"Lost in Translation" (2003)

                                                                    

Bob, a well-known Hollywood star played by Bill Murray, is stuck in Tokyo to shoot a lucrative whiskey commercial. He is amusingly confused by the unfamiliarity around him, and depressed by his own mid-life crisis.  Staying at the same Tokyo hotel is Charlotte, played by Scarlett Johansson, a young woman searching for her identity. She is unhappily married to a neglectful, wannabe-hipster celebrity photographer, whom she has joined in Japan while he is on assignment.  After meeting by chance in the hotel bar, Bob and Charlotte develop a brief, affirming friendship that turns into platonic romance in “Lost in Translation”, director Sofia Coppola’s delicate tone-poem of a film.

“Lost in Translation” masterfully portrays the dilemma of strangers in a strange land, whether that strange land happens to be another country, or a life that suddenly makes no sense.  It’s a languid comedy about boredom and confusion, about finding fellowship and love amid the chaos.  Unfamiliar language is key to the charm and meaning of this movie.  (A significant portion of the dialogue is spoken in untranslated Japanese)

I watched this movie again as we are perplexed anew by the coronavirus, and how best to contain its spread. The world seems almost unrecognizable now, like being trapped in a Twilight Zone in which everyone has blank expressions.  Since masks are becoming mandatory in many areas, this is almost literally true; we are so used to reading faces to determine emotions, and to use our expressions to communicate, that we are suddenly unsure how to connect with anyone whose mouth is covered with a cloth mask. The language of our expressions has been taken away.

The movie has a dream-like quality that captures Bob and Charlotte’s disorientation in a landscape that is completely foreign to them, where the language is unintelligible to them, whose customs sometimes seem absurd and unintentionally funny.  

Their bewilderment and isolation is tangible, and mirrors ours.  Stay-at-home orders isolated us from each other physically.  Now we feel isolated in public, because our facemasks wipe out the meaning behind our human expressions. They appear as warning signals against human connection.

When Bob and Charlotte meet, their connection is one of immediate relief and comfort:  with their figurative “masks” removed, they have a common language with which they can share their fears, uncertainty, loneliness, and even some laughs.  

As their gentle relationship progresses, Coppola’s screenplay makes clear that these individuals still have lives that they must resolve; and while we in the audience might enjoy seeing these two people remain together, the film takes a more compassionate, more adult direction.  Coppola respects these characters as much as they respect each other, so it’s refreshing that the story, slight as it is, does not rely on the usual clichés of a doomed love affair.

“Lost in Translation” seems to float by in a gorgeous, colorful fog.  While the average movie can be compared to a painting, this film is a more like a sketch, with just enough lines and contours to allow our minds to fill in the spaces and complete the portrait. The new-age music sets a meditative tone, as the camera records bright colors in soft focus,  gliding through crowds and gardens, arcades and taxi rides, restaurants and skyscapes.

We are surprised by what our American protagonists see and experience, and we share their curiosity. The film’s clear-eyed honesty and quiet tone make these things surprisingly intriguing and, sometimes, even hilarious. 

Charlotte contemplates a huge electronic light-board, and the image of a dinosaur moving in slow motion across it is strange and beautiful.  We are absorbed as Charlotte observes the hip young men who play unusual video games in a bright, loud arcade.  We share Charlotte’s hushed mystery as she eavesdrops inside of a Buddhist temple, or comes upon a lovely wedding party, while the groom takes the bride’s hand in an exquisite closeup.

We laugh out loud at Bob’s struggle with a health-club treadmill, or at his automated hotel-room drapes opening in the morning like an alarm clock. We appreciate his incredulity at a movie director who shouts instructions, on and on, in Japanese, only to have it be translated in two words (“More intensity”).   

There is an uproarious scene in which a well-dressed lady of the evening is sent to Bob’s room, resulting in the movie’s grand moment of slapstick miscommunication.  Here, and in other sequences, “Lost in Translation” gets a lot of mileage from the American-Japanese language difference, especially the switching of the “l” and “r” sounds (“Lip my stocking”).  Today, this might seem borderline politically-incorrect; but it is handled in so straightforward, understated and non-threatening a manner, that it is hard to take offense.

(It would be interesting to know how people from Japan react to this movie.)

The two leads are excellent; the movie would not have worked without either of them.

Bill Murray is the master of deadpan comedy. His almost wordless monologue, as he postures with different expressions during the whiskey commercial, is priceless screen acting. Under his deadpan cynicism, Murray shows us Bill’s kind soul, and his pain. In his first parting with Charlotte during a vapid photo session with his crew, Charlotte retreats to the elevator, and Murray shows us Bob's forced happiness, along with the sadness that is buried in his eyes.  

Scarlett Johansson is a beautiful presence, with a welcoming smile, and her own reserves of insecurity and pain.  She has great chemistry with Murray, who is capable of dominating a scene, but not here. She  convincingly asserts herself with her flighty husband, if only to convince herself that she has a life of her own.  (Giovanni Ribisi is miscast as her husband, John; he seems less like a cool artist than an eager attendee at Comicon.)

The film uses surprisingly little dialogue, but what is there often provides moving insight. Bill’s long-distance phone calls with his abrupt wife are revealing.  Bill and Charlotte’s banter in a hospital waiting room, or a sushi restaurant, display the humor and joy of good improvisation.  Charlotte is heartbreaking as she reaches out to her mother on the phone, who clearly is not hearing between the lines.  

Some of the most eloquent moments are unspoken.  Bill’s reaching out to softly touch Charlotte’s foot, as they share an intimate, nonsexual conversation in bed, says more than any amount of dialogue could have.

The most famous example of this quiet eloquence occurs at a wonderful moment near the end.  This moment has prompted hours of analysis and discussion.  As Bill and Charlotte say goodbye on a crowded street, he leans in and whispers something in her ear.  We don’t hear it.  Coppola wisely writes no dialogue for this.  We know that Bill is taking advantage of a once-in-a lifetime moment, expressing something from his heart.  What he says makes them both happy. That feeling of satisfaction is what the movie is going for, and it’s what we are meant to take away.  In this moment, “Lost in Translation” achieves wordless poetry.