Great Scenes Part I: "Lost in Translation"

Roger Ebert is, quite possibly, my favorite writer. Since I'm not as much of a reader as I want to be, I take refuge in Ebert's sharp and always fair-minded articles on films past and present. There's a pure joy in what he does and you can tell from his writing. He would give a film a chance that no one else was giving and a lot of the time, once his review was read, that movie became acceptable. He's had major influence come Oscar time just through his articles. His review of Juno and Ellen Page's performance, put that film on the map. Two months later, it was nominated for four Academy Awards including Best Picture. When he took ill in 2006, I missed his reviews greatly. I, honestly, refused to read anyone else's, because I was too familiar with his specific style of writing. When he was healthy, he would write a review every other Sunday for an older movie that he had just re-watched. This would compile into his "Great Movies" list. He's released two books with said reviews on films ranging from The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie to A Christmas Story. Saying all of this, I'm starting a little series of my own discussing some of my favorite scenes from certain films. In Sofia Coppola's beautiful Lost in Translation she pairs two seemingly different, but altogether lonely people, who find mutual attraction in one another through their loneliness. In one particular scene they lay in bed together.

You just know that Coppola went into this movie knowing how each little nuance that she wrote in her screenplay was going to play out on film. She wrote a splendid scene about two-thirds of the way through the film where the two principal characters, Bob and Charlotte, have come back to their hotel from an evening of strip clubs and chasing moving billboards to retire to their respective rooms. We see Charlotte tossing about in her bed. She gets up and wanders around the room and suddenly a note is slipped under her door. She opens it up and it's Bob wanting to know if she's still awake. Let me just say that this detail alone is very important to the overall design of Bob and Charlotte. They've known each other for two days and they already feel a necessity towards the other. Not sexually, mind you, but through a force of understanding that the two of them have. They have a love for one another that's shared through quiet talks about their lives. It's the kind of desperation that HAS to be discussed instead of numbed by the act of sex.

So, she comes to Bob's room and they share some sake while watching La Dolce Vita on tv. Eventually, they tire and commence in laying down on Bob's bed. This shows how absolutely comfortable they are with each other. They are finally able to rest easily. Half awake, they begin talking about marriage and children. Charlotte fears the long road ahead with a man that is probably not her best option. It's not that she's just opening up to Bob to be emotionally available. She's turning to Bob for help. She wants advice from a man who is not only older, but has been in the throes of a marriage stuck in neutral. Charlotte needs to know that there are rough patches, but she will be able to get through them. Bob delivers a great monologue about his marriage, but then he suddenly starts talking about his children. I felt as if he were talking to me. It's such a personal discussion. Coppola's really allowing her audience the privilege of sitting in on this intimate conversation. The most beautiful thing about this entire scene is that they allow each other to talk and, in turn, listen.

When they both start to close their eyes, they're still in this trance-like state. They're half-heartedly fighting sleep by keeping the conversation light. The brilliant thing about this scene, though, is that Coppola used this conversation as a way for them to both finally fall asleep. They just needed the comfort of each other's company to do it. I can't stress how much this type of desperation moves me. Just the idea of finding someone who stabilizes you, while you're in such a spinning motion, to the point that you just need to be in their presence. The last great moment of this scene comes in a high-angled shot over the bed, looking at the two of them. Both of their eyes are closed and they haven't said a single word for about ten to fifteen seconds. Slowly, Bob places his hand on Charlotte's foot. It's one of the most intimate moments I've seen in a film. The subtlety of it speaks volumes. This is a friendship that is playful and fun. The ending works so well, because you're not sad that they won't end up together; you're sad because they may never have a chance to talk, again. Ultimately, that's the scariest prospect of any friendship.

I've met too many people who disliked this film because they thought it lacked the proper emotion they felt most Hollywood films have. I completely disagree. I love being able to follow characters around during a film and just listen to them talk. Coppola achieved something so rare in a film. She was able to create a writer's film where there wasn't a whole lot of talking. We did quite a bit of observing. What makes it a writer's film, though, is that when there is a conversation, namely between Bob and Charlotte, there's not a wasted word. We make sure that we listen. The bed scene in Lost in Translation is the best example of two people just being. Love has never looked so real.