Lost In Translation

Picture busy Tokyo streets, rushing Asians bouncing briskly by, yammering in Japanese, lights flicker in every shade of neon as the noises of an urban setting coupled with the bells and whistles of the nearest high tech video arcade scream constantly. Then envision a Japanese zen garden. Bright skies adorned with neatly trimmed landscape and handsome hedges. Buddhist monks chanting and playing drums sound the backdrop. In the recently released film, Lost In Translation, two Americans meet in a Tokyo hotel and harshly juxtapose the aforementioned setting. The writer/director/Hollywood nepotist, Sophia Coppola is incredibly successful at getting us lost. And ironically, in that goal, she has succeeded. However, her characters are poorly discerned and unsympathetic from the perspective of a simple commoner like me.

Bob Harris, played by Bill Murray is an ripening Hollywood film star. He has grown tired of traveling, photo shoots, the reason he came to Asia, and the relationship with his all- to-normal wife, who humorously sends him color samples for the rug to be placed in his den by Fed Ex. It seems, the importance of burgundy is all they have in common.

Charlotte played by nubile hottie, Scarlett Johnson, is a brand new college grad, directionless and lethargic. She has followed her husband, a photographer played by Giovanni Ribisi, to the Tokyo hotel because she, seemingly, has nothing better to do. A waif, she knows not whether to wander around the city or look up old acquaintances and party.

Lost In Translation

The two main characters meet through a series of random encounters in the factions of the hotel. Their commonalities lie in the differences that are apparent between them and their Asian hosts. We see Bob struggle to communicate with his directors and publicity people while the girl has trouble in her touring and eating. Visually and thematically, the two stand out like a sore thumb. They discover each other in friendship, as two lost souls drifting through the lobby of a foreign hotel. The sexual tension is humid yet never comes to fruition except when Murray nails the cursory lounge singer, another lost and transient character.

Murray and Johnson both turn in touching, endearing and brilliant performances as their acting leaps off the screen from hilarious expressionism to true comic timing. The hilarity lives in the reactions and physical choices of the actors. However, their ills with the world are never resolved and they are left to linger in their decaying humanity as the credits roll. The photography is amazing if busy sensory overhaul is your thing as the sound mix is a loud and oppressive earful. The job of hearing a multitude of foreign languages with no subtitles on top of a slow plot leaves the film Lost In Translation, though flickering with hope and comedy of good actors in a precarious story. Melodrama. A stretch. It seems, Miss Coppola thinks we can all relate and empathize with an aging actor paid 2 million dollars to do a commercial in Japan and a college wayfarer whose husband is picking up the bill as she trots the globe. Whether jealous, resentful or not, I must concur that most of us have not had those sarcastically terrible things happen to us. Maybe, most people enjoy the beauty of a foreign culture bursting with sense, language and custom. Like your characters, it sucks to be spoiled, huh, Miss Coppola.

Intolerable Cruelty

The next film to be discussed in today’s forum is the grossly exaggerated comic display of love, marriage and divorce, Intolerable Cruelty. Written and directed by the Coen brothers and starring George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones, the film promises a laugh track that does not fully deliver. The biggest issue is the missing ensemble cast that exemplifies and highlights previous Coen efforts. Clooney, although spectacular and addictive to watch on screen, has a difficult time carrying the film on his back.

Intolerable is an homage to gold digging woman and their nefarious ways. They employ Miles Massey, the famous divorce attorney played by Clooney, to extract life, limb and the almighty dollar from their poor soon-to-be ex-husband saps. The science and calculation of women setting up the kill and the attorney who always delivers is the comic romp in this film. The interplay is mostly between Zeta-Jones and Clooney who trade power plays so many times throughout the story that the audience has lost interest when they eventually end up in love and living happily ever after. Of course, this is the aftermath of numerous divorces, pre nuptials, marriages and attempted murders.

Geoffrey Rush opens the film as a hilarious TV producer who catches his wife in bed with the pool boy. After she employs Clooney, he becomes a homeless bum in Downtown LA. Rush can’t lose as his performance track record, unique and amazing, is a testament to a true talent. The film needed more Rush. Or more someone. Personally I missed, the John Turturros, Steve Buscemis, John Goodmans and Francis Mc Dormands. I love Clooney. It’s just a bit trifling to watch him for hours. And their seemed to be a lack, in general, of any depth to the movie. The energy went flat when continued set ups continued to end in disaster. Like Lost In Translation, Cruelty got a little Lost In Translation. Strange and bitter, it played more like a charicature of itself than an original piece. The spiritual lessons and morality present in alternate Coen bros. movies was sorely missed. An absent fable on a shallow subject.

Shallow, incidentally, is a good way to describe the acting of Zeta-Jones. Her stock personality plays more like the cardboard cutout of a spokes model than a complex character with sadistic human emotions. Although, what she loses in ability she makes for in looks. Two eyelids wide open.

Maybe, I am being too harsh because I believe the film is a must see for film buffs and Coen fans alike. But being a comedy nit picker and a huge Coen fan, thinking O Brother, Where Art Thou? to be one of the best comedies ever, I had difficulty swallowing their follow up. However, it won’t keep me from the theater in the future. So, I leave it up too you. But I warn you, Catherine is hot but overly made up and airbrushed and not as steamy as I hoped and George is a goofy guy with a big burden. Shades of Cary Grant with looks and comic sensibility? Maybe. But who else do we have to choose from?