Lost In Translation

Don’t ask why it took seventeen years for me to finally get down to the business of watching this movie, because I wouldn’t have an answer for you. It just doesn’t make logical sense, especially since it had been near the top of my ‘really need to see’ list for years now. I pulled the same number with another excellent movie, “American Beauty”, which also took nearly two decades of procrastination before finally taking the plunge. In fact, I came across a well written article about its core theme (Isolation) several years ago in an excellent article from The Nashville Scene, which elaborated on that singular aspect of the story, yet the movie remained unwatched.

I should take a moment here at the outset to admit that even after my first viewing, I was fairly let down. I enjoyed the acting, the humor, and found the story to be an adorable journey of discovery with several scenes being poignantly conceived, yet the movie left me expecting more, more dialog, more narrative….. more explanation.

But then caught myself in mid-thought and gave myself a firm talking to. Why? Because I should have known better. Hollywood has so conditioned me (us) to passively expect storylines that follow predefined, and well-trodden themes, with clearly orchestrated, served-on-a-platter conclusions, that when I didn’t receive the expected product, I felt dissatisfied. What I failed to appreciate during that first viewing was that Sofia Coppola, writer, and director, created a work of art that required some heavy lifting on my part and expected me to take full ownership of my own interpretations. In other words, I was expecting a cheat code instead of using my mind.

So, where to start? Well, this iconic photo would be a poignant way to begin as it shows the couple casually sharing a cigarette at a late-night Karaoke Bar, a million emotional miles away from the disfunction of their normal lives. We all know the photo well; I’ve seen it many times over the years without understanding why it seemed to hold such a distinguished honor in our pop culture. I vaguely understood it to be a low budget film about a relationship between an older Murry and a much younger Johansson, which struck me as a little creepy, but that was all I knew.

Ultimately, I believe the reason for my dodge was that Hollywood typically manufactures these type of relationships in their romantic comedies, where the two protagonists initially despise, distrust, or are in some way repelled by one another. Then through a series of comical or emotional blunders, they come to soften their position before ultimately giving into their ‘true’ feelings. Well, I just didn’t have time for another one. Just another contrived love affair didn’t interest me in the least. But “Lost” didn’t follow that script. The relationship I watched unfold on screen felt natural…. and never got creepy. In fact, I found it inspiring. It was a love affair, if you can even call it that, not of bodies but of mind and soul.

The movie is also one of the rare films that uses cinematography as a narrative device in and of itself. There are scenes specifically conceived with no dialog, and none was needed. One look at the scene presented all the clues required to read its intent. I remember a poignant interview with Roger Waters of Pink Floyd that is relevant to this point. In it, he explained that a key element to a great song is the importance of creating “space” within the melody. It was his opinion that true Art requires room to breathe, and it’s in that space that our intuitions can find their footing. Well, in a similar way, “Lost” has that same quality of space where we are left alone to ‘feel’ our way through a scene. It is a courageous leap of faith for a filmmaker because they are trusting their audience to be engaged and willing to do the required heavy lifting.

A quick snapshot of the film has Bill Murray playing Bob Harris, an aging movie star struggling to adjust to his declining career as he finds himself transitioning from a respected actor to hawking products off his fame, even complaining to Charlotte in an early scene how making two million dollars to promote a brand of Whiskey (the reason for his Tokyo visit) was an unwanted career option. And like Charlotte, he is committed to someone, his wife, who doesn’t see the inner turmoil eating away at him. All she offers is indifferent sarcasm instead.

Unlike Bob, Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) is at the opposite end of that spectrum and doesn’t quite know who she wants to be or what she wants out of life. She’s a recent graduate and newly married, but her photographer husband is constantly on the go and doesn’t appear to have the emotional bandwidth to see, nor appreciate her depth. She is searching in vain to find her authentic self but no one in her life seems capable of helping. Both characters are privately going through major life issues, and both feel completely alone as they navigate that path.

So, with that said, here are a few early scenes where the cinematography writes its own script.

