Academy Award Nominations Haiku

I like creating patterns with my blog. Here's more haiku dealing with some of the major categories at the Oscars.


Best Supporting Actress

Five women battle
Nuns, mothers, strippers, artists
Where the hell is Kate?


Best Supporting Actor

Why even discuss?
All five: great performances
But the dead guy wins


Best Animated Film

I've only seen one
You can't compete with Pixar
Kung Fu, Bolt?? Yeah, right!


Best Original Song

Three damn nominees?!
Only going to say this once
You don't screw The Boss


Best Foreign Language Film

I feel pretty bad
Haven't seen any of these
Belcourt! Help me out!!


Best Adapted Screenplay

Writing is damn tough
Adapting might be tougher
I'm thinking Slumdog


Best Original Screenplay

Quirky screenplays all
All different in their own way
More than likely, Milk


Best Actress

Jolie made the cut
Four others have a good shot
Oh, there she is..."KATE!!!"


Best Actor

Quite competitive
Five guys, they know how to act
Gotta pull for Rourke


Best Director

I respect each guy
They practice their craft quite well
Marty trumps them all


Best Picture

Dark Knight was shut out
Oh, God, the humanity
It's okay...SLUMDOG!!!


I wish every nominee the best of luck. 2008 had some fine films!

Scorsese Haiku

Once again, it's been awhile and I feel awful about it. I shant come up with excuses, so I'm just going to go ahead and dive right into my next entry. As the title suggests, I'm going to take a bit of a detour from my normal blogging and do something I haven't attempted since my freshman year of high school: I'm going to write some haiku. And I'm going to do it about the greatest living American filmmaker, Martin Scorsese and ten of my personal favorites that he's directed. Maybe this will inspire you all to write some silly haiku about your favorite films and/or directors. Mind you, I'm an amateur at this, so you'll have to excuse me if they're not quite as esoteric as others you might've seen. May we all come out at the end unscathed.

Mean Streets (1973)

Robert and Harvey

Small-time crooks loving trouble
Marty shoots Robert

Taxi Driver (1976)

You talkin' to me?
You...You...You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?

The Last Waltz (1978)

Marty and The Band
Film and music coexist
A beautiful thing

Raging Bull (1980)

Jealousy and rage
One of the all-time classics
Fuck Robert Redford


Goodfellas (1990)

Blood-letting mobsters
The greatest mob film ever
Fuck Kevin Costner


Casino (1995)

Pesci is back, man
More nuts than in Goodfellas
Vice...need I say more?


Gangs of New York (2002)

Day-Lewis is back!
Steals show from even himself
Fuck Roman Polan...


The Aviator (2004)

Down with OCD?
Marty's newest masterpiece
Fuck Clint Eastwood...FUCK!!!


The Departed (2006)

Sixty-three years old
Man! How does he still do this?
Fuck...wait...GO MARTY!!!

Shine A Light (2008)

The Stones and Marty
Dear Lord, I must be dreaming
My pants are now soiled



*End scene*

The Sublime Philosopher

I'm not sure if I've proven my worth as a blogger. First off, this is my first blog in close to two months. Did I hit a wall? Let's rephrase that: HAVE I hit a wall? Possibly. I haven't had much to discuss in the last month and a half. Maybe because college football season is in full swing, I'm just not feeling it quite as much. I don't know. I'm trying to remedy that, though. I, also, believe that my identity as a film-blogger needs to cover all walks of life within the film world. By that I mean I haven't quite branched out enough. I haven't discussed foreign films on a deeper level. Sure, I've mentioned the directors, but I haven't broken down their films. The themes, plots, characters, etc. I'd like to fix that, right now. I want to discuss a director named Jacques Tatischeff or better known as Jacques Tati.

Tati was an entertainer in the mold of the vaudeville acts of the early age of cinema. Like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin before him, he wrote, directed, produced, AND starred in all of his films. He, also, made his films during the height of the "talkie" picture, yet, hardly ever uttered a single word in any of them. Yes, they had sound in the conventional sense, but dialogue was not really an issue. He loved observing human behavior and by doing this his films became comedies because he progressively viewed human behavior as something of a joke. Each film was seen through the eyes of Tati's alter-ego Monsieur Hulot. Hulot is a bit of a trouble-maker, though I'd say his heart is in the right place. He has no intention of causing trouble, but that's just what happens. At heart, the character is a very sweet individual who walks through life with the right amount of optimism.

