Why I love Lost In Translation
My mother and father snuck me into Lost In Translation in 2003. It was a wet London evening, I had come home from school and was not very excited about seeing the film. I had homework to do, and I fretted about missing something on TV that night. But at 8 PM we went to the Odeon in Swiss Cottage, and sat down waiting for the room to darken. What followed changed my life.
Over the new hour and a half I sat silently, totally captivated by what was unfolding in front of me. Every scene was rich with colour and sound. Time was artfully divided between the sensuous (Charlotte at the Buddhist temple) and the practical (Bill on the phone in the jacuzzi). Space was divided between the crowds of Tokyo and the peace of the Park Hyatt. It was these decision by Ms. Coppola that ensured the film was so tightly knit and so well balanced.
Lance Accord’s cinematography accurately conveyed the required meaning of each scene. The warm lighting in the Hyatt tells you that the two are awake, but the dark lighting in the Hyatt tells you they are struggling to remain awake. The harsh sunlight outdoors signals the bewildering affront Tokyo’s rapid culture hurls at the sleepy Americans. The throbbing red lights atop buildings refer to the time-bound nature of their timeless connection.
The music direction by Brian Reitzell and Kevin Shields, puts you in place, and ensures you know how to feel about each scene. But by not forcing it down your throat, you have room to interpret the scene as you wish. And by introducing just the right mood at the right time (instrumental music while Charlotte travels in a bullet train) you’re saved from misinterpreting the scene. It guides you to understand what Ms. Coppola and Mr. Katz want you to see, while leaving you free to see something new each time.
These separate elements of the movie are difficult to extract from the movie because it works so well as an entity. Just as slicing life up into themes is unsatisfactory, slicing this movie into chunks does not make sense. These elements melt into the movie and affect each other such that taking them apart is only useful when presenting individual members of the crew with awards.
Their real achievement was not in excellent lighting or well-timed music, but in creating a movie that becomes a series of emotions. Their success is in creating all that was necessary to turn Lost In Translation from 105 minutes of film into a real week, in which real things happened to real people.
A parting anecdote: Ms. Coppola says she hounded after Bill Murray, and after leaving hundreds of voicemail messages got a verbal agreement. On the first day of shooting the crew wasn’t even sure he would show up. He did, and today calls Lost In Translation his favourite film. So do I.






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