Lost in Translation (2003): The Incompatibility of Zen and Solipsism

By Matthew Chan

In Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation (2003), aging actor Bob Harris (Bill Murray) speaks to recent philosophy graduate and aimless newly-wed Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) almost exclusively in sardonic, meaningless non-sequiturs. When told he is too tall Harris effortlessly fires back “Has anybody ever told you, you may be too small?” a rhetorical question that wraps up their interaction with a snarky plea to recognize one's immediate reality (43:22). When taken in the context of the film’s setting of Japan, the birthplace of Zen Buddhism, Harris’ comment can be seen as a koan, traditional Zen sayings, which T. Griffith Folk defines as a “riddle or a nonsensical question posed to a student with a demand for an answer” which scrambles one's discursive reasoning, causing intense mental concentration freezing the mind into a “ball of doubt” (Wright and Heine 26). The ultimate value of the koan is essentially its logic-defying nature, which draws unenlightened people into intense doubt and causes them to confront the reality and complications of their own lives. The koan as such is used as a tool to impart Zen teachings, which David Scott and Tony Doubleday define as having the aim to “lead the practitioner to a direct experience of life in itself” to “eliminate all dualistic distinctions” between oneself and the world at large and to experience “unveiled, unadorned reality” (Scott 3).

Lost in Translation, as such functions as a cinematic koan, as through individual scenes and lines of dialogue, Harris and Charlotte are faced with the absurd and unanswerable because of the language and cultural barrier of their new surroundings. It is these conditions that force them to contemplate their immense dissatisfaction and feelings of emptiness within their lives, careers, and marriages and come closer to understanding their immediate reality. However, the Zen qualities of the film reach a limit because of the overreaching solipsism of its characters, which in this case can be defined as “a theory holding that the self can know nothing but its own modifications and that the self is the only existent thing” (Stamper). Solipsism ultimately emphasizes an individuality contrary to Zen teachings as expressed through the film’s cinematography and attitude of condescension towards Japan’s locals. The ultimate answer to the film’s riddle is only partially a Zen acceptance of reality and more discernibly a desire to transcend one’s surroundings through embracing individualism.

However, we can firstly consider how the film functions as a cinematic koan through various aspects, such as Murray’s aforementioned sardonic dialogue, but also through how the film is structured around individual scenes that attempt to impart the teachings of a koan by visual rather than verbal means. Throughout the film, major scenes are punctuated by shorter ones, which the viewer is dropped into without immediate context and which typically include Harris encountering some absurd situation that he struggles to deal with, because of a language or cultural barrier, with minimal dialogue and an emphasis on physical comedy. An example of this is how a crucial scene in the film, Harris and Charlotte’s first true interaction which involves passing snacks at the hotel bar, is immediately followed by one of Harris struggling to use and understand a Japanese-speaking exercise machine, which, because of its increasing speed threatens to throw him off as we see his body comically jerk around and hear his cries for help (25:17). The scene is only under a minute long and is one of many absurd detours the film takes. These scenes are of particular interest because they are comic moments enmeshed within a film that otherwise adopts a contemplative tone. What Coppola is doing is playing with our preconceived understanding of Murray’s established comic persona from films like Ghostbusters (1984) and Groundhog Day (1993), taking gags that would normally play for laughs and introducing them into a more thoughtful context, where specific concerns, particularly Harris’ crumbling marriage and his displacement within the restrictive liminal space of his hotel, are placed at the forefront. As such, through this tonal contradiction, Coppola suggests that by recognizing that absurdity can coexist with hardship we can understand the varied complexity of life and start to see things as they truly are. As such, it is clear that the scenarios Harris is physically subjected to essentially function as koans, absurd, unanswerable situations that render him helpless, and force him to go into a contemplative state, both pondering the ridiculous nature of his current scenario and larger issues in his life: whether of his feeling of entrapment in the hotel, his health or his mortality. Moreover, these physical riddles Harris is subjected to do appear to actually have an impact on his outlook in life, as evinced by a later scene where, in one of his few moments of clarity, he declares to his wife over the phone that he wants to start eating healthier like the Japanese (1:20:25). His confusion towards the exercise machine seems to lead him to a clearer understanding of his immediate reality, particularly of his physical fitness.

