Feb '04 [Home]
Other Arts: Film
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Feb '04 [Home] Other Arts: Film Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation
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| . | . | . | Sofia Coppola, the writer/director of Lost In Translation, which won two prizes at the Venice Film Festival, has an impeccable pedigree—daughter of The Godfathers' Francis Ford Coppola, cousin of Oscar-winner Nicolas Cage, wife of filmmaker Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation). All this (and having Bill Murray in the cast) has garnered much media attention. Ms. Coppola's new movie stars Murray as Bob Harris, a one-time movie star doing a 2 million dollar star-turn in a commercial for a Japanese liquor ad shooting in Tokyo. Beautifully shot by cinematographer Lance Acord (who also shot those two Spike Jonze films), Lost is a minimalist mood piece. Lean and spare, it offers some fine dialogue, including two fresh and memorable monologues from Murray, and an enchanting performance by Scarlett Johansson as Charlotte, a photographer's young wife. (He's on assignment and she has too much free time.) She's as lost and unhappy as Mr. Murray's middle-aged former action star. But the two hook up in a lonely tête-à-tê00000000te, their isolation enhanced and haunted by their presence in a foreign land. Bill Murray is as ironic as ever and this little $4 million film does a lot with that minimal budget. The cutting is seamless as the camera explores the glitter of downtown Tokyo and the lives of two displaced people, Charlotte and Bob, backed by some seriously evocative music. Charlotte's childless two-year marriage and Bob Harris's 25-year bond have soured, with only his young children holding out some hope. Against all odds, a friendship slowly unfolds and blooms in the ruin of their deep need, like a sidewalk flower poking through concrete. The Japanese characters are all mere comic foils in this piece. But then, so are the handful of other Americans, all feeding the slow tide of the same unchanging sea. Alas, Mr. Murray, funny as always—and make no mistake I am a big fan: the man has given me more pure enjoyment onscreen than anybody this side of Buster Keaton—is no Jack Nicholson when it comes to angst. It's been said that poetry is what gets lost in translation. This film has plenty of poetry—visual, atmospheric, nuances of even minor characters. What's missing is the emotional poetry. A blank look is not necessarily a sign of emotional depth. It's a mask. And the mask of irony is not the mask of tragedy. We must either see you bleed or recognize the blood stains left behind. Bogart in Casablanca comes to mind. I always felt he earned that vapid anger. That it took a lot to bring him down. There is talk of an Oscar for Bill Murray in this, and if he wins, more power to him. Surely, he deserved one for Groundhog Day. Cary Grant and Chaplin never won best actor Oscars. Comedy is a poor stepchild in these matters. Lost In Translation is a real nice try with some great small touches—even the extras seem to have a story. Give us more little movies like this, please. We're not all fourteen and desperate for a happy ending. Ms. Coppola, with her lush and stunning visuals, shows much promise. It takes time. Her background in painting and still photography pays off here. It's a sad film, but not quite tragic. And it might have been. Executive Producers: Francis Ford Coppola, Fred Roos |