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The case of the Coppola family is all the more improbable as the patriarch is one of the untouchable godfathers of contemporary American cinema. While his wife proved her talent as a documentary filmmaker, his two children, Sophia and Roman, dared to take over behind the camera, all the while judiciously distancing themselves from their father's shadow. Whether it's for Roman's underestimated film CQ or with Sophia, the transmission is done in fluidity, the gigantism of the father is replaced by the offbeat, a sensitivity and a connected vision that's a reflection of a thirtysomething generation who grew up in the post punk era. Their cinema is not born from a revolt against their elders, but stems from the consciousness of an uncommon cinematographic heritage which they respect without totally embracing, instead preferring to take their own path. After her revelation in the beautiful Virgin Suicides, Sophia continues her "character study" with Lost in Translation, a light comedy, almost weightless, imprinted with autobiographical perfume. The film was born from the fascination that Tokyo exerts on the filmmaker and includes some of her friends, almost playing themselves, while the main character (Scarlett Johansson) strangely resembles Sophia. Bill Murray plays Bob Harris, an action film star trying to make his comeback, who, stranded in Tokyo for a whisky ad shoot, meets Charlotte (Johansson), a young student who is bored while her photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi) is absorbed by his work. Both are bound to a friendship with subjacent bonds, at times paternal, sometimes love and leave the hotel to discover the city and its nocturnal joys. The atmosphere is muffled and Coppola follows her two characters scrupulously, entering their intimacy (therefore the multiple shots of Johansson in her underclothing) to better confront their loneliness. The film advances, without ever having resorting to plot twists and turns, oscillating between the subtle comedy of the situation (often improvised by Murray) or drama stripped of any dramatic accent, because nothing truly occurs in Lost In Translation. The only consequence of this innocent meeting in the film will take place offscreen, once the curtain is lowered. Contrary to many films made abroad, Coppola does not exploit the contrast of cultures, neither does she embrace nor does she criticize night life in the Japanese capital. The audience follows the peregrinations of the characters, creating his or her own idea of Tokyo, somewhere between curiosity for this extreme urban life and of amusement vis-a-vis certain strange social mores (in regards to video games in particular). Like the recent Friday Night and Jetlag, Lost in Translation plays on the unexpected and ephemeral meeting of two people taken hostage by a cold and impersonal urban environment where the absence of familiar reference marks is cruel, pushing them towards an emotional bond to survive. But where Claire Denis exploited a meeting of the bodies, Coppola opts for a meeting of the souls. Shouldered by the cinematography of Lance Acord (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich, Buffalo 66), the smooth acting by Murray and Johansson and an omnipresent soundtrack featuring bands like The Jesus & Mary Chain, Kevin Shields (My Bloody Valentine and Primal Scream), Death in Vegas as well as Air (already present on the Virgin Suicides soundtrack), Lost in Translation espcially marks Coppola's success on the writing and directing levels, through her capacity to take us by the hand and make us follow these two characters evolving in a film stripped of any dramatic artifice.
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