Our Favorite Films: “Amarcord”

by Lana Petelle

Amarcord is composed of fragments from Fellini’s childhood memories as a young boy from a mid-class family in his home town, Rimini, in Rome during the early 1930’s. The film is laid out almost as if it was the film version of his most personal memoirs. Each different sequence of events serves as a different chapter, a different memory, and a different dream. It is a coming-of-age tale mixed with all the wonderful make believe elements that supplement our childhood.

Amarcord could not be put into just one category; its bittersweet characters are both humorous and melancholic, the stories are filled with nostalgia as the on-screen narrators brings neorealist style contrasted by the mélange of dreams.

And even though Amarcord lacks a conventional plot, all of these aspects together form that “something” that makes Amarcord such a fun film. It is not a story, but a feeling. It is not a narrative, but a mixture of sights and sounds that resonate within us all. 

The opening scene of the film begins with a very nostalgic/traditional tone, as the town gathers around and rejoices the coming of spring with a gigantic bon fire in the town square. This launches the film’s drive but the illusion is immediately broken when our first on screen narrator looks directly at the camera: an old man walking through the streets of the now empty town.

This is our first narrator of the film (out of a total of 3). The fact the characters in the films know they’re part of a film, gives the feeling that this could have been someone Fellini knew as a boy and his monologue is therefore not just directed at the audience but at Fellini himself. These moments, where the film jumps from realism to fantasy occur a number of times throughout the film, and allow the audience members to interpret it as they wish, the same way they would interpret a piece of abstract art, or a dream.

Fellini’s Amarcord plays with the viewer’s imagination and in turn we can easily assume that Fellini was doing the same while making the film. Scenes and characters are exaggerated, almost as if it was exactly the way Fellini would have remembered it as a young child.

The characters are portrayed through a childlike sense of wonder the same way we admire family members like our crazy aunt when we are young children. By the time we reach a more perceptive age we realize our fun, crazy aunt who always passed out on the couch was actually a broke alcoholic. For example when the main character Tita’s mad uncle climbs up a tree and begins to yell “i want a women” we think to ourselves “sure this is possible” and it very well could have been but there is a certain exaggeration the the sequence, from the absurdity of the uncle’s demands, to the over-sized tree.

A similar example would be the town whore (a recurring character in Fellini’s 8 1/2) who could have been portrayed as a common whore, but the actresses execution is flamboyant if nothing more, giving her a magically clean aura one does not tend to associate with prostitutes. The way she touches her body at all times as if always trying to arouse anyone who passes by and the excitement it brings her. Its the small things like these that give the film the dream-like fantasy it is so well known for.

One of the most memorable scenes in the movie when Tita finds himself alone with the very voluptuous tobacco shop owner, and manages to arouse her by displaying his strength. She is impressed so she exposes herself to him and begs him to cores her. Ironically, Tita, under the weight of the voluptuous woman, becomes suffocated by her body… the thing he desired most. 

These characters bring color to the film. There is Gradisca, the most desired woman in Rimini. And then there’s Titas’s classic Italian family. A group of idiosyncratic misfits living together with their mad uncle and their buffoonish grandfather. These wonderful characters are all filtered through a child’s imaginations, and portrayed as extravagant larger-than-life versions of themselves. But these exaggerated characteristics that separate it from other Italian Neorealist films, are exactly what make it so endearing. The film is a perfect example of personal filmmaking done right. The film is fun, entertaining, and emotional, yet there is always a certain detachment from the audience. The idea that Fellini enjoyed his films more than anyone is still prevalent, but that won’t stop anyone else, who’s willing to watch something extraordinarily unconventional, to enjoy it as well.

Our Favorite Films: "Oldboy"

by Arturo Virzi

It’s not very easy to write much about the Korean revenge epic, Oldboy, without writing about the ending. I promise anyone who takes the initiative to watch this film; the ending will be one of the most reliable sources of conversation whenever you meet another person who has seen this film.

In this short article, though, I will try to avoid as many spoilers as I possibly can, and try instead to focus on the other aspects that make Oldboy such a great film.

Oldboy is one of those films that are constantly described as “amazing”, and “incredibly twisted”. Most people wouldn’t recommend the film to anyone, and let’s just say its demographic might be pretty narrow. It is an tale of epic revenge, not the same as an epic tale of revenge, but close nevertheless.

