[Belated: August 2004] Almost a year later, I still have not found the words to say what I think of this perfect piece of filmmaking. There is a sheaf of paper I have lugged from California to New York containing notes for a long essay on Sofia Coppola’s masterpiece, but as of now these notes have obstinately failed to coalesce.

Since September 2003, I have allowed this lacuna to exist on my website, and it has bothered me immensely. My review of “Lost In Translation” is the only film review I planned to write—indeed, took pleasure in composing in part—and yet failed to produce a finished work. This is not to say that I will not complete it. But I could let no more time pass before adding at least something to fill this dreadful white space.

And so I declare, simply, that “Lost In Translation” is not only the best film of 2003 but one of the best five or six films to have been released in my lifetime. The film’s uncommon maturity, level of detail, emotional depth, and sheer artistry are unmatched. Coppola’s starbright achievement is so beyond comparison to any other contemporary film it’s embarrassing to imagine the claims of nepotism (and worse) that have dogged her in whispers since her underrated debut “The Virgin Suicides”. Though she will be grouped with peers like Wes Anderson and Spike Jonze, Coppola is better than both of them. Based on this film she may lay claim to being the finest director of her generation. The taste and restraint evident in “Lost In Translation” is a fair indicator that she wouldn’t want that title. I hope it eludes her, as continuing to fly under the radar may be the best career move she can make.

One who wouldn’t shrink from that sort of aggrandizement is Scarlett Johansson, who has benefitted more than anyone from the film. She has shot into the realm of stardom with the alacrity typical of the Hollywood hype machine, but the meteoric rise is justified. Bill Murray, excellent in his own right, dominated discussion of the film (how did he become the darling of the new filmmaking set? Would he get the Oscar? Just what did he and Coppola have between them?) But it’s Johansson who anchors the film with an unforgettable performance that mixes cynicism and naivete, tenderness and shallowness, brains and fecklessness. She perfectly embodies the new graduate Charlotte was written to be. Murray crests on his own star power, formidable and effortlessly charming, but it’s Johansson’s quiet synergy with her director that elevates this film into a marvelous document of deeply-felt empathy.