I was miserable yesterday, so went to see Lost in Translation on my own. It was pretty much what I expected -- beautifully shot, a good representation of the dislocation, boredom and odd surges of excitement that characterise business trips, especially other peoples' business trips. It held up well to the old romances it was referencing; and Murray and Johansson (unsurprisingly) were pretty good at being an aging actor and a young woman. Murray's faint resemblance to John Wayne helped me forget who he was ...
Oscar material? Sure, why not. Slice o' life stories where not much happen makes a nice change. But, but, right now, small independent filmmakers across the world are grinding their teeth and looking at it and grizzling to themselves, what's this film got that my film hasn't? and they have a point -- because this sort of film is just the sort of small, incidental, focus-on-the-beauty-of-the-details sort of thing that they do all the time. I've several on my shelf -- what was it, Wonderland was the London one a few years back? Beautifully, beautifully shot. Fantastic performances. But not helmed by Hollywood royalty*, nor distractingly cluttered by a big-name star cast boldly against type and the latest hot young thing. Hm. Am I making a point here? Probably not. Cities are beautiful, hotels in different countries are a bit strange, karaoke can be oddly moving ... come on, something I don't know already? Anything?
Also, the chick-flick trailer set led me to discovering that you can put your fingers in your ears and close your eyes, but you still cannot shut out the sheer monstrosity of Mona Lisa Smile.
*Although Tilda Swinton was in it, who's royalty of a sort.