Each year Georgetown sends about 38 percent of the junior class abroad to plunge into foreign cultures and hone their language skills. Immersion offers priceless experiences, while alerting the traveler to the near impossibility of perfectly interpreting someone else’s words and experiences. Unprepared and much less enthused than your average GU junior, the characters of Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation find themselves in exotic and chaotic Tokyo. Written and directed by the genius behind the movie adaptation of The Virgin Suicides, Lost in Translation brilliantly explores cultural disparities as well as the gulfs that can divide individuals.
Bob Harris, a character who could only be done justice by a wry and sincere Bill Murray (Rushmore, Groundhog Day), is an aging American movie star visiting Tokyo to shoot a whiskey commercial. Charlotte, gracefully acted by a superb Scarlett Johansson (The Horse Whisperer, Ghost World) is a recent Yale graduate accompanying her photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi) on a work trip. Bob, whose relationships and career choices show signs of deterioration, broods alone. Charlotte, abandoned in the hotel by her scenester husband, languorously searches for fulfillment. When the two meet in the hotel’s bar, their understanding of one another is immediate and intimate. Little is lost between them.
To forge cross-cultural and interpersonal connections, Coppola deftly joins humor (often, hilarity) and an impalpable sadness. The film is littered with laughs, as Bob attempts communication. The photographer for the whiskey advertisement does speak English, but only enough that Bob can pick out which name of a Rat Pack member he should impersonate. Later, a clueless woman sent up compliments of hotel tries to seduce him by crowing “Lip my stockings! Lip them!” With no knowledge of Japanese and separated by thousands of miles from the other half of his failing marriage, Bob is adrift. The role perfectly fits Bill Murray, who effortlessly blends comedy and a quiet tragedy.
Charlotte mulls more obviously, as she searches not only for a connection with another person but also for a better understanding of herself. She quietly observes monks in a temple and a Japanese wedding ceremony, which reflect her own need for spiritual fulfillment and love. Johansson brings the pensive Charlotte to life with moody tenderness.
The exquisitely quiet moodiness of Charlotte and Bob sharply contrasts the barrage of colors and noise in downtown Tokyo. Out of place, Charlotte silently wanders through Japanese video arcades brimming with bright lights and bleeping machines. She takes Bob out for a night and they revel in the foreign, over-the-top clubs, parties. and karaoke. The glaring cultural differences culminate when Bob appears on a TV show aside the insanely colorful, gleeful host.
The sexual tension between Charlotte and Bob mounts to a heartbreaking height. What begins with a semblance of paternal love, Bob checking to make sure Charlotte doesn’t forget anything, rapidly reveals itself to be much more. Although fully clothed around Bob, the girl really just doesn’t like her pants, opting to wander about her room in underwear. Charlotte, Bob, and the audience do get an eyeful at a strip club showcasing gymnastic women, but this scene of blatant, shallow sexuality only points out the depth of Charlotte and Bob’s attraction.
The brilliance of the scenes comes from what is said in the smallest details. In a film whose title centers on communication, Coppola is comfortable with its silent form. Bob and Charlotte’s words are minimal, but the chemistry of Murray and Johansson and the skillful direction of Coppola speak volumes. The smallest physical contact has the deepest meaning.
Coppola’s skill with emotional and scenic juxtaposition and blending creates a work of heartbreaking beauty. Shared sadness translates into a beautiful connection that, even after the characters have departed and you’ve left your seat, lingers.
