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Lost in Translation (2003)
Federico Fellini's 1960 film La Dolce Vita captures a particular moment in post-war Italian society and in the despairing life of a character trying to find meaning in his seemingly empty existence. It's a dark, beautiful, spectacular movie, and as a filmmaker, you'd be risking a lot to reference it in your own film.
But that's a risk Sofia Coppola is willing to make. Her sophomore film, Lost in Translation, similarly focuses on the attempts of characters to find meaning. Starring a luminous Scarlett Johansson as Charlotte, a young woman tagging along with her photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi) to Tokyo, and Bill Murray as Bob Harris, an actor in Tokyo to shoot a series of cheesy scotch commercials, the film traces the evolution of friendship between two traveling insomniacs experiencing similar feelings of alienation. Their isolation stems not only from the fact that they're in an unfamiliar place confronted with a foreign language and unable to sleep, but because even their own culture, and even those closest to them, suddenly feel very distant.
Detailing an evanescent sense of luscious melancholy has become Coppola's forte. Both The Virgin Suicides, her first film, and Lost in Translation generate an incredibly appealing and profound sense of desire for the ephemeral, for nuances of feeling and the luxury of loss when a moment that you know will have lasting meaning slips through your fingers. However, where The Virgin Suicides felt slightly unwieldy, Lost in Translation announces Coppola's sure talents as both writer and director able to handle the most subtle traces of feeling while at the same time balancing a taut thread of desire across an entire story.
Whereas filmmakers of the 60s sometimes found a connection between the seeming inscrutability of women and a beautiful city, or as with La Dolce Vita, between a corrupted landscape and a similarly tarnished soul, Lost in Translation seeks connection. When Charlotte goes wandering through Tokyo one day, she may feel overwhelmed, but she's actively looking for a way to relate to the world around her. And Bob, too, is desperate to connect. The characters could be anywhere in the world; the key point is that they are seeking something more from the world and people around them, and that very desire for something more seems to set them apart.
But Coppla also binds these two characters through their shared sense of humor. The film is surprisingly funny, with laugh-out-loud moments featuring Murray that verge on slapstick. If Murray brings an inimitable charm and humor, Scarlett Johansson, with her soft, pouty lips and grainy voice, brings a visceral sensuality that's at once erotic and awkward, ephemeral and entirely grounded. She captures a sense of simultaneous confusion and wisdom but makes it clear that it's the world that's out of whack, not Charlotte. "Let's never come here again because it wouldn't be as much fun," she says. Watching this film offers the same feeling - it slips by, with unexpected humor and insight, and you know you'll never get to feel it the same way again.
See also: Lolita (1962)
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