Furthermore, two critical scenes demonstrate how these koan-esque scenarios cultivate both contemplation and change in Harris and Charlotte. As these small scenes accumulate the audience finally views one that suggests a sense of contentment in Harris and an acceptance of his current situation, which comes in a three-second scene of him playing golf in his hotel room, silently celebrating as he hits the ball into a glass cup (1:03:06). The scene appears inconsequential but it communicates that he has finally learned to accept the absurdity of his life and make something better out of an unideal situation in the hotel. But the film’s final use of a visual koan is in a quick shot near the end where, after Harris and Charlotte resolve a prior quarrel, Charlotte glances at Harris’ feet and the film momentarily cuts to a close-up of his toes comically bulging out of hotel slippers that are way too small for him (1:27:17). In this moment Charlotte essentially finds clarity and grounding through acknowledging and embracing the absurd, fully absorbing the message of a koan by understanding that despite all the chaos and complication of life, to find enlightenment is to focus on what's directly in front of you. The film as such functions as a cinematic koan through the accumulation of small absurd scenes which punctuate the film, with the answer to the koan being that one needs to accept reality for what it truly is.

But to believe that the answer to the film’s koan is that the film ultimately endorses and fully encapsulates Zen values, by asserting an acceptance of reality, would be disingenuous because of how it foregrounds its characters' solipsism which runs antithetical to Zen teachings, and ultimately emphasize an individual desire to transcend reality. As articulated by Scott and Doubleday, another crucial aspect of Zen is the realization that “one is all things: mountains, rivers, grasses, trees, sun, moon, stars, universe, are all oneself”, that “Other people and things are no longer seen as apart from oneself, but, on the contrary, as one’s own body” (Scott 7). The critical idea here, that there lacks a distinction between oneself and the world, is wilfully subverted by the gaze of Coppola’s camera. Thematically the film is centered around the alienation one feels when in a foreign land, and the camera does much to emphasize this isolation. In practically every shot where either Harris or Charlotte are in frame they are the only thing in focus with everything else, the people inhabiting the space and the architecture of the country itself, blurred out in the background. The intention is clear, to suggest their mutual feelings of loneliness and displacement in a country that can feel frustratingly opaque. In practice, however, the camera essentially cuts both characters away from their surroundings, the Zen concept of oneness with the world is hence subverted by an assertion of their individualism.

Moreover, this prioritization of the perspectives of Harris and Charlotte serves to excise other characters from scenes entirely. An example of this is a scene where Charlotte and her husband bump into an actress they both know. Since the camera is locked to Charlotte’s point of view the main focus is on the actress, as such, her husband’s face is never in focus, we only see the back of his head and his blurred side profile even when he is talking (26:20). This scene effectively communicates the disconnection Charlotte feels from her husband and the emptiness she encounters in their marriage. However, it serves as a microcosm of how the film treats characters that are not Harris or Charlotte, particularly the actual people in Japan, who at best lie at the periphery and at worst serve as mere props for their process of self-discovery. The encroaching sense of narcissism in the film could be excused if the ending broke the prior visual pattern by dropping the use of close-ups and a low depth and field and by depicting Harris and Charlotte on the same discernable visual plane as those that surround them, that is to suggest that by recognizing reality as it is they have finally absorbed Zen teachings and become one with the world. However, the closing scene does the exact opposite, it expands the number of subjects in focus, from one to two, but this is merely to accommodate both Harris and Charlotte in the frame, as the world remains blurred behind them and Harris whispers his final message (1:32:55). It becomes increasingly difficult to view the film's ending through the lens of Zen teaching, as what the composition of the frame ultimately suggests is that it is only Harris and Charlotte against the world. A world that they have become momentarily suspended from through their relationship with one another. The final answer to the cinematic koan they seem to take away is not an understanding of the immediate nature of their reality or a recognition of the interconnected nature of life, but a desire to wilfully shun it– to transcend the difficulty of their lives and assert their individuality against a complex world.

