Why is Lost in Translation on This List?
by Hadley Ajana

Each time I browse the list of titles on the Introvertz movie website, I am surprised to see Lost in Translation on a list of films for and about introverts since I have never spotted an introvert in it. I understand what people like about this movie. After all, it was immensely popular, but the two leads are not introverted. In fact, just the opposite.

In case you haven’t seen this instant classic, here is a synopsis. Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is an American movie star better known for action than acting. Charlotte (Scarlet Johansson) is a recent Ivy League graduate yet to find a job. The two, both struggling with their respective marriages, find themselves alone in Tokyo for a few days. Harris is wallowing in self-pity and -hatred for the commercials he’s in town to film. Charlotte is being ignored by her husband and ignoring it. The two unhappily wedded foreigners find one another in the hotel bar where they discover they have two things in common: they’re both flattered by the other’s attention (for obvious reasons) and they’re both bored with everyone else in the room (for good reasons).

Here are two people alone in a foreign country, free to roam sacred shrines, walk the street anonymously, or huddle up in a hotel room overlooking the city far from the madding crowd. No one knows where they are and no one seems to care. These two are in introverts’ paradise. Yet these are two miserable people looking for company.

What makes this film so appealing to introverts then? Perhaps it’s the sense of isolation that pervades the movie. Sofia Coppola’s cinematic masterpiece visually conveys the sense of being an outsider. It’s a unique experience to be in a crowd of millions, doing what they do, going where they go, and yet not being able to communicate with them. While introverts may feel like this is a window into their everyday life, it’s not so. The issue with introverts isn’t language, it’s energy, something that transcends language.

Or maybe introverts identify with Bill Murray’s portrayal of Bob Harris? Here is how Roger Ebert describes Murray’s performance of the burned-out thespian: “[Harris]…could be funny,…could be the life of the party,…could do impressions in the karaoke bar and play games with the director of the TV commercial, but doesn't -- because being funny is what he does for a living, and right now he is too tired and sad to do it for free.” Is that what it feels like to be an introvert? You could be funny. You could be the life of the party, but it takes too much energy, so you don’t bother. Is that why this film is on the list? I hope not because that’s a misperception of Harris and introverts. Harris isn’t drained by groups or sapped of energy when forced to interact with others. He’s an action star after all. He is naturally extroverted, but he’s withholding it from the world out of resentment. He’s angry with himself for selling out and not demanding more of life. He’s not interested in relating to his wife. He loves his kids but know they belong to her since he can’t be bothered to put much more than money into their upbringing. And he’s bored with his career, to boot. So he’s going to take it out on the world by refusing to entertain us any more. It’s petulant and immature. He knows it. That’s his only redeeming quality.

Charlotte is not an introvert, either. She’s a spoiled and self-centered extrovert who seems to think that Tokyo should entertain her. She’s an intelligent young woman who has mistaken the study of philosophy for being deep, a common extrovert’s mistake.

Perhaps introverts like this film because of the patina of the relationship that develops between the older has-been and the young lost soul. Harris and Charlotte don’t sleep together, but not out of any feeling of marital obligation. Harris beds a cocktail lounge singer much to the disgust of both Charlotte and himself. He could easily seduce Charlotte, too, but doesn’t. Though the relationship is unconsummated, it is sweet, touching, nurturing, and honest. If only they were all like that.

While we all know how rare these encounters are, the relationship is still believable because it grows out of the personalities of the two leads. It’s organic to the place and personalities involved. Both Charlotte and Harris are changed by one another and we see how and why they connect.

Lost in Translation begins with Charlotte in her hotel room, lounging on a bed in a pose reminiscent of a Titian Venus. It conjures up all the images of young women as objects in western art and the romantic emphasis on the sensuality and spirituality of the Far East. The last scene is unforgettable. Bob Harris changes his mind about his stoic farewell to Charlotte in the hotel lobby and runs after her on a crowded downtown Tokyo street. He grabs her and whispers in her ear. Does he say he loves her? Does he give her fatherly advice? Does he plan to continue the relationship? We’ll never know.

In between is the film’s most telling scene. The two lie next to one another on a hotel bed in the middle of the night. Charlotte’s marriage is not fulfilling. She can’t find work that’s meaningful. She is not moved by the Orient as she thinks she should be. Adult life is not as advertised. She asks the older Harris if it gets any easier. “It does,” he responds to our great relief. As you grow older you come to know yourself, he explains. You know what’s important to you and who you are. That makes it easier to say no to the things you don’t want to do.

From the adolescent whose girlish panties filled the first frame to the woman who walks away from Harris in the last scene, Charlotte comes a long way in this film. She has a long way to go. Her husband is still a flake and philosophy is still not a job, but she has had a chance to see what life is measured by. She has been listened to, appreciated, and even honored by a man. Harris’s final whisper to Charlotte redeems them both. He has finally offered his true self to someone. She has accepted it, even been flattered by it. Those are the adult moments we sew together to make our lives. Charlotte has had, perhaps, her first. One hopes it is not Harris’s last.

 

more reviews by Hadley Ajana