Mind you, these are my own personal observations through viewings of only three of his films: Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, Mon Oncle, and Playtime. The latter became a personal failure at the time, bankrupting Tati, but the film has reached "masterpiece" status since then. In these three films, alone, viewers got to see a transition from light-hearted fare to light-hearted satire to a meditation on the times. Was Tati growing more cynical as he grew older? Monsieur Hulot's Holiday is a delightful French film, following Hulot to a French Riviera resort, where he encounters a motley cast of characters. Mon Oncle is Tati's transitional film. It's the bridge between Holiday and Playtime. Tati comments on industrialization, where houses have taken on a life of their own. The structures are impersonal and very uncomfortable. He makes his point clear by transitioning back and forth between his sister's family's home and his own neighborhood, which is probably the same neighborhood that he left to go on his vacation in Monsieur Hulot's Holiday. Yes, Hulot is optimistic, but he's also an older gentleman set in his ways. I guess so was Tati. The best satirical prop in Mon Oncle is a fountain at Hulot's sister's house. It's this ridiculous metallic fish standing upright that spews out a stream of water every time a button is pressed. Hulot's sister only does this when she has company. The sound effects in this film are hysterical. You think, in the beginning, that Tati has pushed the audio up way too much, but in actuality he's enhancing the satire by making all things industrial sound loud and obnoxious. It took me a second to get it.

Playtime is in a class all its own. It stands by itself in the Tati canon for several reasons. Hulot is still in the film, but he's more of a background artist. Also, Playtime has no real story structure. It's just a bunch of characters coming in and out in this large, modern world. Hulot just ties them all together with his presence. If Hulot was the slightest bit confused in Mon Oncle, he is downright lost in Playtime. He doesn't do as much strolling in this film as he does in his others. He wonders about with an uncertainty that is told through his body language. I say this because not a single shot in Playtime is close-up. It's all long and medium shots. So, you have no choice but to judge the character's behavior by their body language. You never get to see their faces.

The story behind this film bankrupting Tati is that he created an entire city on the outskirts of Paris, which has become known as "Tativille". Watch this film and look how large it is. It's shot with the Panorama 70 millimeter camera lens, which is the same type used for such David Lean epics as Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago. What comedian is this dedicated to this type of filmmaking? You'd still be hard-pressed to find any comedic director, today, who would shoot a film like this. All of the buildings, roads, street lights, and vehicles are all apart of this one massive set that Tati created. Nothing is officially "on location". I like that idea, because I feel that Tati conveyed his message even more so by doing it that way. He created a modern world that almost exists in reality, but it's all Tati. It's what he sees the world becoming. Impersonal, stifling, and out of reach. The best scene in the film comes about an hour in, where we see the opening of a restaurant. Most if not all the characters in the first hour end up appearing, all at once, in this restaurant, which has one of the most doomed openings you could ever imagine. The brilliant thing about it is that you never witness any of the characters having as much fun in the face of chaos as they do in this scene. It's a lovely thing to see.

Tati's vision became broader than some of the filmmakers who preceded him. Yes, Chaplin and Keaton, both, faced modernization head-on, but I don't think they did it in the scope that Tati did. Maybe Tati had to deal with serious issues of change in his society, but he was at the age where he still could still speak out about it. I feel that he wanted to be a spokesman for the ones who felt the same way he did, but he could still do it in such a polite and seemingly innocent way. I've walked away from each of the Tati films I've seen wondering if I truly appreciated them in the way they should be appreciated. I was skeptical at first and if you've seen any of his films before, maybe you were too, but I see the vision, now. I see his love for comfort and distaste for the not-well-known and I not only appreciate it, I truly identify with it. This was a great filmmaker.

Why Go Against the Majority?

