DVD Time Index: 0:06:09 - 0:08:46*
*PAL Timing




SYNOPSIS: A girl rests pensively against a membrane of neon. Her thoughts are interrupted by sounds of snoring. She tries lying with the man who's making them, snuggling up to his person, but the snoring resumes and the girl wrests herself away, sitting up with a wearied expression. The screen goes black and is quickly flooded with light. A long curtain is opening. It is day time. A man suddenly rises from a sleeping position. We're back with Bob Harris. Bob takes a shower, but he can't raise the shower head high enough. A Tokyo vista, a phone ringing, a voice answering. We're back with the girl. Her partner has just taken a call and must leave for work. The girl gives a brief acknowledgment, then sits up and glances at the window. Then the girl is sat against it once more. Back with Bob in an elevator. The girl is there, too. Bob yawns, clearly tired. He looks around for attention, finally getting eye contact from the girl, who cordially smiles then looks away. The elevator arrives at her floor and Bob watches her leave.
ANALYSIS: This is a relatively lean chapter, yet it manages to cram a surprising amount of detail into its sparse duration. In essence, director Sofia Coppola and editor Sarah Flack manage to weave a density of information into an otherwise trifling and unremarkable chapter. It was tougher than expected to write the "synopsis" because of this. There are several jumps in space and time that make a literal explanation difficult. One moment, Charlotte is against a window ledge, then she's suddenly in bed; one moment Bob is reacting to his curtains automatically opening, then he's taking a shower, then we've gone from Bob to Charlotte, then we basically jump-cut from Charlotte looking at the window to Charlotte sitting there; finally, and just as suddenly, we're in an elevator, in the most drawn-out shot of the chapter. The film has an almost imperceptible series of internal rhythms, which implies great thinking. I like the fact that we're getting a paucity of explanation, but also a ton of contrasts and little details -- the things I hold to be so important in the visual medium of film.
The most significant "story" things to say about this chapter are: 1) We can now put a face to the bum, 2) We see the lovers glimpsing each other. But I think it's too much to say that we're necessarily introduced to Charlotte or that the glance between Bob and Charlotte marks their first encounter. There is a kind of distanced quality to the way both of these elements are depicted. While we're with Charlotte, we don't really know too much about her as a person yet (or even her name). On the other hand, some might say that we learn plenty. Film is a subjective experience. But I'm going to stand by my opinion because I sense the film is holding back, even as we get a lingering sense of Charlotte's ennui (e.g. two window shots) and her troubled relationship with her husband. To me, the film not only has an organic quality, but seems to possess a human restraint, mirroring the emotional attitudes of Bob and Charlotte. It says a lot with a little, revealing things in careful increments. To briefly elaborate on the second element, I will say that the significance of the lovers glimpsing each other has a double meaning. A later scene reveals that Bob recalls this episode while Charlotte does not. Put another way, this last scene/shot shows something that means something to one character, but is only a trivial, everyday happening for the latter, with no emotional value to buoy her memory. It seems to sum up audience response. This film either matters because everything means something or it doesn't matter because nothing means anything.
If this chapter "flies under the radar" in many ways, I hope I'm saying there is plenty of substance to it, too. Yin and yang. One thing that always seems to make an impact -- at least, for this viewer -- is Lance Acord's beautiful photography. Right at the start of this chapter, we get what I would consider one of the most effective visuals in the whole of LIT. After a momentary view of Tokyo at night (a sumptuous visual), the camera sharply refocuses to reveal Charlotte looking out from behind her hotel window. It does this in sync with the sound of John's snoring, which has the palpable effect of putting us in the mind of Charlotte. For want of a better description, we "feel" her break in concentration. LIT has many synesthetic moments like this. But this may be one of the most effective (at least, to me). The sound design is excellent, too. Sirens whir in the background, creating a strange ambiance. One LIT fan on IMDb has actually developed a radical interpretation and claims that Bob is having a "near death experience" and LIT is this reality in cinematic form. If this is true, the sirens could ostensibly represent the scene of a car crash (there are references to car crashes in LIT), or maybe Bob on his way to hospital in an ambulance. It's a provocative idea. But even if this interpretation is rejected, the sound design is still brilliantly done. Consider Bob's shower. The sound of the water lashing out is, by far, the loudest foley effect in the chapter. Just as the camera refocusing gives us the feel of being Charlotte, so does the loudness of this effect, I think, bring us into Bob's world. Incidentally, I don't know how credible the scene of Bob struggling with the shower is. Can he truly not raise it higher? While watching the scene for this analysis, I also noticed that his shower head doesn't appear to be screwed on properly and is leaking water.
In many ways, actors are the least important aspect of a motion picture. For the best directors, actors are just another tool, like a powerful lamp or a clapperboard. For all their human appeal and innate talents, actors are ultimately subsumed into the fabric of a film in service of its themes and ideas. They don't matter. And yet they do! Getting the right people and the right performances are paramount. LIT excels here. Giovanni Ribisi gives incredibly true-to-life reactions in the bed, rousing and falling back into slumber with great timing. Similarly, I really like how rushed and flustered he looks as John heads out the door. It was a good choice to have him carrying a camera (and another item?) as he leaves, even though he's already wearing a backpack. To me, John also has a slightly-too-old-complexion-for-the-clothes-he-wears vibe about him. He looks and feels slightly awkward, at all times. Bill Murray also shines in the elevator scene. He is tasked with presenting a series of fluid reactions and ticks in a tricky scene. I like how Bob's yawning is slightly exaggerated. Notice that he seems to crave some basic human reciprocation. He over-amps his yawning in the hopes a little girl, a child, will notice him; a cute moment, but also a sign of desperation, I think. Bob then catches the eye of Charlotte, who only glaces and smiles at him for a second before looking away, nervously looking down then up again. Bob is foregrounded in this scene, drawing our visual and mental gaze to him, and it's clear from the way he continuously watches Charlotte after she smiles at him that there are various qualities bubbling under the surface of Mr Harris -- hope, intrigue, lust. Because of moments like this, I personally lean on this film being more about Bob than Charlotte. Everyone has their own opinion, though. And it's probably academic.
This chapter also takes a pretty radical approach to speech, giving us the true flavour of LIT. What's said and what's not said punctuate silent spaces and riff off each other; and so little *is* actually spoken. In fact, I think the spoken lines comprise a handful of words. Notably, Bob doesn't speak any words. His only sound is the exclamation of "ouch!", which is symbolic in so many ways. John, on the other hand, speaks the first words of Japanese from a non-Japanese character. However, his pronunciation is hilariously bad. From what I understand, "Moshi! Moshi!" is a standard phone greeting in Japan, and while the "o" sound is different to English, John's poor articulation sounds closer to "Mushi! Mushi!" which doesn't mean anything, except to note that a single "mushi" means "bug" or "insect". Oh, dear. The joke really is on the American characters as much (if not much more) than it is the Japanese. If it isn't clear in this chapter, LIT will have John saying "Mushi! Mushi!" in an even sillier context shortly. Neither this paragraph nor an analysis of this chapter wouldn't be complete without noting the first spoken words of the chapter: "Are you awake?" There! I said it! Bob will later fax Charlotte the same question. Rhetorically, it may be the most important question LIT asks. In essence, are we awake to the world, to ourselves, to each other? I sometimes think about that. It may be one of the things that makes LIT such an engaging and soulful movie, for me. On the other hand, it's tough to try and break the film down like that. It's not any one thing or group of things -- it's the whole package. I might be preaching to the choir with that last one, though, right?