Sometimes, a movie is too good to put into writing, and you don't know how to explain it on the appropriate level. A great writer would suggest that you go see the movie for yourself, and then take the time he would have spent on the review and put it towards a novel that would hopefully work as well on a literary scale as the movie he's not writing about does as a film.

I've seen many movies like that, and most of them rank among my favorites (Punch Drunk Love is the one most immediate in my mind). They're why I love movies. The conflict I'm feeling right now, trying to write about Sofia Coppola's Lost In Translation, the way just thinking about it is making me feel more strongly about it, makes me think that it might be one of those movies. It's simply perfect. Perfect, because it is simple. In a movie where so little happens (although there is a lot going on), any false steps in the storytelling, any manipulative tricks would be all the more obvious. Sofia Coppola makes no mistakes. I don't need to extend any more praise on the movie, because that encapsulates everything.

I wonder how much of the movie is autobiographical to her; I imagine a lot of it is, not so much in the factual sense, but in the emotional geography it purveys. I know she spent time living in Tokyo, where this movie takes place. It's about being lost, in a city you don't know and in life you're not quite sure you know any better. I can imagine her feeling exactly like the characters in this movie, because that's how I've felt when I've traveled alone. Being by yourself in a place you don't know can make you reflective, usually too reflective, and it makes you want to find someone to talk to. A connection. It makes you want a hug.

There is one scene I want to talk about. When Bill Murray's Bob carries Scarlett Johansson's Charlotte back to her hotel room after a long night of partying, he lays her on the bed and puts the covers over her, and then leaves quickly, although you can tell he's trying to prolong his departure as long as possible. He knows he won't stay, but he's hoping that maybe she'll ask him to. He makes it out the door and shuts it, and then makes sure it's locked so he knows he won't be able to get back in. In a lesser film -- not necessarily a bad film, but a lesser one -- the door might not have been locked, or he might not have left. But he does, and goes back to his room. He calls his wife; she hangs up before he can tell her he loves her.

This movie makes you ache, and then it comforts you, and it makes you laugh so you don't have to cry, although you may anyway. Or maybe it won't have the same effect on you. By being so vague, I might be building the movie up into something it's not. Like I said, the movie is very simple; it is what it is, and while I think is has something for everyone, maybe there's more for some than others. All I can say to that is that I'd like to thank Sofia Coppola for putting so much there for me.