Furthermore, the attitude of condescension the film has towards the Japanese people is undeniable, which once more goes against Zen teachings of oneness in the world between yourself and all people. There is an argument to be made that the pronouncements the film makes on loneliness and alienation in foreign lands can be read as universal to the extent that the setting of the film becomes merely incidental. Especially in the sense that the film could take place anywhere to a similar effect and that what the audience is actually seeing is not the exclusion of the experience of locals but simply a narrative that runs parallel to their lives. However, this is undercut by the act of othering the character Harris performs on those around him. Drawing once more on Bill Murray’s comic persona, the many snarky comments he makes, much of which presumably stems from improvisation, consciously or unconsciously project a casual racism. This is noticeable in a scene at a sushi bar where Harris makes various comments at the expense of a sushi chef, taking note of his inexpressive face (59:32). This scene can be construed as Harris making a mockery of the chef on an individual and not cultural level but it is indicative of the way he treats the locals throughout the film, less as people with their own lives and agencies but props in a comic routine he can poke fun of without retaliation because of the language barrier. This piece of characterization could be overlooked if Harris’ larger character arc was one of learning to tolerate others outside of himself but this is subverted by one of his final passing remarks to Charlotte, joking that she should tell him “Have a good fright” a callback to a prior conversation that mocked the Japanese people for mixing up Ls and Rs when speaking English (1:31:12). As such, as the film concludes, it appears that Harris has not learned how to look beyond his own perspective or to see those around him as one with himself and the world. The final shot of the two in focus takes on an even more egregious meaning as if to suggest that their relationship has created a vacuum away from foreign influence and things they cannot comprehend, precluding a willingness to learn. The final answer to the cinematic koan once again may be the assertion of individualism against a world too complex to understand, celebrating ignorance over a shared existence.

The film’s larger failure to abide by Zen teachings can be further examined in relation to one of Coppola’s primary cinematic influences within the film, that of Yasujirō Ozu, who was regarded as the most traditionally Zen Japanese filmmaker (Schrader 46). What Coppola most noticeably borrows from Ozu is that of his various “codas”: wide shots of outdoor environments that bookend indoor scenes, which in the case of this film typically comprise shots of Tokyo’s cityscape. At the most basic level, these outdoor shots are meant to suggest the wider world characters are a part of and the oneness with nature and existence they should strive towards (Schrader 57). Within Ozu’s films, these codas help form a visual syntax, within the film’s editing that is reflective of a traditional Zen saying: “Before you study Zen, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers; while you are studying Zen, mountains are no longer mountains and rivers are no longer rivers; but once you have enlightenment, mountains are once again mountains and rivers once again rivers” (Ross 181-182), An example of this syntax can be seen in the ending of his film Late Autumn (1960). As a mother is finally left alone in her apartment after having married off her daughter, the film cuts from a shot of her in deep contemplation to a shot of the walls of her apartment, back to a shot of her now smiling, and finally to the empty hallway outside (2:07:58). The first cut to an unoccupied inanimate space, that of her walls, is filled with the connotation of sadness because of her contemplation, in essence, the mountain (her apartment) is no longer a mountain. But the cut to the empty hallway, juxtaposed by the sense of contentment implied by her smile, is alleviated of the heavy emotional connotation, now the mountain (the world outside the mother) is once again a mountain, and her oneness with the larger world is emphasized.

