Review: Lost in Translation

There's something to be said for the dreamy, patient quality that Sofia Coppola displayed in her first feature, The Virgin Suicides and now, in its even better follow-up, Lost in Translation. Coppola specializes in a kind of willful, hallucinatory brand of formal chops when it comes to her filmmaking style. That she utilizes her talents to tell the stories of such lost souls is enormously important and illuminating. She's a wonderfully patient filmmaker. She allows her films the space to breathe and grow as they progress; they seem to blossom, rather than just transpire.

Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is in Japan to collect a $2 million payday for endorsing a hip brand of whiskey. He's a former movie star now going through a standard midlife crisis, complete with a wife he doesn't understand and kids he loves but seemingly can't relate to. Also adrift in Japan is Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), the prudish young wife of a hipster photographer (Giovanni Ribisi), who is having trouble coming to grips with her young married life and the fact that she feels everyone around her is inferior to her.

Bob and Charlotte meet in the middle of their respective journeys through the impenetrable landscape of bustling Japan. They quickly unite, forming a kind of flirtatious bond, in which they survive together, rather than drown alone.

Coppola is careful not to get overly sentimental when it comes to her two leads. Bob and Charlotte are both incredibly self-centered. Sure, Bob's wife (whom we only meet through faxes and overheard phone calls) is distant and inattentive, but she's also been left at home by her big-name husband to deal with the kids, redecorating the house, etc. We know that Bob is hurting, going through a crisis of identity, but he also selfishly expects his wife to drop all that she's doing to cater to his bruised ego.

Likewise, Charlotte is a bit snobbish when it comes to others. She looks down upon her husband's actress friend (shrewdly played by Anna Faris), and when he calls her on the mat for her derisiveness, she shuts him off, turns him away.

Coppola has mastered the notion that the world we live in can be completely alien to us, and that we can feel like strangers because of it, even in our own skin. The characters are constantly framed against the enormous, flamboyant backdrop of bustling Japan, reinforcing their solitude and melancholy. It's obvious that Bob and Charlotte would doubtfully fall together outside of their unusual predicament. But each of them finds the culture clash so overwhelming that they feel the need to find a kindred spirit to weather the storm. Their seemingly plutonic romance develops gradually, through casual conversations and nights spent on the town. They never consummate. Rather, Charlotte turns to Bob for assurances that married life gets easier, less painful. He tells her it never really does, but then also expounds upon the joys of parenthood.

The two lead performances are irresistable. Scarlett Johansen, so droll in Ghost World, has matured greatly as a performer. Here she is relaxed, yet elusively timid. Her Charlotte is all heart, despite her pseudo-intellectual posturing to the contrary. Bill Murray, in the best, most fully realized, performance of his career, is carefully mannered, sublimely comical and breathlessly sad, sometimes all at once. I often wonder why some folks are constantly surprised at what a remarkable actor he's become. He gives the kind of performance that awards should be given for.

Coppola's remarkable comedy confirms that her auspicious debut, The Virgin Suicides, was no fluke. Her serenely assured direction here is moving and transcendent. Lost in Translation is one of the best films of the year.

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