trentonhayes

I saw Lost in Translation several hours ago, and it still lingers. Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson play an odd and transient pair of companions: he an older actor, on the gentle downward slope of a still-respectable career, she a recent Philosophy graduate trying to cope with the difficulties of her marriage and a creeping sense of purposelessness. Sophia Coppola tells the story of the budding affection between these two slightly lost people with great affection and skill, and sets this against the visually dazzling backdrop of Tokyo, a city she clearly loves. With deft strokes she lays out the strange blend of confusion, fascination and alienation such visitors might feel in Tokyo. Her shot selection is wonderful, and she has a discerning eye for the most interesting bits and oddities in a strange and magical city. But as lovely as the setting is, it never overshadows the tenative affection that Bob and Charlotte start to feel for each other.

This relationship--and what it says about the ephemeral and yet enduring nature of human connection--is the emotional heartstring of this film. The characters are perfectly drawn, and the inchoate, powerful, and problematic feelings they develop for each other drew me and held me. I left the theatre feeling like this film had just whispered a secret in my ear. Lost in Translation touches something precious.

Someone should suffer for this.

This film fails hugely on every level. The story is a souless pastiche of genre cliches, lifting numerous devices from the Raiders films without hooking one iota of their charm. There is little logic and less intelligence to the story, but that shines in comparison to the lifeless, wince inducing dialogue. The Croft Character is dislikable, arrogant and cold, and even that last refuge of popcorn movie pleasures--lust--is denied by the unflattering costumes and AJ's rather distractingly bloated lips. I dont know if it was just a trick of photography, as she has looked quite lovely elsewhere, but it looked as if someone had stapled two kielbasa to her face in place of lips. Perhaps someone did--I left for a minute. Just my luck to miss the Kielbasa stapling scene. Apart from that, the action sequences were tepid and perfunctory, and after twenty minutes I was thinking about things outside the theatre--never a good sign. Seriously, you dont expect much from a flick(not movie or film) like this. Just to have the reptilian centers of your brain stimulated a bit with some flashy eye candy. And even these minimal expectations were not met.

Cast and Crew should be horsewhipped down to the last Key Grip. This was an utter embarrasment. You would be better off catching Pirates of the Carribean again, or saving money for the next Matrix flick. See this dog at your own peril.

I have a real soft spot for this strange little gem. It is garish, lush, stilted and artificial, with moments of heartbreaking beauty. It hearkens back to the grandeur of Hollywood of old, and yet is alive with a sort of mischevious irony, and a perverse love of the heavy handed gesture. All the actors do serviceable work, but my particular favourite is Alice Kreig's Zephyr. That woman is just remarkably charismatic, and her voice....my stars.

This is fairly typical of Guy Maddin's bizzarre and wonderful work. Same sense of humour, same painstakingly textured(and hopelessly unnatural) sound editing, and same passionate love affair with the cinematic conventions of yesteryear. If you like this, Careful, Archangel, and Tales of the Gimli Hospital might be to your taste as well.

Easily the finest movie I've ever seen about mesmerism and ostrich farming. 9/10.