In comparison, Coppola edits a scene in Lost in Translation in a similar manner. The scene takes place in a taxi after Harris and Charlotte share a night out, the viewer sees a shot of the city at night in motion from Charlotte’s perspective which holds very little emotional connotation apart from bemusement, then cut to Charlotte inside the car as she turns her head to Harris, then cut to a shot of Harris, a shot of Charlotte smiling and then to the city once more which is no longer in focus, instead capturing an impressionistic, expressive blob of colors, suggesting the explosive, indescribable emotions Charlotte feels when with Harris (53:09). What we essentially see is a reverse of Ozu’s traditional syntax, as the mountain, in this case, the city, is initially seen as a mountain but is then transformed and noticeably abstracted through Charlotte’s emotional subjectivity. The outdoor coda no longer represents oneness with the world and clarity in recognizing it as it is, but the opposite, the bending of the world’s objectivity towards one's emotions and subjectivity. Traditional Zen values are hence subverted and replaced by an assertion of one’s individuality within the world.

Moreover, the closing shots of the film, which only comprise of outdoor shots, hold a similar connotation. Throughout the film, shots of the city from Harris’ perspective are colored in by a banality, because of his resistance to being there at all. Yet the final city shots from his perspective now hold a deeper emotional connotation, bolstered by the dreamy sounds of The Jesus Mary Chain song “Just Like Honey” (1:35:14). Now from the perspective of Harris and Charlotte the city can never be seen as just a city, they can never look past themselves and see their exterior reality as it truly is. Tokyo will only ever be the place where they found each other and temporarily enjoyed one another's company. The visual syntax of Coppola’s film thus prevents the answer to the film’s cinematic koan from being that of a Zen acceptance of immediate reality, as her characters are left too enamored by their individual subjectivities, the only answer they can find to the emptiness of life is to briefly pretend they had transcended it.

The question then is, if the answer to the film’s cinematic koan does not fall into traditional Zen values, what belief system, if any, is guiding Coppola’s film? Especially since the final inaudible phrase Harris whispers into Charlotte’s ear is delivered with enough emotional portent to read as transcendent. It is a scene where the difficulties of their individual lives, their disappointments with their marriages and careers and their emptiness seems to be momentarily alleviated. A place to start would be to consider the two value systems Harris and Charlotte bring into Japan itself as Americans: the Judeo-Christian values of Western society and that of modern neoliberal capitalism. For the former, one can look to the belief system as espoused by director Robert Bresson, whose films all share a similar structure in guiding the viewer toward the transcendent in a distinctly Christian manner. An example of this is his film Pickpocket (1959), which follows an inexpressive man obsessed with pickpocketing, tormented by his earthly desires. The only way he finds absolution is in the film’s final scene where the character Jeanne, declares her love for him (1:14:53). There is an irrationality in this gesture yet it signals an act of forgiveness that cleanses him of his sins and ends his torment. In this same way, the whisper can be interpreted as an act of forgiveness, as Harris and Charlotte air their compounding frustrations out to each other throughout the film, perhaps the only absolution they can find is in their individual acceptance of one another flaws and all, with the whisper suggesting this mutual understanding. In this case, perhaps the grace one can freely offer to another individually is the answer to the film’s cinematic koan and the question of how we can curb the emptiness of existence.

