Tokyo Diaries: Lost in Translation
On Japan, Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation and ennui in your mid-20s
There is something that keeps drawing me back to Japan. It is a country with a rich and diverse landscape: noisy, technicolour cities that send you into sensory overdrive, a rich historical and cultural scene and serene natural beauty that serves as the perfect counterbalance to the sights and sounds of the big cities. It is a country so vibrant and distinct that it leaves you wanting more. After each visit, I leave Japan with the feeling that I’ve barely scratched the surface, that there’s infinitely more to uncover and that I have to return immediately.
Yet, I always find that there is something strangely and beautifully melancholy about Tokyo.
On my recent trip in April, I re-watched Lost in Translation on board a Shinkansen train from Tokyo to Osaka. It was the second of three bullet trains I would be taking on my penultimate day in the country, after a last minute realisation that my dad had left his passport in Osaka. I had planned to watch the film as a warm-up to my trip but a chaotic couple of weeks in Jakarta meant that I never got around to watching it. It seemed fitting that the only time I could watch it was during a particularly melancholy journey through the Japanese countryside instead.
When I first watched Sofia Coppola’s sophomore film in my first year of university, it didn’t really resonate with me. I found the depictions of Japanese people to be too caricaturish and I couldn’t connect with the two main characters. I thought that the way that Tokyo was depicted was too alien-like and distorted. Crucially, I was also too green to really be able to understand the feeling of existential crises and ennui that is central to the film. You would think that a first year university student would have been the prime candidate for a film about existential dread, but I’m a late bloomer and my frontal cortex had clearly not developed by then. I was also probably having a bit too much fun eroding my brain cells with London’s nightlife, which was new and shiny to me at the time.
Since that first watch, I’ve visited Japan twice and rewatched the film at different points in the last 8 (!!) years since my first year of university (!!!!). As I’ve gotten older and tried to figure out adulthood, I’ve connected with it more and more on each rewatch. Whilst it is by no means a flawless film - the caricatures very much still make me uncomfortable - , I’ve come to understand why Tokyo is the perfect setting for a film about feeling lost.
It’s difficult to grasp just how big Tokyo is until you visit it. The enormity of the city can totally engulf you, making you feel minuscule and inconsequential. Finding yourself in a city that doesn’t cater much for English speakers, in a country that has made a huge effort to preserve its own culture, can also feel incredibly alienating. Navigating the largest city in the world - this lively, vibrant, confusing, overstimulating place - can bring about a certain introspection that feels unique to the city.
In Lost in Translation, Scarlett Johansson’s Charlotte is a Harvard graduate grappling with who and where she’s supposed to be in life. At the beginning of the film, she finds herself in Tokyo whilst accompanying her husband on a work trip. She spends a lot of time exploring the city on her own. Even when she is in the company of her husband and his peers, you can immediately feel the sense of loneliness that looms over her as she seeks out meaningful, real connection. When she meets Bob Harris (played by Bill Murray), a middle-aged actor in the twilight of his career, we see a unique bond come to life between two people who are at seemingly different points in their life, connected by their lack of direction.
The first time I visited Tokyo, I was overwhelmed by the conflicting feelings of awe and dislocation. With only 2 days in the city to book-end my trip around the rest of Japan, I felt thrown in at the deep end. I wanted to drink it all up but didn’t know where to start, I had such limited time. Battling horrendous jet lag and feeling totally out of my depth, I ended up just letting the city wash over me. With such limited time to adjust and acclimatise, I left that trip feeling disorientated yet hungry for more.
It was after this trip that I felt drawn to Lost In Translation. In a city that is so big it can swallow you whole, you end up having a lot of time for reflection - something that I admittedly had not done much of as a naive and unthinking 22 year old. Whilst I had gone to Japan with my parents, my 2 days of alone time in Tokyo offered me the opportunity not only to explore the city on my own terms, but also to experience solitude.
Coppola captures this essence of solitude perfectly. Through quiet, reserved scenes of Charlotte and Bob exploring the city individually, the film celebrates the beauty of time spent alone. Rather than totally idealising travel and exploration, the film uses restrained moments that slows down the tempo as we watch Charlotte take in the city and contemplate. As she is surrounded by millions of people in a city that buzzes with energy and activity, we see Charlotte is still trying to figure out her place in the world. This is where Coppola captures the magic of Tokyo perfectly - even in the biggest city in the world, you can still feel lonely. Yet somehow it feels good. There is a strange comfort that despite the chaos, you are still able to connect with yourself.