Here we have Bob arriving in Tokyo, being shofered to his hotel, looking weary and disinterested. Note the lack of reflection on his window, suggesting a sort of detachment from his reason for even being there, while a similar shot of Charlotte is contrasted against Bob’s by reflecting the full spectacle of Tokyo. But there is crucial inference to her image, instead of showing curiosity and excitement, she looks intimidated by it all. She appears to shrink from the implications. The vastness of a city of 30 million people only amplifies her feelings of being inconsequential.

Then we have two shots showing their isolation, with both being silhouetted against the world at large. Charlotte is shown lost in her loneliness, with knees pulled in tight to show her sense of vulnerability, seemingly invisible to everyone, while Bob is lost in the responsibilities of his dwindling career.

And then similar shots of the deafening silence of boredom.

Then there are several scenes designed to give us a deeper look into their inner makeup, with each displaying a distinct level of self-possession, a quality that no one around them seems to show, and it’s this self-awareness that is contrasted against everyone they encounter. In one example, Charlotte wonders into an Arcade where she watches everyone not only content, but seemingly enthralled by frivolous games. I found this particular scene amusing because it shows a young guy playing an arcade guitar, with cigarette dutifully hanging from his lips, dripping with Rockstar swag, while a wannabe groupie watches on admiringly, while both seem completely oblivious that it’s just an arcade game! To match that, we have Bob in the hotel pool watching with amused curiosity at a group of middle-aged tourists comically performing in-pool aerobics.

Each of these scenes, and several others as well, appear early in the movie and are thoughtfully conceived to give us all the necessary clues to understand the headspace of our two protagonists, their desires, frustrations, and longings—a footprint of their emotional predispositions. They are two lonely people, alienated from those closest to them, in a city halfway around the world, where they don’t speak the language nor understand its customs. Both are emotionally adrift and seem to feel they are approaching a sort of crossroad in their life and desperately want to rewrite the plot they find themselves following, but have no idea where to begin.

When the movie was first released, it was Murray who received most of the press for its success, of course, being the recognizable star, but Johansson’s “Charlotte” made all the difference for me. Even though she was only 17 years old at the time of filming and played a character five years older, she created a sustained, well-thought-out character that I found impossible to pull away from. In fact, it was her character, to my sensibilities, that gave the movie its authenticity. Murray’s world-weary humor and stoic persona worked as a wonderful counterbalance to her youthful outlook, but it was Johansson that gave the film its innocence and grace.

In a noteworthy scene at their first exchange in the hotel bar, Charlotte confided to Bob that she was a recent graduate and when quizzed, admitted to being a Philosophy major, which I took note of. As her character unfolded, it became obvious that she had a keen intellect and wit. Clearly, Sofia Coppola, wasn’t simply waxing poetic by given Charlotte a lofty degree in which to feign intelligence but was instead giving us the key to unlocking her “quite desperation” (to quote Thoreau), that she is a searching soul, attempting to discover her life’s meaning and purpose. It is against that backdrop that Coppola created two scenes that caught my immediate attention.

In the first, we watch Charlotte visiting a Buddhist shine where she observes its Priests performing their dutiful observances in an ancient Temple, the very image of reverence and piety, yet as she confessed to her friend afterward, she “felt nothing”, informing me that she was not interested in any type of dogmatic, prescribed answer to her deepest desires, but to something that she could not quite articulate.

Then during a later outing, this time to a different Temple, she spots an approaching wedding ceremony and thoughtfully moved out of view so as to not interfere. She simply found a spot out of sight where she could observe, and there she saw what her heart was secretly longing for, genuine contact between two people in love. It was nothing more than a fiancée taking the hand of his bride, and Coppola made sure we took notice by isolating that touch (shown here). It’s this scene that clearly framed what Bob comes to represent for her.

But it’s not my intent here to give away the rest of the story, because it deserves its own space and interpretation, but it’s worth taking note that Bob becomes something of a mentor to Charlotte, helping her discover herself through the simple joys of everyday life and the poignance of their conversations. Their relationship blossoms, but not in the traditional romantic way. There are no kisses or dramatic proclamations of love, instead they have moments of intimacy during their exchanges at the hotel bar, or during a night of karaoke, or watching late night TV while drinking Saki. Each moment they share together becomes an expression of their deepening feelings for each other.

