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The Modern Superhero

  

    The inauguration of Barrack Obama represented the end of an era. He ran on a campaign of change and, for the most part, that's what we are seeing. Change. Gone is notion that the United States can do everything alone. Gone is the notion that the United States is invincible. Gone is the notion that her enemies are entirely evil. Similarity, within the last decade, such has been the evolution of superhero films. 

    People love their heroes. They inspire us by giving us hope that somewhere out there, someone is watching. They make sure that we come home safely. Superman is the ultimate iconic hero saving Lois Lane, and the world at the drop of a hat. But our superheroes today aren't like that. They are brooding, sometimes selfish but most of all alienated. They try to do the right thing but why bother if the general public doesn't want their guardians to be them? Also, our villains have changed. Gone are the maniacal megalomaniacs of yore, replaced with cunning individuals who have their own agenda to save the world. Or they are charismatic sociopaths trying to expose the ugliness in all of us. Either way, both our superheroes and super-villains have evolved from  simple black and white creatures to multilayered studies of the human psyche.

    I think it was Spider-Man (2002) that started it all. While by no means a cinematic masterpiece, it certainly did get its point across: with great power comes great responsibility. Spider-Man learns early on that selfishness, at least when it comes to his powers have terrible consequences as seen with the death of his uncle. Spider-Man 2, released a few years later explored the theme of a hero refusing his quest after accepting it. What does it really mean to be a superhero? Is a "normal life" still worth living? How much should a superhero sacrifice for others. Does he have free will or are his actions bound forever his community?

       One of the great things about Spider-Man is that it does have these questions embedded in a summer blockbuster. It gave life to the notion that maybe it’s not so perfect to be a superhero, that with great power indeed comes responsibility. Later films furthered different aspects the reality of being a superhero.

    Hulk (2003) was director Ang Lee's attempt to as shed new light into the pop culture icon. Instead of having playing up the blockbuster-action appeal of the Hulk, Lee explored how turning really strong and green can affect a person's life. Lee also constructed a complex relationship the Hulk had with his father and attempted to capture that along with the film, too. The result was a slow and confusing film but nonetheless a worthy attempt by a character director piecing together the pieces of a broken individual. 

    The Hulk is unique, in the realm of superhero characters because he is not really a 'hero'. He shows very little true selflessness-he is just a government experiment gone wrong and spends most of his time on the run. Yes, he is ostracized, but not for being a hero, rather for being a freak. 

       Unbreakable (2000), M. Night Shyamalan foray into the genre further develops the identity of a hero. In fact, saying that the movie fits in the "superhero" genre spoils the ending of an otherwise taught thriller. In the film, a man survives a train accident that kills everyone but him. With the encouragement of an eccentric comic book collector, he figures out that he does have traits of a superhero- he has survived calamities that have killed other men, he does have an extra sensory sense that allows him to see what immoral acts people have done and he is really, really strong. Of course, his revelations come extremely slowly and subtly- surviving calamities come in the form of surviving train wrecks. His sense is truly just a feeling that has the happy coincidence of being right. His strength is discovered through lifting heavier and heavier weights.

       There is a particularly moving scene where the man's son, convinced that his father was indeed a superhero, points a gun at him in attempt to prove his father was unbreakable. The man tries his best to talk his son down, that he will die if he is shot. He manages to convince his son to lower the gun and the family sobs together.

       The scene sums up the movie. It depicts the realistic consequences of being a superhero. It even suggests that superheroes themselves aren't aware of their power. Is the only thing separating us from them their power? Even in the scene where the man saves a family, he is painfully human. He falls. He needs help getting up. His superhero suit is a little more than exercise clothes. He barely escapes alive. How can he help people if he can't even help himself? Shyamalan answer is that superheroes aren't necessarily better or different from us. They have the same problems as us: taxes, a failing marriage, a boring job but they are unique in their ability. That's about it.

       What is also remarkable about Unbreakable, is the villain of the story: Mr. Glass played by Samuel L. Jackson. The villain has no superpower and in fact has a disease that confines him to a wheelchair and makes his bones break easily.  He is never outwardly aggressive to the protagonist and is the catalyst that helps him discover and develop his power. But he does bad things. He is the one who caused the train accidents and various other accidents to "discover" the superhero. Sadly, the only thing that the superhero has to do to overcome him is to hand him over to the police.

