, yet forging a connection of bittersweet and moving authenticity.
Bob Harris (Murray) is an American movie star in Tokyo to shoot a whiskey commercial, and Charlotte (Johansson) is a young wife, following the coattails of her photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi), on assignment abroad. Both are sort of drifting around the neon city without much focus, and neither is able to sleep. A chance encounter in the hotel bar begins their relationship. And then, they coincidentally meet again.
They keep running into each other in a perfect example of synchronicity, and soon they begin to explore the city together, both with time on their hands and neither interested in the obvious sort of attraction most films today aspire to. Over the course of dinners, karaoke nights out and subtle conversations, they develop a deep and unspoken bond.
At first glance, they seem to have nothing in common. He's older and world-weary; she's younger and inexperienced. He's nearing the end of his professional career; she hasn't decided what she wants to do with her life. He's experienced the sometimes happy, sometimes sad box of marriage and family; she's in an intensely open and unrestrictive marriage.
But after setting up these superficial character descriptions and letting them begin to breathe together, they realize, as do we, that they're quite alike - both suffering from the modern malaise of spiritual emptiness, searching for something more. That they find a temporary reprieve in each other, in an unexpected place and at the wrong time for both, is bittersweet, in a film that wisely keeps the scale of its relationship in check. This is a "small" movie by definition - it's all about subtle, tiny glances and memorable looks, conversations, quiet moments, unspoken feelings and breaking hearts.
Sofia Coppola, who's now getting just vindication for her decade-ago press vilification - received after doing her father the simple favor of starring in his movie - has more than come into her own as an assured writer-director. I found her previous outing The Virgin Suicides to be a remote yet effective tale that never quite connected emotionally but was well directed and performed.
This time working from her own script, she's created a love letter to the exoticism of falling in love in a far away place, being seduced by location as much as love, going out on a small limb while disconnected from virtually anything that grounds you.
Coppola has a personal affinity for Tokyo, and after several stays in the Tokyo Park Hyatt, got the idea for the film from the chance meetings she kept having with other hotel guests, particularly Americans, sort of disoriented by the culture, time shift, etc. The film vividly captures that disconnect. Shooting with a high-speed film and under low lighting conditions, Coppola and director of photography Lance Accord create a dreamy, grainy world that feels almost underlit at times, but creates a docu-authenticity to the late night scenes that feels just about right.
Bill Murray, possibly the most criminally underused actor in movies today, is still a funny man par excellence, and his dry expressions during a hilarious commercial shoot and language interpretation session are spot-on funny. But there's a sleepy, quietly scaled-down quality to his work here that never steps outside the character - he never showboats here, and is perfectly believable as a somewhat disillusioned middle-aged man, quietly fascinated by this younger woman for reasons other than simple sex. Moreover, Coppola, who wrote the role for him after seeing his delicate and sweet performance in Rushmore, coaxes the almost romantic leading man from him as well. His late-film, lovelorn gazes at Johansson as she exits a hotel lobby, his casual massaging of her toe as they lie innocently together on a bed, his final whisper in her ear, are delicately moving and represent a depth he's not explored in movies prior.
And Scarlett Johansen, who made an indelible impression with her debut in The Horse Whisperer and has kept herself below the radar screen in smaller, supporting roles and lower profile independent films - creates a real and offbeat young woman here, with her husky voice and siren's looks, downplayed here but still impossible to overlook. She has ready access to her emotions, and knows well how and when to let them go.
In smaller, more vapid roles, Anna Faris and Giovanni Ribisi turn in able performances. Faris, in particular, effectively plays an empty-headed, flamboyant American starlet on a media tour in Tokyo, nailing her star pretentiousness with the same confidence she brought to a similarly smart supporting turn this year in the well-made thriller May.
Lost in Translation, with its dreamy, low-key story of how two unlikely people in an unlikely land become intoxicated with the sense of goodwill in each other, is a chaste love story that couldn't feel more romantic if it tried. It's true there are no big scenes in the film, no emotional outbursts, no grand declarations, no swelling musical score and no passionate lovemaking. But the sweetness of this little movie and its small character moments lingers long after you've seen it. It's a gem.
Highly recommended.
Rated R
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105 Minutes
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Nudity
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