COMMENTARY
Lost in Transcription

by Douglas Sarine

Here's the deal. There is a children's story called The Emperor's New Suit by Hans Christian Andersen. It is about a king who gets duped into believing he had been made a beautiful suit when actually, he had been given nothing. Since he is the king, no one except an innocent child dares to say anything. I am that innocent child.

Best Original Screenplay is one of the most important categories in any film awards program, but definitely for the Academy Awards. The category is a reflection on the craft of the modern film writer. Themes, content, and definition should be scrutinized and carefully considered before screenplays are even nominated.

I would argue that one voting criteria to determine Best Original Screenplay be that you have not seen the filmed product, since that will almost certainly affect your ability to academically analyze the written work. But, at least, anyone casting a vote in this category should be instructed to pore over the words on page without consideration of the final movie that was produced.

That being said, Lost In Translation should not even have been considered as a possibility to be put in the pile for consideration for Best Original Screenplay. The fact that it got nominated is a sad statement on the Academy. The fact that it won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay is an offense to writers and a painful reflection on our society.

One of the more important words in the category's title is "Screenplay." Translation was not a screenplay, a bare minimum existence for nomination, I would assume. It was a child's sketch of 1950s stereotypes. The written work is has no story, no defining action, and not a single discernable theme aside from duping its audience into believing it is a screenplay.

The meanings and depth that have been applied to this cinematic stone only further drag down the struggling craft of screenwriting, and make for a serious case of The Emperor's New Suit. There is nothing there. Afraid to point this out, the Hollywood community has applied adoration for elements that don't exist. This attempt at a reflection of the life of Sofia Coppala is a vapid, self-indulgent search for meaning in the life of a spoiled brat. It really doesn't matter if this was her reality. Reality is not the greatest component of a wonderful script. Interesting is. Compelling is. Point of view is. Heck, point is. Plot is. Emotion is. Reality is not.

Don't get me wrong, I love reality. It is a wonderful device that can be used to viscerally connect the reader with story or action. But something must be going on in that reality, something worth watching. I live a reality everyday, most of us do, but I would not be so audacious as to ask you to sit through two hours of it unless something compelling and moving happened.

You see, if nothing happens, that is not something. We have given accolades for not doing. The script is an empty box full of the space between Sofia's ears. Unfortunately, there is nothing there. We were sold nothing as something. It happens a lot. Especially in entertainment. It is nothing to be embarrassed about. It has happened to everyone. The key is recognizing it. Learning from it and being more discerning next time.

For example, is this humor or ego-laden racism à la Breakfast at Tiffany's? Does this film have a point-of-view? I know they don't use the standard devices of a romantic comedy but what, if anything, DO they use to establish it in a genre? Is it different because it's a refreshing and bold venture into an engaging theme, or because it is barely comprehensible as being composed by a sentient being? These are the important questions that we should ask ourselves before celebrating a travesty of a screenplay that is nothing more than a hundred pages of indecision and drivel. It is an offensive collection of randomness that neither reflects a current state of humanity or Japan.

Several years from now, or sooner, upon closer inspection the truth will be revealed. People will shake their heads and laugh. A professional writer will sigh, "I can't believe I raved about that terrible, terrible screenplay that further corroded the art that I attempt to exalt each time I set out to spin a worthwhile yarn." An Academy member will write an apology letter to Jim Sheridan.

Southern California is so sunny and warm that it is difficult to realize when we are wearing nothing. But if you are acknowledging the Lost In Translation screenplay as anything besides a première example of how not to write a quality script… you're naked.

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