Shining Example of the Beauty of Silence

Rating: 9/10 (19 September 2003)

How often do you watch a film these days, and truly appreciate the silences? Those moments when you're forced to truly look to the characters' faces, their glances, their quirks, to read the characters' minds. Even the great American directors of our day -- Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorcese -- tend to focus more on either dialogue or on sound and images separate from the characters to make their point. Yet how much of our daily interaction with those we know and love (and even those we don't) derives from just those types of silences.
That's what makes a picture like "Lost in Translation" so special. Scarlett Johannson and Bill Murray spend a substantial amount of time together, and yet it's remarkable how little dialogue they actually have with one another. Instead, the bulk of their scenes together consist of silences in which the entire span of their relationship -- their semi-awkward meeting, their recognition that they want to spend time together, their growing sense that there is a mutual need that each fills for the other -- is reflected on Murray's and Johansson's faces.
The plot of the film is not all that complicated: burned-out popular actor Murray is in Tokyo to do a Japanese whiskey commercial for $2 million; Johansson is in the same hotel staying with her husband (Giovanni Ribisi), a photographer spending so much time on the job that he has no meaningful time to spend with her. The film is about Murray and Johannson crossing paths, and making each other's lives more enjoyable for the few days they spend together.
The importance of their silent relationship is not difficult to see. Compare their scenes together with those between Johansson and Giovanni Ribisi (as her husband) -- these consist mostly of talk (primarily Ribisi) and yet there is no sense of connection between these characters. There are numerous other examples, although three are particularly worth noting: (1) Anna Faris as a bubbleheaded movie star who talks constantly and says nothing; (2) a hilarious scene in which a Japanese director, who is shooting Murray in a whiskey commercial, apparently needs thirty seconds of dialogue to say "turn your head to the right"; and (3) Murray's sad telephone conversations with his wife -- words can't bridge the distance when personal contact is absent. In their scenes together, it's clear that Johansson and Murray are relying exclusively upon what their eyes, their gestures, their smiles, and their expressions can tell each other.
And none of this would work without two outstanding lead performances. Johansson is subdued, yet radiant, as a young woman whose mind and spirit are incredibly vibrant, but has been beaten down by the needs of her husband and his friends for idle noise, masquerading as conversation. Murray is remarkable in a performance that, as in "Rushmore", transcends Murray's familiar persona and blossoms into a real performance. Indeed, if you follow his progression from "Groundhog Day" to "Rushmore" to this film, the development as an actor is exciting to watch (now, try to imagine if he did "The Razor's Edge" today, instead of twenty years ago).
These two actors are guided along beautifully by Sofia Coppola's direction, which beautifully transposes the noise and expanse of the outside world -- where neither Murray nor Johansson truly fit -- and their own intimacy. She avoids the common inclination of many directors to quickly push the relationship in a sexual direction; instead, she chooses to focus more on how these two characters fill the respective voids in each others' lives.

Nothing about the choices in this film (either from the actors or the director) is "safe." After all, how many directors would make sure that what is ostensibly the most romantic dialogue in the film is inaudible to the audience? And yet, doing so makes all the sense in the world -- the characters have been so intimate all along, and yet we've been privy to their feelings. It only seems right that they be allowed to share just one thing between themselves, and themselves alone.