An authentic example of this occurred the one time we see them in bed together, but there is nothing sexual about it, but no less intimate. What we watch instead are two people expressing their deepest anxieties to one another as if they had no one else to confide to (mirroring the “genuine contact” mentioned above). In this touching scene of vulnerability, all the walls of self-containment, and even self-respect have been set aside and they speak to one another as soulmates with no fear of being reproached.

“Lost in Translation”, as a title, is also deceptively reveling as well. Through the early phases of the movie, I mistakenly took it to refer to their difficulty in communicating with the locals there in Tokyo. There are at least a dozen scenes that highlighted that fact, particularly during an amusing scene where Bob listens intently to the director of his photoshoot, who goes on at great length explaining the intricacies of how he wanted Bob to pose—but spoke it all in Japanese. When Bob turns to the interpreter for help, she only provides, “he say, ‘look at camera”. (Click on the photo to play the scene)

There are many other shots directed at this theme, but I soon became apparent that the title was meant to extend far more poignantly to their loved ones. It was clearly present during Charlottes conversations for her husband, as well as to her friend Lauren, neither of which were up to the task of seeing her for who she truly is, or during Bob’s phone call with his wife while in the tub where the two are speaking from completely different emotional landscapes. It became readily apparent that each of them felt they were being emotionally ‘lost in translation’. Of course, every attempt at communication is a form of translation, turning our thoughts and emotions into syllables and sentences that must be interpreted by someone on the other end, so it’s no wonder so much confusion can come into play, even with those who should know us better. Bob and Charlotte desperately wanted someone who could get their translation right and to see through to their uniqueness….and they found that someone in each other.

I mentioned my desire to avoid ‘spoilers’, but there were two scenes that I want to mention before finishing up, one being a throwaway scene, while the other being a key moment in their relationship. The first was a scene fairly late in the story when Bob randomly appears on a popular Tokyo “Talk Show”, if it can be called that, which left me baffled. It was obvious that Bob was out of his element and was suffering mightily through the bizarre experience (you’ll have to see it to understand). It didn’t make any sense during the flow of the movie, but on a little extra thought (some heavy lifting), it occurred to me that Bob had orchestrated the whole thing. We don’t see how it got scheduled, but Bob apparently contacted his agent requesting an excuse for one more day. Therefore, his appearance on the show, which could not have been further from his sensibilities, was scheduled solely as an excuse for another day with Charlotte.

The other is the famous Karaoke scene in which they finally, albeit indirectly, inform each other how they truly feel. At my first viewing I didn’t know much about these songs or their lyrics, so the scenes didn’t carry the weight they should have. The first song has Bob singing “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding” by Elvis Costello. Murray sings this with humor in his classic SNL ‘lounge singer’ style, but the lyrics are deceptively similar to his frame of mind prior to meeting Charlotte—setting the stage.

As I walk through this wicked world,
Searching for light in the darkness and insanity,
I ask myself, “Is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred and misery?”
And each time I feel like this inside,
There’s one thing I want to know:
What’s so funny ‘bout peace, love, and understanding?
What’s so funny ‘bout peace, love, and understanding?

Then Charlotte sings the perfect selection for what she secretly wanted to say to Bob, but couldn’t do it directly, the Pretenders, “Brass in Pocket.”

Gonna make you, make you, make you notice.
Gonna use my arms,
Gonna use my legs,
Gonna use style,
Gonna use my side step,
Gonna use my fingers, gonna use my, my, my imagination.
Oh, ’cause I’m gonna make you see
There’s nobody else here, no one like me.
I’m special (special), so special (special),
I got to have some of your attention, give it to me.

Then the last song is for Bob as he sings “More Than This” by Roxy Music. This is where our couple comes as close to confessing their true feelings for one another as any point in the story. As Bob sings, Charlotte eyes him, causally at first, until he looks at her and sings the poignant lines, “….you know there is nothing more than this, tell me one thing more than this, there is nothing.” At that Charlotte locks her eyes on him in the most explicit declaration of love yet shown.

