Manhattan vs. Lost In Translation? *Spoilers*

Rating: 10/10 (8 November 2006)

(Jackp-5 asked this on the messageboard below, and it gave me a starting point to examine my own thoughts about the film.)
They are broadly similar... but also very different, with those differences being why I too prefer Lost In Translation.
From, or at least at, the beginning, the LIT relationship is a friendship, occasioned only by isolation in a foreign culture. Two people who would likely never have made a connection, even living in the same city and attending the same events and parties... for years, are thrown together (or rather "at" one another, like a life-preserver), just when both desperately need someone to relate to. It proves a happy accident, as they discover a real attraction, based not on sex (at least at first), but on shared feelings and personality traits they learn to admire in one another. The love, be it father/daughter or sexual, is based on knowledge and mutual understanding.
IMO, Woody, in Manhattan, is, as he always seems to be (even IRL ), simply an aging man on the lookout for some young P^$$y. His purpose might be the recovery of a skewed version of his youth, or just (im)pure sensual pleasure, but it doesn't begin to approach the level of LIT. He never recognizes MH as an equal, or allows her to know him in the way that Murray does Scarlett. In a squirmy kind of way, the father/daughter thing is here too, but in Manhattan it feels, well... incestuous, and controlling. I might be remembering more of Juliette Lewis in Hannah here, as it's been awhile since I saw Manhattan, but I remember Woody's made very uncomfortable when he finds out how much she has perceived about him, less than flattering things, he never expected her to notice... and, because he tried to hide them, the affair is doomed. Worse yet, he discovers she's been using him, too, her sexual curiosity the equal of his own.
Bob, on the other hand, hides nothing, promises nothing, and demands nothing. He's content to enjoy Charlotte's companionship (though there's evidence he's not always been a faithful husband), platonic-ly, even after it's probably obvious, to them both, they've slipped well past the father/daughter thing (about eight light-years past!). Here, for me, is where the Japanese setting comes into play again. Lost, in a culture that prizes the perfection of a sublime moment, they seem unwilling to break the spell, turn the relationship into something that inescapably involves/hurts others, and could drastically alter their lives. What they have is already perfect, in it's way. What they're both left with is a memory they can keep their whole lives, without disloyalty... and only the sweetest of regrets. Small things/gestures take on tender, yet weighty, significance. There's a subtle progression, too... from the moment when Charlotte lays her head on Bob's shoulder at the apartment (already a tad more than a daughter's gesture), to his carrying her sleeping from the cab to her room, and laying her in bed... at which point it was, IMO, already his choice to take things further. Finally, I can't recall a more romantic movie moment than when, as they're lying (fully dressed) in bed talking, Bob reaches out, and gently touches her bare foot.
Remember how they both run from the blatant sexuality of the strip club? (Peaches ROCKS!!! BTW).
All the stages of a sexual affair are passed through... without the physical consummation. When Bob wakes up after screwing the lounge singer, is there any doubt who he knows he's betrayed? It's a reality check, and a good thing, in it's way. They're forced to face the nature of their attraction, but absolved from taking it to the point where it will become a GUILTY secret.
In the final scene they're alone, together, again. Standing in the midst of an faceless crowd, flowing past, unsuspecting. A last, shared, perfect moment/memory.
What does he say to her?
Everything you want him to say to her, of course.
It's a very thoroughly realized film. The shoe-gazer pop is spot-on for creating the dreamlike state they drift through... the glittering silence of the Tokyo night. Plenty of contrast from other characters with only selfish concerns, putting up over-blown facades. Giovanni Ribisi is believably, nastily self-absorbed. Anna Faris is sweetly dopey, always a bit out of her depth, and completely, almost endearingly unaware of it.
If I were Japanese, I think I might be able to find some things to be offended about. The linguistic foul-ups and the hooker are pretty patronizing. Suppose the best thing you can say about them is that they illustrate that finding humor is a common way of dealing with cultural isolation.