Lost in Translation, an Academy Award laureate in 2003, still stands today as one of writer-director Sofia Coppola’s most beloved works. Starring Scarlet Johansson and Bill Murray, the film tells about two Americans in Tokyo who lament the failures of their respective relationships, eventually finding solace in each other’s company. Charlotte, who feels neglected by her photographer husband, and Bob, a waning celebrity, are both plagued with an ambivalent sense of anxiety and loneliness between what seems to be a doomed past (denoted as the failures of their relationships) and the uncertainty of the future (how to move on).
Coppola’s depictions of the major themes in this film, such as loneliness and detachment from the world, can be explored through the lens of a person with depression. In this essay, I aim to navigate the state of depression and the process of healing through Lost in Translation.
Lost
“Does it get easier?” Charlotte asks Bob, as they lie looking at the ceiling in bed. She is stuck in a marriage with no love, to a husband who has little interest in giving her even a fraction of comfort, and finds herself lost. She is unable to navigate herself out of this union, or what she would like to pursue in the future. Bob shares this ailment of detachment from loveless marriage and his work as a washed-up celebrity. Our protagonists are lost. In a literal sense, they are lost in an unfamiliar world, against the backdrop of a busy and bright Tokyo metropolis, with language barriers and accents they find difficult to understand. This reflects their inability to connect with the reality and their own respective personal relationships that they seem stuck in, failing to get closure from their partners. This sentiment of being “stuck” and not knowing how to move forward is felt commonly during depression, and a person may be overcome with despondency.
Beauty of wallowing in abjection
This despondency often spirals into a state of wallowing. The cinematography, with its washed-up and sullen blue-grey palette, invokes a sense of soft sadness, in tandem with mystery and loneliness in these scenes. These elements accumulate into a quality of transient beauty seen throughout the film; the faint view outside the window of the Park Hyatt Tokyo, the cold but familiar waiting-room at the hospital, and so on. Coppola captures Tokyo’s elusive beauty that is felt through the city’s ephemeral qualities, and in doing so, she is able to justify the protagonists’ compulsions to dwell in their own sadness, wallowing in abjection in the face of powerlessness. We see Scarlett Johansson’s character devastated by her loveless marriage, miserable as she lies in bed all day- but she does it so beautifully! There is a certain comfort in spending extensive amounts of time alone in a confined space, as Coppola’s use of the dreamy blue light may suggest, invoking melancholy. Under the influence of depression, we recognise the self-inflicted punishment of wallowing in abjection- an indulgence of the death drive, as a substitute for pleasure. Further withdrawal from the world around, which often tempers one’s loneliness, can push people into a deeper state of depression.
Searching & Discovery
Throughout the narrative trajectory, which feels slow-moving and lethargic in some sense, we begin to see a change in atmosphere, evolving with the protagonists’ growing friendship with each other and the world around them. This change is particularly visible in the karaoke scene, where Charlotte and Bob meet up with Charlotte’s Japanese friends and enjoy nightlife. For the first time we get a sense that Bob is actually enjoying the moment, as he sings “More than This” and engages in conversation with strangers. As an audience we understand the attempts made by the protagonists to reconstruct their life, trying to find joy in living again. These sequences are imbued with much more energy and a frenzied-pace which demonstrate a true jovialness when you allow yourself to be exposed to others, forming new connections. Coppola says, in order to get better, you must first let yourself be vulnerable and try.
So…“Does it get easier?”
“No… yes, it gets easier,” Bob reassures Charlotte, that “the more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things bother you.” The very condition of human existence is this: as desirable as it would be, the antidote to depression does not work itself immediately, and the feeling of loneliness and detachment can never truly be absolved. Aforementioned cycles of alienation, wallowing, and getting better continue throughout our lives. However, as it is a cycle and a pattern- we will get used to it, and therein find new ways to temper ourselves. The years of struggle, in retrospect, will be remembered as the most beautiful of times. Lost in Translation, with its hazy and transient visual aesthetic, is reminiscent of a nostalgic memory playing out in either Charlotte or Bob’s mind, as they continue living in the future.
We often feel that getting out of depression is impossible because of the doubts that occur to us, albeit ironically, in the process of getting better; we lament the things we lost, the time wasted, and a future that could have been. This sadness is necessary for growth, and should not be taken as an indicator that things cannot change.
Lost in Translation closes with Charlotte and Bob embracing for the last time before their respective departure from Tokyo, amidst a crowd of people in their work clothes, cars, and pale buildings. We are left feeling an ambivalent mixture of feelings: emotionally terrorised, sweet-bitter, or sad. One thing is for sure; We are not worried for our protagonists. Their lives in America have not changed; the initial problems of their relationships are not resolved. Yet, through a true and meaningful friendship that has blossomed, they too know, that they are not alone in this world and that there are ways in which the vigor for life can be revived.
Oftentimes, it is a positive that our social milieus are very diverse, especially as part of an international community. However it is possible, due to cultural differences, to feel alone, that no one can truly understand what you are going through. Say that you can’t find the exact words to articulate precisely what your problem is to your friend, or maybe that your friend wants closure and you are unable to open up to them because it’s not a part of your culture to do so. It may feel like a futile effort in communicating your feelings, but it is important to remember that the feeling of grief is universal, and there will always be someone who will understand you, regardless of the language.
— Writer Yewon Kim can be reached at yekm23@patana.ac.th. Follow her on Instagram @amedreamlog
