Rewatching Lost In Translation
One of the best films of the '00s only looks better the second time around.
Some movies are inexorably linked to the circumstances surrounding their viewing. My wife and I went to see "Jerry Maguire" with a couple that was having marital difficulties. I can't reflect upon that film without infusing that awkwardness into it. Similarly, Sofia Coppola's 2003 "Lost in Translation" will forever be my kidney stone film. It was the movie I had just finished watching when I began experiencing some unusual pain in my "lower regions." At the risk of tempting fate, I decided to give it another look.
At its core, "Lost in Translation" is a story about two wandering souls finding a brief but meaningful connection in Tokyo's vibrant, alienating landscape. Bill Murray's Bob Harris, an aging actor past his prime, and Scarlett Johansson's Charlotte, a young woman questioning her life's direction, form an unlikely bond that serves as the film's emotional center.
Rewatching the movie highlights the subtle performances of Murray and Johansson. Their chemistry is palpable, yet the relationship remains delicately balanced on the edge of platonic and romantic, leaving viewers to interpret the nature of their connection. It's worth noting that Johansson was only 18 during filming, although she plays a character in her early 20s. It's remarkable that someone so young could bring so much nuance to her role.
One of the film's most striking aspects, which became even more apparent on the second viewing, is its embrace of ambiguity. From the famously whispered final scene to the characters' unspoken feelings, Coppola masterfully leaves much to the viewer's imagination. This ambiguity allows the film to resonate differently with each watch, as our own life experiences color our interpretation of the events unfolding on screen.
Revisiting the film also brings a renewed appreciation for Coppola's portrayal of Tokyo. The city is not merely a backdrop but a living, breathing entity that shapes the characters' experiences. The neon-lit streets, bustling crowds, and serene temples all contribute to the exquisite isolation permeating the film. The film's exploration of themes like cultural displacement, loneliness, and the search for meaning in life takes on new dimensions as I've aged and my perspectives have shifted. I liked this movie 20 years ago, but different aspects of Bob and Charlotte's experiences resonate even more strongly with me now. As a 40-year-old in 2003, I saw Bob as the somewhat cliched "washed-up actor." In my 60s, I have a much greater appreciation for his sentiments.
The visual aesthetics of "Lost in Translation" are a joy to rediscover. From the muted color palette to the thoughtful framing of each shot, Coppola and cinematographer Lance Acord create a dreamlike atmosphere that perfectly captures the characters' emotional states.
Equally important is the film's soundtrack, curated by Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine. The music becomes an integral part of the Tokyo experience, enhancing the mood and often expressing what the characters cannot say.
Rewatching "Lost in Translation" 20 years later is like watching a different movie. The film's subtle charm, its exploration of human connection, and its beautiful portrayal of Tokyo continue to offer new insights with each viewing. As I have grown and changed, so too has my relationship with this remarkable film, all the more rewarding without the trip to the hospital.