       Is he really a villain? Yes, he has bad things and yes he is a bit crazy for believing in superheroes but that doesn't mean he's wrong.  If the end justifies the means, is he not justified?  Without the villain's evil could the superhero be capable of doing such good?

    The X-Men films (2000, 2003, 2006) focused on the theme of minority rights. The X-Men essentially are a team focused on combating the terrorist group The Brotherhood of Mutants bent on violently changing the world to suit mutants. Parallels can be drawn to the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s with Malcolm X calling for militant action to change the status quo while Martin Luther King Jr. called for a peaceful change progression. Both carry the theme of minority rights and exclusionary tactics by the majority-which happens to be us. In all three films, the people who aren't mutants are hostile. They stare. They are angry. They are just as belligerent as some of the mutants themselves. The scary thing is, they are supposed to be us. The X-Men films are political. The X-Men themselves face challenges on two different fronts, one from the terrorist mutant group they face, and the other from the people they are trying to help.

       The hard part about it too, is that the X-Men are in conflict with people hate them for being who they are but it’s hard to completely antagonize them because those people are us normal bipedal human folk. On the other hand, they are forced to fight those like them to defend us. Those other mutants are in the minority, like them and like them, push for more rights albeit militantly. How can we fight something that we, too believe for? Because it’s right? What if the people we are defending don't want to be defended by us? What should we do then?

       Iron Man (2008) was perhaps the first film to knowingly alienate the protagonist from the audience. Robert Downey Jr.'s Tony Stark is meant to be unlikeable. He womanizes. He is rich and spoilt. He builds his mechanical suit as a means of escaping terrorists rather than to combat evil. However, the fact remain is that he IS liked. Iron Man was a box office success with a sequel on the way. The film rejuvenated Downey's career! What is it about snarky men that we find so appealing?

       To be fair, Iron Man, besides Downey's character is pretty generic. The love interest with his secretary falls flat with little chemistry. The villain 'Obadiah Stane" is underdeveloped and wants...well, we're not really sure what he wants. More power in the form of a suit? Maybe. But what is remarkable about the movie is that we've grown accustomed to a hero who admits, himself, "I'm not the hero type" and someone who is a bit more self-serving than others. Perhaps its because we like people more like us. Perhaps its because his flaws and not despite them we come to accept him and his journey as our defender.

       On the other hand, Watchmen (2009) suggests that the people who guard us have their own specific set of issues that alienate them from the general public. Only one superhero from watchmen is truly superhuman-Dr. Manhattan who is a naked blue sculpture of man able to do, well, practically anything except walk around in clothes all the time. The rest are ordinary people, like you and I, just with masks walking around with weapons. Most of the Watchmen are disturbed individuals. Night Owl, is a old fart looking back at old days only able to get an erection while in his suit. The Silk Spectre is a nymphomaniac unsatisfied in a relationship with a superhuman. Ozymandius has publicly unmasked himself to be a founder of a multinational organization providing every sort of good and service imaginable. He is also responsible for the deaths of millions in order to for "world peace". The Comedian is adrenaline junkie, a hired hit willing to kill whoever, including JFK. Finally, Rorschach, the most like-able character in the movie is also the most violent. Even Dr. Manhattan, the only true superhero is also the most inhuman. The film focuses on his inability to have feel human after being endowed with omnipotent power. In his famous line, he says "A dead human has the same number of particles as a living one" implying that life or death ultimately doesn't matter.

       Thematically, Watchmen is the darkest superhero movie of them all. World peace is only achieved by the killing of millions and millions of innocent lives. Rorschach, the "hero", of the film ultimately has to die because if not we would expose the truth to the world. Ozymandius, with his infinite knowledge, does the long term "right thing" and each of the Watchmen realize that he is right. Dr. Manhattan leaves Earth because he figures that his presence would only detriment the world. Watchmen, if anything, hammers home the fact that the people who dress up in order to protect us are disturbed and perhaps the right thing to do sometimes, is to kill millions to save billions.

       The Dark Knight (2008), perhaps the most realistic of the superhero films, questions the psyche of a man willing to sacrifice to become a hero. Batman is good, but that doesn't mean he is righteous. This is a Batman who beats up criminals, in a way, to avenge his parents who were killed because of criminals. This is Batman who beats up the Joker while interrogating him in order to get more information. This is a Batman who kidnaps a person across borders in order to put him in jail.

