LOST IN TRANSLATION

Bill Murray's acting in Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation" is without a doubt a standout among-st the most dazzlingly controlled exhibitions in late motion pictures. Without it, the film could be unwatchable. With it, I can't take my eyes away. Not for a moment, not for an edge, does his concentration unwind, but then it appears to be easy. It's occasionally said of an on-screen character that we can't see him acting. I can't see him not acting. He is by all accounts existing, simply existing, in the circumstance made for him by Sofia Coppola.

Is it accurate to say that he is "playing himself"? I've known Murray since his days at Second City. He wedded the sister of a young lady I was dating. We were never companions, I have no individual bits of knowledge, yet I can reasonably say I perceived how he carried on in little casual gatherings of companions, and it wasn't care for Bob Harris, his character in the motion picture. Yes, he jumps at the chance to stay relaxed. Yes, dryness and modest representation of the truth easily fall into place for him. Offering a phase at Second City to John Belushi, he was a lightweight flyer rather than the kamikaze pilot. He isn't a one-note performing artist. He angers, fear, love, whatever, and expansive satire. Be that as it may, what he does in "Lost in Translation" appears as quite a bit of a range as though he were playing Henry Higgins. He enables the film to be as incredible as Coppola longed for it, in the way she expected, and couple of chiefs are so lucky.

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