Lost in Translation is one of my favorite movies. I saw it at a time when I was very prone to its content–the feelings of disconnection, the search for purpose, the desire for authenticity. I’ve probably watched it a dozen times since then, and with each viewing those same sentiments are echoed for me. Diluted, perhaps, but still very much there. It’s a good reminder of who I was, am, and may become.
I watched it again recently, and two things stood out to me that hadn’t before. Scarlett Johansson’s character says to Bill Murray’s character: “Let’s never come here again because it would never be as much fun.” I’ve overheard this a couple times in my life, vows from friends or acquaintances to never do something or go somewhere again because it wouldn’t be the same. Of course it wouldn’t be the same. It may be better, worse, more significant, less important, phenomenally boring, infinitely interesting, or anything in between. When I was traveling with a friend, I brought up that statement on the streets of Budapest when we were talking about if we would ever return to the places we traveled.
Returning to anywhere is fraught with memories, events and emotions that inform the visit to that place. The only time someone says “let’s never come here again” is when the experience is new and exciting. That very human imprint is being made on the place. It is marked in the memory, and will forever be associated with that moment in time unless it is forgotten. I can see myself returning to places, my experiences more complex having been there before. Those experiences enrich life and establish the canvas onto which other memories can be painted. It is an understandable sentiment, “let’s never come here again,” but a silly one as well. In the film, Bill Murray’s character responds jokingly, “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
The other element of the film that struck me was the leadup to the final moments. The two characters say goodbye the night before and the morning of Bill Murray’s character’s departure, but both goodbyes are unsatisfactory. The inability to say goodbye is extraordinary. The experience surely must be universal: being forced to let go prematurely. How much longer would allow a sufficient goodbye? What mooment could be created that would establish a decent farewell? As each moment slips away, so does the chance of a proper goodbye, and holding on longer seems to decrease the chance of it happening. In Lost in Translation, it is sheer coincidence that the final moments of the film unfold as they do.
I read a review a few years after seeing the movie that suggested that the moment robbed the audience of a proper denouement–there is no closure since the audience cannot hear what is said. But I think the audience knows enough. Look into Scarlett Johansson’s tear-filled eyes and Bill Murray’s half-smile as he walks away, and anyone can see what has occurred: the perfect goodbye. The characters are allowed the catharsis, and the audience is lucky enough to witness it, maybe join in the experience.
We have trouble letting go–of moments, of places, of people. Our attachment to this world of ours is too strong.
Just like honey. «»