       Still, Batman is good. He is the most relatable character in the movie  (despite being really rich in our current recession). He does bad-ass things in order to reduce the escalation of crime in his city by any means necessary. Fair enough.

        However, this is how his arch-nemesis, The Joker is born. The mob becomes desperate and relies on The Joker to hunt Batman. The Joker crosses the line and is a complete sociopath. But, he realizes ( and the audience, too) that he could have never been brought to center stage without Batman. He, in fact, directly tells Batman that "You complete me!" implying that their struggle keeps both of them alive and relevant. One cannot exist without the other.

       At the end of movie, Batman is hunted by the people he promised to protect like the X-Men. He keeps the truth from being told the public, for the greater good, like the Watchmen. His alter-ego is unlikeable to protect his identity, like Iron Man. And finally, perhaps, most of all, he knows that his drive to combat crime comes with a responsibility to protect others. In a way, he is the superhero of our time because his bound with this incorruptible sense of obligation and out of every other superhero, is willing to sacrifice a comfortable life in exchange for a hard one for what he thinks is right. His sacrifice, and not his non-existant powers, make him the superhero and despite his questionable methods, we like him the most because he does the right thing even when its wrong for him, personally.

       Modern day superhero movies have changed. Along with the action and explosions are embedded themes of minority rights, Machiavellian methods and sacrifice. Essentially, what modern superhero movies are trying to tell us is that superheroes are defined despite their superpower and not because of it. They all have problems like the rest of us but what makes them heroic in the end is their sacrifice. We relate to them more because of that. Ask a movie-goer if they like Superman or Batman more and odds are they'd like Batman because, at the end of the day he is one of us normal-folk. He's just a man who made the right decision in a tough time. They all are. Films, today are just trying to capture what happens after they make that decision to save us.

  

Masculinity in the Modern Mainstream Cinema

A few years ago, no one had even heard of Judd Apatow, Meg Ryan chick flicks dominated the mainstream audiences, and Bruce Willis was the definition of the American hero. Today, things are different. Apatow's films are wildly popular: "I Love You, Man," a rated R comedy, opens to critical acclaim and the image of 300 dudes killing people is a pop culture icon. Hollywood's vision of the modern man is confusing to say the least. There are two, near-opposite visions/versions: one is the softer guy seen in the many romantic comedies flooding mainstream cinema. Gone are the cocky, robust, bad boys of the past. Instead, the modern man has become “schlubblier” for lack of a better word: for example, Seth Rogen's character in any movie he's been in or Vince Vaugh's character in Wedding Crashers. The modern male protagonist is emotional, lazy, hedonistic. He is, for lack of a better word, imperfect, one who fights with his mind rather than with his hands. On the other hand, there is still a definite demand for the hyper-masculine. Like the bulging beasts of men in 300. Like the James Bond who spends more time topless than the Bond girls. However, these two polarizing visions do serve a purpose. Comedy is all about relatability and the schlubby man succeeds in getting the audience to empathize with him. On the other hand, action movies are our modern mythology where men are larger than life and their deeds echo throughout eternity. Their viciousness is celebrated because they do things that any normal person wouldn't. 

The opening scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall typifies/shows one aspect of the emotional man: he is schlubby. Here is the set up: The main character, played by Jason Siegel, is getting ready to shower before meeting up with his highly successful actress girlfriend, Sarah Marhsall, played by Kristen Bell, for dinner. As Sarah Marshall enters the room, she promptly breaks up with him, and In his shock, Jason drops his towel, exposing his entire figure in the frame. It becomes painfully apparent to the audience that Jason Siegel does not have the body of a body builder. Not even close. His figure looks more like a potato than Michelangelo's David. His character even cries later during the scene. It's brutally honest and pathetic. But, as pathetic as we may think he is, we empathize with him. Any man in the audience could be Siegel's character, schlubby and emotional. Siegel's physique is a testament to the YouTube generation: he is successful because he looks like one of us. We empathize with him because he does go through everyday tragedies like we do. 