I always feel the need to brace myself when doing something as ambitious as going to the midnight showing of a film. As a teenager, I used to think the crowd that attended these things were fairly certifiable, but I came to realize that there's something noble about it. Downing as many energy drinks as possible, waiting in an irresponsibly long line, and braving the insane amounts of people dressed as their favorite characters from (insert dorky franchise here). My first experience with the midnight showing came just two-and-a-half years ago. It was for Peter Jackson's highly-anticipated remake of the Merian C. Cooper classic, King Kong. This was a major leap for a first-time midnight viewer. Usually, one would want to start out on a film along the lines of ninety to a hundred minutes long. Nope. Not me! I was like the kid who just started drinking and wanted his first beer to be a Guinness. My first midnight showing was a three-and-a-half hour experience. I wasn't disappointed. And since then, I've gone to see Spiderman 3, Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and most recently, The Dark Knight. All at midnight. The latter was not only the best out of the midnight-showing films I've seen, but it's the best superhero film I've seen, by far. Director Christopher Nolan has taken this franchise and made it into film noir. The Dark Knight feels as if there's a haunting presence lurking behind the equipment used to make it. I felt that Philip Marlowe could put on a bat suit and feel right at home in Nolan's Gotham City.

I'm not going to review the film as a whole, though. I'm scared that I might reveal plot points that don't need revealing. Most of you guys know the story, anyway. No, in this blog today, I'm going to discuss one thing and one thing only: Heath Ledger's performance. I understand that every critic and every blogger within a square mile of each other are discussing the very same thing. I'm just going to try and add my own insight to it.

It was common knowledge before the film was released, whether Ledger passed away or not, that his Joker would be the most discussed aspect of the film. Yes, his untimely death has brought more attention to the film and his character, but it cannot be said enough: this is one of the most brilliant character creations film has seen in a very long time. Ledger has done some fine work up to this point, but NOTHING he's done in the past will prepare you for what he does in this film. I've never seen anything quite like it.

I can't explain it, but there's something in a filmgoer that is fascinated by villainous acts done by a truly deranged character. We don't want a villain to succeed, but we do have a morbid curiosity as to how they go about doing what they do. The well-performed, well-conceived villains, at least, challenge us. We yearn for their presence on the screen, because those heroes just seem a little too boring for the moment. It's easy to name off some of the great screen heroes of our time, but it's a lot more fun to think of the bad guys. Hannibal Lecter, Anton Chigurh, Daniel Plainview, Alonzo Harris, Norman Bates, and Darth Vader are such effective villains that they make us desire for the heroes to get a little torn and frayed. My desire, though, is to not break down the psyche of said villains, but to talk about a performance that, in the end, saddens me deeply.

Ledger jumped into this roll with the kind of vim and vigor that makes one giggle in delight with the things he does. Nolan and his brother Jonathan co-wrote the screenplay and they did a great job at giving us speeches. Philosophical speeches where the Joker reflects upon his own psyche. There's a terrific scene in the movie where The Joker explains to Harvey Dent the difference between himself and the people who set out plans of action. The Joker is impulsive with no desire to face or even care about any type of consequence. Ledger delivers these speeches in such a way that it's difficult to read whether he's serious or fooling you. He puts on one of the better poker faces that film has ever seen and it's not because of the make-up. Mannerisms are key to this performance and Ledger makes that the Joker's modus operandi. The way his tongue slivers between the corners of his mouth like a reptile or the low, neutral drawl in which he speaks, it is almost completely impossible to get a read on what he's thinking. He's smart, shifty and has a spirit (evil notwithstanding) that's very hard to break.

I loved the way Ledger uses his hands in this film. He points at his enemies in a way that dictates entire conversations. I found that in The Joker's quieter moments he was a lot more frightening than he was in the bigger ones. In a scene towards the beginning of the film, The Joker walks in on an underground mob meeting. He offers up his advice about how to handle the predicament they are in and one of the gangsters calls him crazy. Ledger takes pronunciation to a whole new level when he responds, "I'm not crazy". He doesn't simply say it that way, though. He places extra emphasis on the "t" in the word "not". Then, he pauses for a beat and finishes his statement. That simple enunciation on the "t" makes him more frightening than in any other scene in the film.

There are sheer moments of comedy that Ledger provides the character, as well. It's not because they're obvious comedic moments, either. I felt a little ashamed of myself for laughing at some of the things the character did. Others were laughing just as hard as I was, though, so I felt that it was okay. Once again, this is something that was completely laid in the hands of the actor and he knocked it out of the ballpark. I cannot stress that enough.