Audiences have a habit to complain about thrillers whenever they’re predictable. Well… if your friend manages to predict Oldboy without being told, then that means he might be as much of a sociopath as Park Chan-wook, the writer and director of the film… I mean that in a good way.

Oldboy is a labyrinthine, visual tour-de-force, feasting the eyes with colorful pop imagery, juxtaposed against horrible acts of violence. Guillermo Del Toro once described the purpose of art as “finding the beauty in the horrible, and finding the horrible in beauty”. Oldboy does both of these, engulfing the viewer in a plethora of emotions, from disgust, fear, and shock, but never trying to be aesthetically displeasing, like most thrillers and horror films tend to be. Oldboy is such a stylistically beautiful film, that it could easily be seen as a visual exercise, but the storyline it carries within complements (and juxtaposes) the visuals so thoroughly that the substance manages to parallel the style.

Oldboy is a thriller down to the bone, though, and it never tries to be more than what it really is. The plot is introduced in the first 10 minutes, and the mystery is solved through a number of fast-paced, quick-cut montages. It could be said that the execution of Oldboy is all just bells and whistles, with an empty core instead of a heart. But that is just not the case, and Oldboy does not trade style for substance… it equates it.

A lot of disturbing things do happen on screen, but one cannot dismiss this as pure shock value when it serves a purpose. Take into account my favorite scene in the film. As Oh-Dae Su begins to remember an important childhood memory, he is literally transported into the past as his young self, and as he recreates the sequence of events, his body switches from his old self to his younger version. The scene in illuminated in a brown sepia tone, giving it the feel of an old photograph and mirroring the antagonist’s passion for the medium. There are no guts spilled, heads cut off, or eyes pulled out during this whole sequence, and yet one can’t help but feel incredibly tense. This scene, and the film as a whole, just clicks.

One of the most popular criticisms of Oldboy is that it’s a character piece with no morality. It’s true, the film’s subject is revenge but at the end there is nothing to be said about it. All we are really left with is an extreme, violent, over-the-top example of vengeance. And my rebuttal to that argument is the following: so what? 

Not every film needs to be a message to be complete, and not every film needs to have underlying themes about existential philosophy either.

Is Oldboy a story that needed to be told? 
Yes, solely because it is a good story.

Can a story stand on its own two feet without an underlying parable? 
Yes, if the story is good then it can stand on its own two feet.

Is a good story enough?
Yes, a good story is more than enough.

A film doesn’t need to bog itself down with limitless amounts of erudite themes in order for it to be considered good. Like I always say: a good story is a good story is a good story is a good story.

Capishe?

Oldboy begins and Oldboy ends. Even if it doesn’t deal with scholarly subjects, it will still generate great argumentative debates like any other great film. And as far as stories go, Oldboy might be one of the most harrowingly original I’ve ever seen in my life. And if originality is not enough, then take its sublime execution into account.

Oldboy is like your favorite record. All of the songs generate a common theme, a similar aesthetic, but they’re all great on their own as well. The prison montage, the elongated hallway fight scene, the raw octopus, and the final set-piece inside the antagonist’s apartment, are all just some of the great sequences in Oldboy. And the fact they’re all carried by an incredible narrative, proves just how much of a virtuoso Mr. Chan-wook really is, who could have striven for a B-movie, and walked the extra mile to give us an A-film.

I’ll, once again, bring up the fact the film’s masterful brilliance lies, mostly, in its devastating, emotionally straining twist. The shocking denouement is a rare feat, not because of its unpredictability, but because we, the audience, have sympathized with the main character and must now watch him crumble further down the hole of oblivion.

It’s no wonder Hollywood has been trying to remake it due to their lack of original ideas. I just hope they never do, because Americanized remakes encourages audience’s fear of subtitles and allow them to avoid watching these wonderful authentically original films. “We’ll edit the story so it can fit with the sensibilities of American audience’s”, comments like these promote the apathy audiences feel towards other foreign films. “I’ll watch the remake”, I was told by a friend of mine. He said the same thing about Slumdog Millionaire days before it was nominated for an Oscar… he now owns it on DVD. One this I can tell you for certain: It won’t be the same. Hollywood executives would never dare faithfully adapt the story of Oldboy. If you skip this magnificent film then all you’ll get is a watered-down version made under the classic Hollywood blockbuster blueprint… starring Will Smith.

Shame. On. You.