However, their final interaction reads too much as a temporary balm to their problems and does not suggest the finality Christian forgiveness traditionally implies. One can then look to the system of modern capitalism as the guiding belief system in Coppola’s film. Perhaps Coppola’s largest influence next to Ozu is Italian filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni. Throughout Lost in Translation, Coppola borrows liberally from Antonioni, mimicking his use of negative space within compositions, with characters being dwarfed within the frame by their surroundings, and adopting a similar thematic focus, depicting a modern sense of ennui and alienation. The ennui Coppola’s characters feel perhaps has as much in common with the Buddhist notion of a clinging emptiness as with the dissatisfaction Antonioni’s characters feel within a post-war Italy increasingly governed by capitalism. After all the archetypes within Antonioni’s films, particularly his trilogy of L’Avventura (1960), La Notte (1961), and L’Ecclisse (1962), are similar to Coppola’s film, following members of the bourgeois elite within economic hubs who, despite having unrestricted access to anything they could possibly want, only find an unexplainable sense of longing. This longing is fostered in large part by the isolating individualism the system of capitalism breeds, de-emphasizing the importance of community and promoting personal gain at the expense of others. Just as Vittoria (Monica Vitti) encounters a profound emptiness within the Rome Stock Exchange in L'Eclisse, so do Harris and Charlotte within the neon-lit center of one of Asia’s economic powerhouses, guided there by their status and wealth, commanding lifestyles they find increasingly meaningless (19:30). The isolation of both characters is fostered by the roles capitalism has prescribed them: Harris as the patriarch whose only intrinsic value to his family seems to be to provide financially, losing touch with his children in the process, and Charlotte as an accessory to her husband who is constantly absent, consumed by his work. It is also pertinent to recognize that the development of modern neoliberal capitalism in Tokyo was fostered by American aid post-war, so the sheer presence of Charlotte and Harris echoes America's larger presence and legacy in Japan (Lee 509). By refusing to change their ways they continue to impose the American value of individualism within the country. Yet at the same time, they bear direct witness to how American influence has introduced transactional values that have produced a similar homogenizing emptiness in Japan, traversing through meetings with corporate handlers, photoshoots, and trips to the strip club, and leaving these interactions with very little in the way of meaning or fulfillment.

If there is anything shared by the endings of Antonioni’s films it is their common sense of irresolution, the acknowledgment that it is perhaps fruitless to try and discern meaning in life or to fight against capitalism. Though this appears to touch upon the Zen idea of accepting reality, his films frequently end in solipsism, with his characters retreating into themselves, their bad habits, and their desires to temporarily alleviate their longing. Perhaps this is the value system the ending of Lost in Translation best abides by, with both characters coming to fully recognize their emptiness but choosing to never look beyond themselves. Ultimately finding temporary relief and escape from their predefined roles through each other but otherwise choosing to surrender to the values of individualism as espoused by Western Capitalism. The answer to the film’s cinematic koan may be just this: solipsism.

In many ways, it is frustrating to approach a film that appears to align itself with a certain value system but otherwise fails to consistently live up to the ideals it is purportedly attempting to preach. Though it is undeniable that Lost in Translation functions as a cinematic koan, the answer it provides is nowhere close to that of Zen teachings. The film as such appears to be more about Westerners who impose their values on Japan rather than about foreigners who learn to alleviate their problems by adopting the philosophy of their new surroundings. If there is any consolation it is in the void Coppola leaves us with at the end. Perhaps a recognition of emptiness is enough to guide the viewer towards finding their own solution, whether through overcoming the self through Zen, through the Christian value of grace, or through any other belief system. The film as such is a koan, offered not to its characters but the viewer, providing no instruction on how to achieve absolution and only leaving one with the option to contemplate, to form their own “ball of doubt” and to perhaps find personal clarity through a film that offers little.

Works Cited

Antonioni, Michelangelo, director. L'Eclisse. Cineriz, 1962.

Bresson, Robert, director. Pickpocket. Compagnie Cinématographique de France, 1959.

Coppola, Sofia, director. Lost in Translation. American Zoetrope. Elemental Films, 2003.

Lee, Yong Wok. “The Japanese Challenge to Neoliberalism: Who and What Is 'Normal' in the History of the World Economy?” Review of International Political Economy, vol. 15, no. 4, 2008, pp. 506-534. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/25261984. Accessed 1 March 2023.

Ozu, Yasujirō, director. 秋日和 [Late Autumn]. Shochiku, 1960.

Ross, Nancy Wilson. Three Ways of Asian Wisdom: Hinduism, Buddhism, Zen, and Their Significance for the West. Simon and Schuster, 1966.

Schrader, Paul. Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. University of California Press, 2018.

Scott, David. The Elements of Zen. Barnes & Noble, 1992.

Stamper, Joshua. “Solipsism Definition & Meaning.” Merriam-Webster, 23 February 2023, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/solipsism. Accessed 1 March 2023.

Wright, Dale S., and Steven Heine, editors. The Koan: Texts and Contexts in Zen Buddhism. Oxford University Press, 2000.