Similarly, as I travelled back and forth between Tokyo and Osaka last month, my 6 hour stint of alone time had afforded me a chance for self-reflection on an otherwise whirlwind family trip with my grandma and extended family. As I watched Charlotte travel to Kyoto on the bullet train on my iPhone screen, I let myself wallow too. Perhaps it’s a romanticisation of loneliness, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found that sometimes time with ourselves is just what we need when it feels like life is spinning out of control, out of our reach.
That is not to say that I don’t love Tokyo. In fact, after this recent trip I’ve fallen manage to fall in love with the city, and embrace the madness - spending more time and exploring the city with my sister and family certainly helped too. Zipping across different parts of the city in an effort to squeeze as much as possible into our agenda (including visiting the New York Bar) felt comforting and even more exciting this time.
Running across the infamous Shibuya crossing for the fifth time on the same night, we embraced the organised chaos as we blended into the crowds with our perfectly plastic umbrellas from 7/11. Mornings and afternoons were spent with my grandma, taking her to Shinjuku Gyoen to catch a glimpse of the final sakuras in bloom, and to the utterly insane department stores for lunch. Any time we passed by a combini, we absolutely had to stop in and get an onigiri or try out a new snack. Our final night was spent doing last minute shopping at Don Quijote and 2am karaoke. Sleep was practically a myth - power naps were snuck in on longer train journeys and car rides - as we tried to do as much as physically possible into our week.
Leaving Japan this time, I still feel connected to Lost in Translation, but in a way that feels more hopeful. To me, it will always represent that initial feeling of isolation and existentialism, but it also shows us of the magic of finding connection - with ourself and others. Tokyo is the perfect place to remind us of that.
Here’s a very short list of recommendations whilst I’m here:
Shirubee Shimokitazawa - I love Izakaya culture and Shirubee was the best one I’ve been to yet: filled with buzzy energy and serves us great food and drink. Get a seat at the counter to watch everyone get progressively drunker as they sink 250 yen high balls or lemon sours.
Sangyodo Shibuya - despite a chaotic back-and-forth trip to Osaka, I managed to meet my friend for dinner, who took me to this spot run by some very cute and warm aunties. I let her take the lead on ordering as it’s a favourite spot of hers, but the highlights included: a delicious plate of sashimi with the fresh fish of the day, a fresh mussel dish in a clear broth (the auntie serving us told us it was good for our health), and steamed seabass with daikon. Just really delicious, fresh seafood cooked in a home style.
KaraokeKan - this is a chain but a must visit for any Lost in Translation-inspired trip, or any trip to Japan in fact. We didn’t visit the particular Shibuya location that is featured in the film but did have an equally fun night. The song selection puts the London karaoke bars to shame. My sister and I spent an hour on our final night before going back home belting Charli XCX and Olivia Rodrigo at 2am.
Nightfly Shibuya - a lovely, surprisingly quiet bar in the middle of Shibuya. Another friend took me and my sister here and we sat by the auspicious Sade poster. A great place to take some refuge from the hustle and bustle of Shibuya, listen to some good music and drink some excellent lemon sours or whisky sours.
Kindal Umeda Osaka - in the 1 hour between arriving in Osaka and collecting my dad’s passport and hopping back on a train to Tokyo, I ran like a crazy woman through the streets of Osaka in search of some final vintage goodies. Throughout the trip I’d been searching high and low for unique Japanese label pieces but had struck out multiple times. But good karma goes around and I hit the jackpot that day with a Commes Des Garcons shirt and Yohji Yamamoto camisole. This branch was great, and as I’d read online, the prices in Osaka were significantly better than in Tokyo.
Gyukatsu Motomura - another chain/franchise but one that is so worth visiting, especially if you’re from a city with very limited Gyukatsu options. This place only serves up one thing on their menu - Gyukatsu (steak katsu) that you get to cook yourself on a hot plate, along with rice, and a crunchy cabbage salad. Maybe it’s the novelty factor, but I love this dish so much - so rich and delicious and I wish I could have it more often