Critique&Analysis: "There Will Be Blood" - Tradition vs. Modernity

by Arturo Virzi

The times in which a film is released will, without a doubt, affect the judgment of audience. Most articles about Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood revolved around the mysterious title, and the ambiguous criticism of the war on Iraq. Watching it again, four years after its release, i come to the realization that There Will Be Blood might have been misjudged by me, other film enthusiasts, and some critics even.

It is not rare for current events to alter the perception of art by the masses, one would assume that any artist is trying to remain relevant to his times, but my desperate attempts at somehow linking There Will Be Blood to the war on Iraq might have been what strayed me away from its meaning the most.

Watching it again with a clear eyed perspective, I come to realize that I might have missed the point entirely. The films themes are not simply greed, and the psychological battle between the character of Eli (Paul Dano) and Plainview (DDL) is a battle of ideas. 

The character of Daniel Plainview might be a lot older than Eli, but he represents the modern man, unlike Eli who stands for tradition. They both believe in their ideals so strongly, that they see their opposite as obsolete. Plainview might have brought wealth, railroads, and prosperity to Little Boston, but Eli looses control over its people. Eli feels threatened because Plainview can control others through material goods, Eli controlled through invisible ones. As industrialization comes to Little Boston, its spirituality begins to die. There is a sense of dramatic irony in the story, because we know who wins the duel before the credits roll. Not because Plainview is portrayed by a superior actor, but because we are living in his world today. Despite the fact Plainview is a total psychotic asshole, he remains a lot more sympathetic to modern audiences than Eli, who is a dying breed. Plainview knows this already, and despises the rituals that justify the beating of a four year old girl who refuses to participate in them. It is true that the film is a duel between two negative aspects of opposite cultures, the culture of superstition and the culture of modernity, but Plainview wins before the film even starts because he knows very well that in due time superstition will die and Eli doesn’t really adhere himself to the faith as much as he claims to do so. 

There Will Be Bloods first 20 minutes have Plainview crossing a desert with a broken leg, on his way to making his first fortune, and these examples of incredible endurance almost justify his subsequent behavior. In fact, the mere fact that he brought incredible prosperity to the people of Little Boston still makes him an admirable character, even if his intentions where never considered to be good. Plainview knows he’s not a good person, but Eli has many more flaws, for being vain and jealous of Plainview who performs a spiritual coup de ta the moment he baptizes the first well.    

In the final scene Eli comes begging for help from Plainview who has scammed him from the money that should be rightly his. The modern man has already won, and the culture of tradition had to catch up to the culture of modernity. Plainview then murders Eli after he manages to get him to admit he is a false prophet and that god is a superstition. Plainview mocks Eli for thinking he’s somehow connected to a divine entity and yet requires the help of Plainview to survive in the new competitive environment. 

The title There Will Be Blood is not a reference to the popular mantra: “blood for oil”. It refers to lineage, Plainview’s lack of family. When Plainview is around members of the community he is trying to exploit he puts on a mask, and pretends to be charismatic, friendly oil prospector. So when he finds his brother, he spills the beans on his true motivations and desires, believing his brother would understand. So it doesn’t take long for him to figure out the man is an impostor when he can’t find a connection. His son too, grows into a different person, and Plainview’s attempts at making a heir, a partner and a clone fail. The only person who Plainview seems to connect with is Eli who, despite the fact they represent complete opposite ideologies, are two sides of the same coin. The lies of Eli mirror the lies of Plainview, and he hates him for it. 

Plainview murders Eli in the last scene as the final act of his dehumanization and as a celebration of his victory. The first time I saw the scene I did feel it was out of place with the formalism of the movie. But watching it again, the scene reminds me of Kubrick, who also dealt with the theme of dehumanization in dramatically humorous situations. It symbolizes the main themes of the film as modernity slaughters tradition and makes room for the future. 

Our Favorite Films: "Top Hat"

by Arturo Virzi

I like to think I’m unbiased when it comes to film criticism, treating all film genres equally, but musicals are the one I have the most trouble with. The Sound of Music and Singing in the Rain are just a few of the classic musicals hailed as masterpieces today, and despite the fact I will never call them by any means “bad films”, I will hesitate when it comes to putting them in my list of all time favorites. 

So I was surprised to find myself so engaged while watching Top Hat, one of the ten Ginger Rogers/Fred Astaire films for RKO. Top Hat is a film dripping with wit, talent, and delight. It doesn’t constrain itself with realism, by portraying a wealthy, elegant, picturesque version of Europe, and not the effects of the recession at the times.