I could feel at the time
There was no way of knowing.
Fallen leaves in the night
Who can say where they’re blowing?
As free as the wind,
Hopefully learning.
Why the sea on the tide
Has no way of turning?
More than this, you know there is nothing
More than this, tell me one thing
More than this, there is nothing.

In pairing these two together, Coppola created quite an unconventional relationship, yet still managed to make it feel authentic. Through her loose storytelling, a credible thread was established early on linking the two through their personal disfunctions. Even as their bond began to strengthen, they rarely discuss their own personal situations, or even their growing feelings for one another. In fact, several of the most profound moments they share are presented in silence. There is Charlotte resting her head on Bob’s shoulder (pictured at the outset) after their night of karaoke where not a word was spoken, nor needed, or Bob carrying a sleeping Charlotte back to her room and tucks her into bed before leaving, and the shot below with them looking into each other’s eyes while contemplating what they were about to lose with Bob’s departure the following day. Just study this shot for a moment, for there is a lot being communicated in the silence between them, as they both know they are in love at this point. When Bob finally breaks the silence by suggesting that he doesn’t want to leave, Charlotte is ready by coyly replying that he should stay there with her in Tokyo, suggesting they could “start a jazz band.” But they both realize their time is up.

This is the most moving shot from the entire movie in my opinion. Just consider the backstory at play here, both arriving in Tokyo, quietly depressed, confused, and lonely, then discovering a kindred spirit at a random encounter at the hotel bar, before fully realizing they had each found their soulmate—followed by a permanent goodbye just as it was all coming into view. Even as we watched it all unfold, voyeurs that we are, we could suspect that it was always going to be a doomed romance, but that doesn’t make our hearts ache any less at their dilemma. Take note the red lights in the background—it’s another subtle story element that Coppola added that will return at the end.

I don’t want to delve too deeply into the last scene other than to say that I initially found it confusing. It occurs after an awkward and completely unsatisfying goodbye in the crowded hotel lobby. After that clumsy send off, we see Bob being shofered to the airport, lost in his thoughts, but then looks out the window and notices a “blond” in a sea of dark hair walking in a crowd and tells his driver to stop, where he then steps out and catches up to her. It’s there that a proper goodbye takes place—but even then it plays out in silence. The only spoken words are not even for us. We don’t get to hear what he whispers in Charlotte’s ear—only her reaction. As much as I wanted to know what was said, I don’t believe it actually matters. His comment wasn’t intended for us (and wasn’t in the script). I consider that whisper as representing their time together; fragile, simple, intimate, and only meant to be between the two of them.

After that final goodbye, I noticed something odd when Bob stepped back into his car to leave—he seemed surprisingly energized, eyes alert, and slightly out of breath. I wondered about this because the predictable emotion at that point would have been some form of disillusioned regret, but now I believe it was another story element written into the script by Sofia Coppola, informing us of his renewed commitment to his life. It was as if his week with Charlotte was the first deep breath of emotional fresh air that he had taken in years and was now ready to rewrite the next act in his life. As if to put an exclamation point on that idea, Coppola films Bob’s car driving off toward the airport, but now with the  traffic lights poignantly green, just as Jesus and the Mary Chain sing “Just Like Honey” to draw the curtain.

As I admitted earlier, my initial reaction was that the movie seemed to flow with little plot in mind or any sort of overarching point, but again, I was thinking in terms of the standard Hollywood playbook, expecting all the story elements to be nicely tied up and explained for me. Even at the very end, there wasn’t a proper conclusion. We don’t know what happens to Charlotte or get any clues to how Bob affected her life. But then real life rarely, if ever, presents such clean story lines, and really, why should we want them in our arts, whether watching a movie or reading a book. If our aim is to be inspired, it is a necessity that we trust the artist telling the tale, to allow them to stretch our assumptions, to uproot our norms, and when necessary, to violate our expectations—and this script and these two actors deliver on that promise.