The initial scene can be any one of the stories on fmylife.com or a similar website. Today, men talk about their feelings all the time, and to some extent, have been emasculated. We like him because he is like us. Another aspect of the emotional man is how utterly logical he is. Very few secrets are kept between himself and the film, making it easy for audience members to project themselves upon the character. Take, for example, Owen Wilson's character in Wedding Crashers (even his name, John Beckwith, sounds generic but that may be the point). The reason why the movie is so funny is because he reacts the way any one of us would react. The scene where his love interest’s mother asks him to feel her breasts, he acts like any one of us would act. First his face fills with disbelief and then disgust, not at the breasts, but perhaps at himself for being in the situation and going along with a madwoman's wishes . A neat touch is that the frame is set behind the woman and we actually never see her breasts; we only see John's expression because the breasts are not the point. The point is his reaction because it reflects the audience's reaction to the situation. He is definitely relatable to the modern audiences. A final aspect of the modern man is how he always has a best friend.

 "Bro-mances" as a genre is picking up steam: Wedding Crashers, I Love You, Man, and Superbad are all films about the strange relationships men share…relationships that oddly resemble a romantic relationship. Towards the end of Superbad, for example, both male leads literally proclaim their love for each other after a wild night with of trying (but failing) to have sex with girls. It is an awkward experience to watch, but is perhaps typical in any American setting. Which boy hasn't grown up with a best friend? The scene is emasculating because it implies that men do really care and need each other. Men are not senseless sex-driven beasts, but that they have feelings and hearts that are as fragile as any woman's. It’s pathetic, but an honest expression of friendship that audiences can relate to. 

Take these three factors and contrast them to a '90s romantic comedy like You've Got Mail, and what you get is a clear evolution of male archetypes in romantic comedies. You've Got Mail's Tom Hanks is a successful bookstore magnate. While John Beckwith crashes weddings to find girls, Tom Hanks charms his outspoken competition, played by Meg Ryan, like charming her with his nephews. On the other hand, Jason Siegel's character has lots of empty sex trying to get over Sarah Marshall. All Tom Hanks had to do to win over the love of his life was to be honest with her and show her the side that he shows everyone else. Jason Siegel and Owen Wilson do their best to get rid of their love interests' boyfriend at all costs. Tom Hanks has one black friend that disappears in the third act of the movie. The two best friends in the movie share virtually every frame together. The modern man is slightly more pathetic, no doubt about that, but he is also more relatable, to. No human is perfect and the modern interpretation of the masculine lead reflects that. We laugh harder because we empathize with their situations. Their story is our story and although they may be lazy bums, they are our lazy bums. On the other hand, there has also been a definite rise in hyper-masculinity in action films. 

Our heroes are lean mean, killing machines. It is no secret that set designers in the '60s used to make the doors slightly smaller so when the protagonists make their dramatic entrance, they seem bigger than life. Today, set designers don't need to do that. We have CGI, lighting, and actors willing to push their physical limits. 300 used a variety of CGI, artful lighting and a masochistic training regimen to sell the audience that these 300 men could really go against a million. Their skill at killing people is celebrated: there is a point in the movie where director Zack Snyder slows down an action sequence so the audience’s thirst for every bloody moment can be satiated. The camera pans along slowly as King Leonidas, played by Gerard Butler, mercilessly hacks down a line of soldiers, the shot ending with an image of his abs rippling. Another example would be the gritty fight sequence in Casino Royale in which Bond eventually overpowers a henchman. Instead of just cleanly downing him with a bullet, the film elongates the sequence to the point where the audience squirms with each heavy blow exchanged by the two fighters. The film further celebrates his masculinity with gratuitous shots of him shirtless even mimicking the body out of water shot popularized by the earlier James Bond films Octopussy and Die Another Day, even though both films featured the female lead coming out of the water. Also, in Crank, the male lead, an angry sociopath murderer with a mastery of bloody comic book violence - bashes and thrashes his way through the movie. in fact, not even a few thousand mile drop into the middle of the city can stop him (as seen with the release of Crank 2 in a few days).

 Our heroes, today, are angry, muscular bad-asses. On one hand, the fact that we celebrate badass-ness alienates any sense of empathy the audience has for the heroes. No, there is no way any man can get that big (unless he is part of the LAX team). No, there is absolutely no way any movie going audience can kill a billion guys without feeling a touch of remorse. Our society now is one than condemns violence even in video games and suppresses even the vaguest inklings of anger. The suppression leads us to admire and even glorify acts of violence and hyper masculinity. Maybe that's why there is rise of masculinity in mainstream cinema. Today's action movies are the best way to escape from our everyday malaise we can't laugh about. America is fighting two different wars and faces a serious financial recession rivaling the Great Depression. As a result, today's audience, more than ever, does have a social consciousness. 

