`Lost in Translation' can be summarized as `Italian-American Girl Makes Bittersweet French Film in the Style of Godard in Far Away Japanese Metropolis'. And, WOW, does it NOT WORK. Unfortunately Ms. Coppola neglected to write a script. Instead, she fixes her camera on a pensive, depressed Bill Murray and a pensive, depressed Scarlett Johanson, failing to put a single compelling thought in either of their heads. In a plastic/electric version of Japan these two lock retina, and virtually no one in their orbit seems more real than an animated stereotype all the Japanese entertainment industry folks yell, whimper, simper or just plain freak out. But no one talks or says anything meaningful, because there is no plot and no script to indicate a plot. Same with the Americans, who arbitrarily wander in front of the camera. Giovanni Ribisi, Scarlett's photographer husband, seems to be in another film, not even aware of his wife's needy, private world of self-indulgence and vague personal crisis. There are some spectacular shots of Mount Fiji. Other than that, there's no movie here at all. Ms. Coppola obviously has a fine directorial eye, but her ear for dialogue and instinct for story are immature at best.
Review of Lost in Translation
