Garbage, Coppola Style Bad direction. Awful writing. Plodding, tiring, waste of top comedic talent...this is a chick flick for a lower intelligence, average, shallow woman to waste an afternoon with.
As to anyone else's bad comments on this piece of dreck...I heartily agree. Bad career move for Bill. He may have felt pressure to interconnect and make "nice" with the Coppolas... they are pretty powerful Hollywood stuff. What with Sophia's daddy doing the Godfather and Apocalypse Now and other drama action pieces. At least the Godfather had something to say...and did it with power...about a serious subject.
This movie, Lost in Translation, has NOTHING to say, and does it with wimpy suggestiveness; long moments of no speech or action, nice photography with bad writing. Kind of like your brother's videos of his trip to Tokyo, only without any useful information, or your brother's pizza and beer.
The characters are undeveloped. The king has no clothes. This thing is a stinker, and in my opinion nails shut the awful record of Ebert and Roeper who actually gave this not just Two Thumbs Up, but... are you ready for this?... Two BIG Thumbs Up. Never again! My best thoughts on the analysis of how a train wreck like this is conceived in the mind of the Writer / Director, Sophia Coppola, is she is a fan of Woody Allen, a genius without saying it, a true innovator of style, comedy, and philosophic insight set to comedy. However, whereas Woody Allen has talent, and a funny observational humor, Sophia has apparently the ability to hold a camera and watch a man on a business working trip to Tokyo, doing nothing spectacular.
The Woody Allenish aspects of this movie are the commentary, and the relational aspects of male and females in marriage and dating... only this movie makes no witty commentary. Just pictures of two boring people. Sorry Bill. I really am a huge fan of his work, including Groundhog Day, Stripes, SNL, etc. But, this movie was beneath him for whatever reasons he did it.
If I were Nicolas Cage, I would disavow any relationship to Sophia Coppola.
No plot. No direction. Nothing to say. No arc. Attempted humor lands on its face much like your stilted Aunt attempting to quote Jerry Seinfeld. Even the mispronunciation in the speech of the native Japanese unable to say their "L's" falls flat on its face. The Japanese hooker yells at Bill to "Lip her stockings" meaning "rip her stockings." Phhtt. Listen to the echoing silence.
Any hack writer in Hollywood could have punched this thing up. Should have considered hiring a comedy screenwriter... or perhaps taking direction from Bill Murray and listening to his creative instincts. Obviously, he had little input into this smoldering pile.
I wonder how long Sophia had to pound daddy's desk in order to get him to put out the money to fund this film.