Today's society is more aware of global problems than any other society has been in the past. The fact is, we do care about political correctness, we do care about what our enemies think, and everyone, almost from birth, is taught that violence is wrong and diplomacy is the best way. Our heroes don't have any weaknesses. Even Bruce Willis' character in Die Hard, did terrible things but did them so he could be with his wife (Ironically, by Die Hard III, the wife character is entirely written out). That’s why we want to see our larger than life heroes kick ass and take names without a second thought; it is because we can't do it ourselves. We certainly don't sympathize with them, but we celebrate it. They are our heroes because they dare to do something we don't.

 Another theory about the rise of hyper masculinism, is that our society as a whole now celebrates perfection, particularly physical perfection. Where chubbiness was once been celebrated as a sign of wealth in Western cultures, we now celebrate hard bodies. This is the first time in history where members of a poorer social class are fatter than members of the richest. Let's face it; having a good body implies you have the time to attain one, which in turn implies you have enough means to do so. It is now our ideal. That's why our heroes have six packs and biceps rivaling most tree trunks. audience members compares themselves to each other and to the images they see on the screen. We are bombarded everyday by faces and bodies of physical perfection, something that couldn't happen in the days of the radio. Plastic surgery now even services children still in high-school. We try our best to be physically perfect and that's why our heroes have to be.

 Masculinity in today's mainstream cinema is a two faced: on one hand, romantic comedies deflate the male mythos. The romantic leads are a reflection of today's audiences, they are the ones who we empathize with and feel for. If it has happened to us, we are more likely to laugh. On the other hand, our action movies have injected testosterone into our heroes. Our heroes now are strong, violent and Machiavellian. They are who we secretly want to be. They are physical perfection. These two projections of what it means to be a man are a product of society interweaving with each other and I can only wonder what tomorrow's heroes will be like.

Purposefully 'Lost': A study in the introduction and conclusion of "Lost in Translation"

