Lost in Translation
When you see
something given the Retro look, for example, the question is what’s lost
in translation?
Not much happens
in this film. She’s a Yale philosophy grad (nowhere defined), married to
a professional photographer who shoots bands and wonders why there has to be so
much hype in the business.
The other he is a
film star on the Suntory circuit. They meet and talk and do karaoke and
sub-karaoke, and then he leaves. Two things happen, in an upstairs karaoke bar
he sings “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and
Understanding”, turning to the city through the picture window on the words,
“this wicked world,” it’s very comical. Then, he rides along
the elevated highway at the end and an offramp’s marked The Ginza.
That’s all,
nothing much else to it. Oh, a twitty young American actress breezes through, a
sham cosmopolite. There are other incidents. He tees off at a golf course under
Mt. Fuji, a nice long shot. Secondary themes, minor embellishments.
It’s all
rather like Turtle Diary, or Ginger e Fred, or Hiroshima Mon
Amour, even. They watch La Dolce Vita on a portable screen. It may be
possible to extrapolate a humorous formal feint with Premium Fantasy Woman and
the Lounge Singer, which would at any rate be background to the actual
structure.
So there
isn’t anything much to say, in this state of affairs. Lost in
Translation says as much and ends. What’s charming are the reviews
that claim it’s a soul-searching romance, with a rather wistful title.