I've told many people this and I know they're tired of hearing me say it, but when Mr. Ledger was announced to play The Joker, there was not a doubt in my mind that he was the perfect choice for the part. He far exceeded my expectations. You can think about some of the characters he's played up until this film. In the beginning, he was essentially playing different versions of himself. The first real sign of a serious actor that we got from him was his performance in Monster's Ball. Then, of course, came his Ennis Del Mar character in Brokeback Mountain. This solidified his standing as the actor we witnessed up until his death in January. Even in Brokeback, though, you could still sense Heath Ledger, the actor. I saw no traces of Ledger in The Dark Knight. None whatsoever. I saw a total immersion by a man who was hitting his peak. His death puts him in the same company as James Dean and River Phoenix. Young, promising actors whose lives were cut short. Ledger, though, was going to be good as Brando. His body of work would have only gotten better. It would have challenged his audience even more and that's why I almost cried while watching this diabolical and mesmerizing performance. I don't get to discover the reaches to which he would've taken future characters. Heath Ledger's final performance will stand, in my eyes, as the most exciting and dynamic villainous turn in the history of cinema. Please go see for yourself, though.

I'm Willing to be Surprised

This evening, I went over to my sister's house to hang out with her and my lovely nephew, Samuel. I called and asked her before I picked up dinner if I needed to bring any DVDs. Maybe a season of Scrubs or The Office. She definitively said "no", because she rented a movie that needed viewing before she had to return it. This was a movie that she stated had Alexis Bledel in it. I immediately huffed and puffed knowing that she rented the film because she's such a fan of The Gilmore Girls. Don't get me wrong, I think Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel are perfectly fine actresses, but that show is not quite my cup of tea. So, when she stated that ol' Rory from The Girls was in it, you'll have to excuse me if I was a little skeptical. She never mentioned the title of the film, so I was in store for a little surprise.

I got to her house and was happy to see Samuel running around the yard in his little swim diaper just having the time of his life. I proceeded in joining him...minus the whole...swim diaper part. We kicked a ball around. I chased him around for a little bit. By the time my brother-in-law's parents came to pick him up to take him to dinner, my sister and I sat down with our food and proceeded to watch I'm Reed Fish. I had heard of this film. I had heard of this film for the sole reason that an old high school friend of mine left a post on my facebook wall saying that I looked like Reed Fish. Not quite knowing what that meant, I went online to look up what I knew had to be a movie and lo and behold it was Jay Burachel playing the title character. My high school friend had once told me I looked like the same actor my senior year, when the show Undeclared was on for a single season. So, I responded back to her with a hearty "Haha", said a reluctant "thank you" and moved on. Cut three months later and I'm sitting on my sister's couch watching the beginning to this very charming film.

I'm not going to write a full review about it. A review might cheapen the experience of watching this lovely little movie. I'm not saying it's the end-all-be-all of films, but I was pleasantly surprised. This was a sweet, funny indie romantic comedy, which I found out had been made in eighteen days. Impressive for any full-length motion picture. I will say that if you haven't seen this movie and you're willing to open yourself up to something a little bit different, you might enjoy it yourself. I think what made this film work for me, personally, was that it took quite a different direction about half-an-hour into it. You think it's going to throw off the rest of the story that you had been watching up to that point, but you're sucked right back into it. It was an interesting move to make for the writer, whose name happens to be Reed Fish. I think, either direction he wanted to take it, I would've been perfectly fine. It could've been a completely linear rom-com and I would've still cared for the characters the same way. Maybe, in the end, I did care for the characters more so than the actual....wait....I'll just stop there.

This isn't, necessarily, a run-as-fast-as-you-can-to-rent-it kind of film. It's one of those ones that you just stumble upon and go along with it as you watch. There's no dire need for the three or four of you who read this blog to rent it, but if it you do happen to come across it in the back of your mind, do yourself a favor and give it a shot. The worst thing that can happen is that you waste an hour-and-a-half of your time and, in the end, there are a lot worse time-wasters than this.


Thanks, Court!

Great Scenes Part II: "Jaws"

It's been a little while since I've done my last blog, mainly because I've been trying to think of something that I felt passionate enough about writing. I wanted to space out my "Great Scenes" series a little more, but that's just going to have to go by the wayside for the time being. When one gets inspired, one finds it difficult to think or write about anything else. Thus, my second "Great Scenes" entry in a row.

Since I was about nine or ten years of age, I have lived and breathed the Steven Spielberg classic Jaws. Both TBS and TNT would run this film at least five times a year, each. It would usually be on a Saturday night or Sunday afternoon. I have fond memories of sitting in front of my television and watching this film with my dad. I loved the performances by its three primary actors. I loved the dry sense of humor that was always on display. Mostly, I loved the minimal screen time of the title character. That's the most important aspect of the film; one that I mentioned previously in my salute to "The Great Adjectives". It can't be stated enough. Spielberg had a mechanical shark that did not work and, by that fault, it birthed one of the great miracles of cinema of the last forty years. This is one of my all-time favorites.