Top Hat’s history makes it a parable of joy and hope amidst great conflict and trouble. It offered audiences a glimpsed at, not only how things were, but how things could be. The story is deliberately light-heart, but this does not detract from the abundant word play, which is biting, quotable and fun. 

The story includes elements that might be considered campy, like a thick-accented villain, and a cunningly rebellious butler, but they are given such fun dialog, that their dimensionless nature serves more as a treat than as a flaw. Dealing with archetypes is a tricky business, but when they’re given such fun situations and lines their over-the-top qualities turn into endearing traits. 

I now know why Fred Astaire is considered the 5th greatest male star in Hollywood by the AFI. Seeing an actor with so much talent makes the world seem unfair for the rest of us mortals. How can this guy sing, dance, and act so well, no one should be allowed to have so much, it puts the rest of us at a huge disadvantage. 

Astaire is, without a doubt, a character actor, similar to same way Woody Allen had his neurotic stand-up comedian/writer, and Charlie Chaplin had the Little Tramp. Astaires’s character is a charming, witty, romantic hero who uses dance as a motif to move the plot forward. 

Unlike singers, who tend to be numerous in the world of film, Astaire is a uniquely talented tap dancer, and I regularly found myself amazed at his incredibly creative, carefully constructed and complex choreography. I never considered myself a fan of tap dancing before, but now I must say Top Hat has turned me into a believer. 

The greatest asset Top Hat has to its favor is the fun factor. It was most likely the shortest hour and a half I have ever experienced in my life. It epitomizes the feel-good-movie, filled with great songs, dance numbers, hilarious dialog, idiosyncratic characters, a mistaken identity plot, and a fun dose of romance to boot. In an age of boring, dull, and monochromatic romantic comedies, it is incredibly refreshing to see such a good one. It’s not an understatement to say that Top Hat has something for everyone! Incredibly accessible to modern audiences despite its age, and brimming with nostalgia for those who miss the “better” days of Hollywood.

Top Hat is one of those films that brings up the age-old question: “why don’t they do ‘em like this anymore”. I usually reserve my final judgment on a film one week after watching it, but I can’t help calling it one of the best film I’ve ever seen.

I constantly watch heavy-handed, complex, and emotionally charged films, and Top Hat is the kind of film that remind me just what made them so endearing to me in the first place. Viewers are escapists, seeking to get taken away by a narrative. Not every film needs to mimic Ingmar Bergman’s existential motifs. Sometimes, all a film really needs to be is fun.

This is what makes Top Hat so incredibly endearing, it’s extremely fun and witty, and I can’t wait to see it again after catching up on the rest of the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers RKO films.

Now, excuse me, while I go do that. If you haven’t been exposed to this magnificent duo, i suggest you do the same and start with Top Hat. And you’ll know why it’s one of “Our Favorite Films”.

Food For Thought: Nature of Film

by Arturo Virzi

Cinema is already considered an established artform today, but during its inception, it had the same troubles other mediums such as video games go through in order to achieve the status. To be regarded as art was an honor and a privilege, and cinema seemed to be too much of a mass art for the high brow culture to deem it one.

Early exhibitions didn’t recount stories, but simply showcased film as a technological achievement. The result was a cheap shock effect from its audience, one that lasted momentarily, but once our eyes adapted to the seemingly impossible nature of moving images, the thrill thinned and all we were left with was a boxing match or a ballerina.

If art was form and meaning then cinema surely lacked meaning. The cinema had lowbrow associations with the circus side show and the vaudeville peep show, and due to it’s mass popularity, film also had a vulgarity rarely seen in other artistic mediums such as theater or opera. The paradox was that even though the stage simulated life, cinema contained raw and organic elements rarely seen on the stage due to its borgeausie nature.

Another very popular opinion was that film lacked an identity of its own, borrowing and stealing heavily from theater. For some time it was believed that cinema would always serve as the means to art and not as an art form itself. It was a way of spreading real art, it was said. Film first had to emancipate itself from its previews incarnations in order to be an independent medium.

The key was to exploit the differences it shared with theater, like editing, soundtrack, voice overs, close-ups, movement. Theater was a recreation of life, while film, on the other hand, had a guiding conscience of its own, serving as a mediator. The presence of an artist was a lot more noticeable in a film, than at a play.

The classic period of film had crucial investigations on the structure of film, and how it differed itself from other artforms. The distinguishing features of a film are composed of technical devices employed in narratives for the sake and purpose of an emotional reward. Flackbacks, close-ups, and edits are some of the techniques filmmaker execute, and the ones that distinguish film from theater. 

