Lost In Translation
So I finally got round to picking up a copy of My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless this Christmas, and after giving it a good listen, was pleased to hear that the guy behind it (Kevin Shields) has been plucked from his mountain hide-out to manage the soundtrack for Sofia Coppola’s second film, Lost in Translation. Quite a nice little coincidence, and a bit of a bonus in that it gave the inkling that you could half know what to expect from the film. The Virgin Suicides (Coppola’s debut), you see, was scored by another heavily-mooded, breathy act known as Air, and one could assume that what followed in musical style would follow in cinematic, which definitely isn’t a bad thing considering the Virgin Suicides’ beautiful, although flawed, makeup.
There are, I’m sure, many different verbs and adjectives that have been used to describe the mood of this film, generally along the lines of ‘haunting’ or ‘lighter-than-air’ or ‘the kind of atmosphere you could lose yourself in’ or whatever. These are the sort of descriptions that this film is going to receive not only because they obviously suit it, but because the atmosphere in this film is so dense you could serve it up on a plate as a starring role alongside Murray and Johansen. It even takes a while to get the story going because of the number of moody shots at the start. It’s so tangibly ‘serene’ and/or ‘poignant’, in fact, that it does deserve being mentioned repeatedly, but unfortunately I’m starting to run out of words to describe it. So I’ll just say “well done Ms Coppola” and try to move on to other things.
‘Cause this is the thing about the film – there is loads else to look at. Not only in the obvious looking at of Scarlett Johansen’s intelligent & attractive performance of Charlotte, but the endearing and fantastically portrayed innocently-stumbling-through-mid-life character of Bill Murray’s, the fantastic cinematography, being in amongst the sites & sounds of Tokyo and the sometimes awkward, sometimes charming situations therein. And lets not forget the music; as previously mentioned, being semi-scored by Kevin Shields it makes up for more than part of the ‘cute-yet-slightly-daunting’, ‘fuzzy’ atmosphere. But before we get back into the mood of the damn film, let’s move onto something solid.
The relationship at the heart of it all is based on several things: firstly that the two characters are both seemingly alone in a strange place, and find friendship by simply finding things to do together, secondly that their marriages are in similar situations (Charlotte’s photographer husband puts all his attention into his work whilst Bob’s wife practically ignores him for their children), and perhaps thirdly because of the age difference between them. Whilst it’s Charlotte that emphasises the weight of this difference (unlike, say, American Beauty), partly because the mid-life that she’s desperately sure he’s having (the blank looks Murray delivers when she accuses him of this are as subtle as they come), and partly because she wants to treat him like a mentor. Although her insecurities around this can be a little jumpy at times – one minute trying to act like she’s Bob’s age, the next like an eight year old – I guess this is what every college/university graduate without a firm grasp on the future can be like.
Yet it’s a lovely week that they spend together, and whilst it ends in pretty much the only way it can with characters like these, Coppola has given them a different outlook on love and marriage. Her talent for producing hugely atmospheric pieces is fantastic, and the characters are detailed enough so that they can be totally understandable whilst not having to resort to monologues on what they’re thinking. There are plenty of scenes where it leaves you with a keen sense of their thoughts without having said a word. Apologies for resulting to the ultimate cliché, but it has to be said: pictures might be worth a thousand words, but Coppola’s are beautiful enough to be worth a thousand more.
8.9
MD 17:29 20/01/2004