There are so many scenes in this film that I find great in one way or another. Obviously, the opening scene works very well. The killing of the Kintner boy terrifies me more than any other attack in the film. The scenes where Matt Hooper, Richard Dreyfuss' character, first arrives on the island are terrific. All of these scenes work. The one that works for me the most, though, HAS to be Quint's (Robert Shaw) speech to his two boat mates, about the U.S.S. Indianapolis. Sometimes I just put in the DVD to watch this scene, alone. It staggers me every single time. Our three main characters, Brody (Roy Scheider), Hooper, and Quint, are out to sea, tracking down the great white shark that's killed several people. These are three men of different values and ethics, but they share one common goal. I love to see different personalities onscreen coexist with one another to achieve a greater purpose. By the time we get to the Indianapolis scene, the guys have already tasseled with the predator once. It's nighttime and they're in Quint's raggedy boat, drinking and sharing stories. Quint and Hooper proceed to compare wounds they've gotten from various sharks and finally Brody asks Quint about a scar on his arm.

Quint, who's primal by nature, says that the scar comes from a tattoo that he had removed. Hooper, still drunk and playing the wound-comparison game, says, "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. 'Mother'". He laughs hysterically at his own joke and Quint is quick to point out, "Mr. Hooper, that's the U.S.S. Indianapolis". Hooper is immediately taken aback and asks, "You were on the Indianapolis?" We know that Hooper knows what the Indianapolis is, but Brody asks, "What happened?" That's where Quint lets Hooper and Brody and most importantly, the audience, in on what occurred aboard the doomed ship that delivered the atomic bomb to Hiroshima. What makes this speech so great is that Quint is drunk when he's telling it. For some reason, it gives the words an edge that it wouldn't have, if he was sober. The story is vivid and quite terrifying. I felt like he was a history teacher dictating the most important lesson of the year. It's about a five-minute speech with the most detailed visuals: the Japanese submarine slamming two torpedos into the ship's side, the tiger sharks, the Lockheed Ventura helicopter coming in to pick them up, the shipmates staying in close circles to fend off the sharks, etc. My favorite line in the whole movie is Quint's description of a shark in his drunken, Irish brogue,

"Ya' know the thing about a shark is that he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya', he doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya'. Then those black eyes roll over white and...oh, and then you hear that terrible high-pitch screamin'. The ocean turns red and despite of all the poundin' and hollerin', they all come in and...rip ya' to pieces"

The perfect ending to this scene, though, is when Quint begins singing the old English shanty, "Spanish Ladies", which leads Hooper right into "Show Me The Way to Go Home". This is truly the only time in the film where the three men are able to all come together and just be "mates". There's no squabbling, or stupid arguments about who's tougher. It's simply three men, some alcohol, and a perfect boat song. It comes at the perfect time, due to the intensity of the last five minutes.

In the end, this speech defines the character of Quint. He's the old salt from the sea who hunts sharks and we know why after he tells us about this terrifying event. I think what impresses me the most is that while the film is considered the starting point to the "summer blockbuster", it had enough respect for its audience to tell a brilliant story about a little-known, yet tragic event during World War II. I know I've done research on it, since I saw the film for the first time. I'm very glad Sterling Hayden and Lee Marvin turned down the role of Quint, because i truly cannot see anyone BUT Robert Shaw playing such a rugged, inappropriate individual. His being Irish just makes the character that much better. Movie monologues, especially the ones three minutes and above, have to stir something in the audience member watching. Because, by and large, our short attention spans require fast cuts and little dialouge. You'll find that a lot of my "Great Scenes" are characters talking. Speeches are my crack and, dammit, if this isn't one of the best ones in film.

On a little sadder note, I'd like to thank my wonderful co-workers at the MTSU Athletic Ticket Office, who've shown unbelievable patience in my inability to move forward in life. I've worked at the office longer than what should be considered legal, which makes it all the more difficult to say 'goodbye'. Well, I've finally gotten my act together, so I'd like to thank Dustin, Joy, Peggy, Derek, Renee, Jason, Mary, and Chris for your warmth and humor. I love you all.

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.