But how do we, the viewers, understand the role that these technical devices play in the articulation of cinematic narrative? Philosopher Munsterberg answered this by stating that all of these devices employed on film are objectifications of mental processes. A close-up, for example. presents in visual form a correlate to the mental act of paying attention.

The reason we naturally understand the narrative filmmaking without reading a booklet before is because these technique mirror our own memory and thought process.

Then sound took over film, and talkies became the standard quo in Hollywood, putting a lot of stars from the silent era out of a job. Many art critics despised the talkie, because the believed that silent cinema had already achieved independent status as an art form on its own, and sound brought it back down to zero once again. These critics relied on the idea that in order to something to be art it must be unique, an idea that has changed over time. 

For many critics of the sound film, the artistic aspect of cinema consisted in its ability to present abstractions. An ability that was almost lost when film gained the ability to present simultaneous soundtrack, now that films had the capacity to explain rather than be forced to show.  

Many praised the new technological advancement, though, and attained that film still represented a landmark in the art world. Many believed the silence of film was an detraction and a limit, and that the true exploitative quality of film was movement, and editing. 

With editing we can demonstrate the presence of an alternative means of achieving film art, namely an interest in allowing the camera to reveal an objective first person experience of the world.

These supporters of sound value styles they call realism, composed of extended shots and deep focus and most likely used by Jean Renoir, Orson Welles and Victorio De Sicca. It’s only after seeing these artists employ the modern techniques in their film that the critics of sound turned into believer. 

Critique&Analysis: "The Treasure of Sierra Madre" - Root of Evil

by Arturo Virzi

Fred Dobbs, masterfully played by Humphrey Bogart, is the epitome of the anti-hero film archetype. The protagonist of The Treasure of Sierra Madre is dirty, brutish, savaged, greedy, jealous, and somehow (mostly due to Bogart’s screen presence) he remains likable. 

The fact the character is so despicable must have alienated audiences in 1948 who had already placed Bogart into their collective consciousness as the suave hero he played most of the time in films like The Maltese Falcon and Casablanca. But now days, I think we can all agree on the fact that Fred Dobbs constitutes one of Humphrey Bogart’s best performances.

I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea that flawed character tend to make up the best character, and The Treasure of Sierra Madre adds leverage to my argument. Fred Dobbs is a victim of his own ambition; the treasure that will free him from all responsibilities is the treasure that destroys him. 

The film places two morally mature characters as audience stand-in. Curtis, played by Tim Holt, and Howard, played by John Huston’s father Walter. These characters contrast with Dobbs’s personality. Curtis wants to buy a farm, and Howard doesn’t ever seem too optimistic about keeping the money for too long (and rightly so). Two very sympathetic characters who serve at witnesses to Fred Dobbs mental, moral and physical deterioration. 

The film still works best as a psychological portrayal of the effects that money has on the human psyche. Again attaching itself to the philosophical morality that money is the root of all evil.

The film, though, makes a clear distinction between ambition and greed. There needs to be a source of motivation for any of our human actions, and these amoral aspects are portrayed in both Curtis and Howard. While Fred, on the other hand, lusts for instant gratification, and never dwells on the idea of working after finding enough gold. What he doesn’t realize is that his ideology eventually corrupts his thought process, and enough never seems to be enough.  

Fred Dobbs’s demise is a subtle fall from grace. The character goes from being a believably sympathetic man in search of enough gold to get by (As Howard would say) to a deranged lunatic who’s willing to endanger his own life and those of others to get a bigger share. Fred Dobbs psychological profile expands as he becomes suspicious of his partners, and eventually does to them exactly what he feared they do to him. He projects his own evil onto others, and when Curtis tries warn him of his thoughtlessness, Dobbs immediately dismisses it as a strategic maneuver. 

Like any immoral personality, he justifies his actions with the motto “it was either them or me”, which is not only untrue but irresponsibly dangerous. It is impossible to base that notion of facts, because once the victimizer has acted against the victim, the victim can’t act back. And if the victim gets a chance to strike back and takes it, the actions could be justified as revenge. To right a wrong, and not as a preemptive strike.

