Lost in Translation's absolute overdose on being underwhelming isn't really the fault of the cast: Scarlett Johansson put herself on the map here, and Bill Murray further solidified himself as Brooklyn's fry-stealing, party crashing hero even though they probably should loved him unconditionally already anyway. The pair is even more impressive when you consider just how little they had to work with: Sofia Coppola's script, which somehow won an Academy Award even though half of it had to be made up of stage directions like , is minimalist to a fault. How Bill Murray or Scarlett Johannson didn't win little naked gold men for giving great performances in a film with more pensive staring than dialog is one of life's great mysteries. See, the real problem with Lost in Translation is Sofia Coppola. In fact, the real problem with every Sofia Coppola movie is Sofia Coppola, except for her utterly gutless Marie Antoinette, where the problem was Kirsten Dunst and Sofia Coppola. With Lost in Translation, she goes for "quiet and ponderous" and ends up hitting "dull and slow" too often, and the film ends up being a simple little story held back by a privileged director with no real vision that has been propped up by myth and name value.