Howard is not surprised, he says. He’s seen it all before, and these subtle insinuations of his lead the audience to believe and realize the fact that the events of the film have happened many times before. Howard remains sane, though, after being back stabbed most of his life while searching for a treasure he never manages to keep for too long. This is incredibly admirable. John Huston clearly wrote the part for his father, and it fits him like a glove. Howard might be the oldest and wisest of the crew but his spirit remains young, and his presence shines during the films best moments.   

The Film’s morality is stripped down of all the postmodern ideas. Fred Dobbs is a greedy and immoral character, and John Huston wants us to know that. The moral landscape the film presents is not gray, but completely black and white. The film leaves almost no space for ambiguities, and delivers a very objective opinion on the role of money in society. 

The matter-a-fact nature of the film is juxtaposed with the humorously ironic finale which brings some lightness to an otherwise serious film, and prevents itself from being preachy. 

It’s not just what the film does that makes it great, it’s also what it doesn’t. The moral of the story is not derived from a speech, and the film never tells, it only shows. The moral of the film is derived from the actions of the characters, from the real world, and it’s objective nature. It is clear to the audiences what the film is about because it mirrors our world and subjects as serious as these don’t need to beat around to bush in order to find a solution. The film avoids catering itself to the postmodern culture and tries to say something clear, precise, and concrete. For these and many more reasons, The Treasure of Sierra Madre is a treasure indeed. 

Our Favorite Films: "Lost in Translation"

by Arturo Virzi

The idea that the setting is or should be used as a character is relative. Most people do not remember where some of their favorite films take place, unless the setting is their home town or the place they currently live in. There are, though, a few exceptions. Films that transcend by placing the viewer in a world, and not a situation. 

Almost no film uses the personification of a setting better than Sofia Coppola’s sophomore film, Lost In Translation. Japan comes to life in the film, not just as a culture but as a vibrant personality, perceived entirely from a foreign point of view. It’s one of the few films that I can think of that truly captures the essence of being culture shocked. 

When travelling, we find ourselves stuck in a moment, where the past somehow slowly slips away from us while we make space in our cultural paradigm for the new wonders we encounter. 

Lost in Translation could have easily been an offensive slapstick against Japanese culture, but Coppola treats it with respect and admiration. 

Subtlety, and indirectness are the best qualities of the films. The characters never vocalize their struggle or their feelings for Japan or each other, but the audience manages to “get” it. If what they say about film, about how exposition is everything, then Lost In Translation is an incredible accomplishment by managing to say so much with so little. 

Japan is a strange world to both of our protagonists, and they are both “lost” in every way imaginable. So when they find comfort in each others company, their connection becomes a haven. Lost in Translation is a true love story about two lost souls serving as leverage for each other in their incredibly cumbersome lives, mirrored by Japans loud, jam-packed, pseudo-nonsensical environment. 

Francoise Truffaut (I’m paraphrasing) once said that a films plot shouldn’t derive from a synopsis. The plot is created by the characters themselves. It should be a natural conflict based around the characters interests. Coppola manages to do just that with Lost In Translation, where there is no obvious driving force behind the narrative. The film is 100% character driven, but not by their desires, unlike most films, but by emotion. The film avoids the cheap tricks, like will-they-won’t-they sexual tension, or the classic fictional archetypes. It possesses one of the most rare qualities found in films today: honesty. 

During some of the films best moments, the characters let go of themselves and just have fun. They invite us to get lost with them in the wondrous world of Japan. 

Most script doctors will tell you this is “no-no” in a any given situation, unless it built up to a situational climax. But the climax is far from situational. During the final moments, Bob races after Charlotte before she leaves the country. But instead of ending with a long a passionate kiss, the way most simulative Romantic Comedies end, the characters linger on a hug, something they both desperately needed. Bob follows the hug with a small kiss, and then whispers an inaudible secret in Charlotte’s ear. It don’t think it really matters what he said or what he didn’t. Speculations about this range from “Charlotte is pregnant” to “I will always love you”. This is the scene where audiences throw their hats into the ring and attempt to decipher the riddle. What he said to her doesn’t matter, what matters is how much it meant, and by this point in the film, the audience is very well aware of the fact that it meant a lot. 

Japan is a beauty, and anyone who has seen the film can tell you that the images we receive are so emotionally resonant, that an artificial driving force, like a conventional plot, would have turned this little gem of a film into a synthetic product. So if you’ve seen Lost in Translation, go see it again. If you haven’t been exposed to it yet, then follow this advice and loose yourself together with Bob and Charlotte. If you’re as lucky as I am, you might find yourself by the end and I promise; you won’t regret it.