    Films have an advantage over stories told in literature, music or theater because the first frame visually sets up the narrative for the audience. There have been iconic beginnings throughout the history of film; who can forget the jarring introduction to "Citizen Kane"- a shot of Kane's castle "Xanadu" in the dark, the camera lingering on a sign saying "No trespassing" and the camera keeps moving until the audience sees a silhouette of a dying man on a bed. A good introduction to any film sets up the initial dramatic situation in a number of minutes, drawing us into the characters we are to follow.
    Likewise, a good ending of the film provides a true conclusion to the film but also has the purpose of leaving the audience with recognition of change or to tie up the story and the characters with an overarching theme. For example, "The Godfather" has one of the most iconic, if not the most iconic movie ending of all time. After lying to Kay, Michael remains in his father's den. Kay looks at Michael at the camera assumes Kate's point of view. Someone closes the door and the last thing Kay, and the audience sees is a man kissing Michael's hand calling him "Don Corlelone" solidifying his role as the head of the crime gang and also leaving more innocent life, symbolized by Kay, shut out. The ending of "The Godfather", is perfect because it gives an ending to the plot but also provides a visual metaphor for Michael's transformation.
    In the film "Lost in Translation", two Americans played by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson are in Tokyo: Murray plays an aging actor with a million dollar contract to sponsor a Japanese whiskey while Johansson portrays a young woman fresh out from college (Yale, to be exact) without a purpose yet and stuck in a frustratingly dysfunctional marriage. Both of them meet in a bar in Tokyo and embark on a short but profound friendship which profoundly affects them in their own ways.
    The narrative is divided evenly between Murray's character, Bob, and Johansson's character, Charlotte and, as such, the each character receives their own introduction and result in the audience empathizing with them.
    "Lost In Translation" opens with a soft focus of Scarlett Johansson's presumably, sleeping figure. The shot lasts for about a minute and the frame capture's Johannson's mid section all the way to about her knees with her buttocks in the center of the frame.  The shot is supposed to be voyeuristic-the audience only sees the lower half of Johansson's character. Even more so, a thin piece of tight pink cloth barely covers Johansson's rear end, no doubt drawing the audience to full attention. But, this shot is not meant to be sexual, in fact far from it. Coppola, wisely chooses to put a provocative shot- a lying picture of a semi-nude female, in a total non-sexual context. Charlotte is sleeping or resting and the audience has no choice but to be immediately drawn to this character and share one of her most personal moments with her. Its hard to sexualize the seen- the character is seen wearing comfy clothes, her back is to the audience, and she isn't doing anything arousing-she's in fact sleeping. This vulnerability Charlotte shows makes it hard to  sexualize her character, and instead lets the audience bond with her as it is the natural instinct to care for a delicate girl. This short, also, perhaps, foreshadows the later scene where Murray's character and Johansson's character lie in bed together, and defy every conventional romantic cliche by not becoming physical with one another and simply just talk. The female figure, the bed, the underwear, usually connotations for sex, are flipped upon its head here and the audience, as Coppola intended, is simply left with a connection to a girl. In this way, Coppola opens up her movie on her terms. She makes it clear that "Lost in Translation" is not going to be a conventional tale about romance, rather, its going to be a study on two people and their relationship with one another.
    As the movie focuses, on two people, Coppola also gives Murray's character, Bob, his own introduction. Unlike Charlotte's introduction, Bob introduction appeals more to the average moviegoer and Coppola uses Bob as a lens in which the audience sees his surroundings and empathize with his situation. Before the audience even gets a glimpse of Bob, sounds of an airplane landing sounds softly and female Japanese announcer saying "Welcome to Tokyo" . This sets up Bob's, and the audience's, expectations. The camera then cuts to a shot of Bob sleeping against a taxi window with the glow of the neon lights blurred outside the window with the focus on him. Again, the shot is incredibly voyeuristic because it captures such a vulnerable moment of Bob's life. The camera then cuts to a wide shot of Tokyo as seen from the taxi's perspective and its safe to say that these sights are unlike anything (except, maybe, New York) that can be seen in modern day America. The camera then flips back and forth between being inside the taxi with the focus on Bob and the exterior shots of the Tokyo nightlife from Bob's point of view. A small comedic moment happens when Bob sees his face on a on a poster advertising a whiskey with the text in Japanese and he wipes his own eyes in disbelief. Bob's entrance, unlike Charlotte's, acts as a window for the audience into Japan establishing, more clearly, the dramatic conflict, or at least the setting of the film. Bob's entrance also allows the audience to sympathize more clearly with him that Charlotte, because the audience sees the story unfolding along with Bob making.
    The introductions to both characters portray very different but equally profound thematic insights into the film. Charlotte's introduction shows an attraction without sexual objectification while Bob's introduction allows the audience to empathize with him while exploring the setting of the film.
    The ending of "Lost in Translation" is utterly sublime. It wraps up most thematic concepts and elevates Bob's and Charlotte's relationship into something real and a true sense of loss and change is felt at the end.   "Lost in Translation" introduces many thematic concepts to the audience in a (relatively) short, amount of time: existentialism, aging, love, marriage, philosophy, friendship, xenophobia to name a few. However, the basis of the entire relies on Charlotte's and Bob's relationship and their own personal journey of self actualization while in Japan.
    Coppolla, by this point, has enough faith that the audience cares about these two characters which is why she purposely gives a false ending where the pair quickly say goodbye amidst a crowd of strangers. Like most goodbyes, theirs is rushed, awkward but ultimately sincere and one can almost feel Bob's heart drop to the floor as he watches Charlotte descend in an elevator.
    Luckily, for him ,and the viewer, the show does go on and Bob catches a glimpse of Charlotte walking in a busy street of Japanese people. Her bright red hair stands out from the crowd of black haired Japanese. Bob's calls out Charlotte and this time, her face envelopes the entire screen letting the audience let out a collective sigh of relief. The camera then cuts to a shot of both of them holding each other in the middle the street, lost in the sea of the others. And the camera cuts in between close ups of each of their faces. Then, Bob whispers something to Charlotte, and the dialogue is muted ever so subtly so that the audience cannot hear what he is saying. The camera cuts to a shot o them further out locked in an embrace cuts again where they let go of each other and Bob walks back to his car and drives away, just like he came in.
    The ending of "Lost in Translation" is definitely one of most moving cinematic conclusions of all time. Coppola gives just enough to the audience so that the important themes are reinforced- Bob and Charlotte's relationship, being lost in Tokyo etc but, true to form, leaves out just enough so that the audience believes that the characters are real people and whatever they encountered in Tokyo was their own. It doesn't matter what Bob says to Charlotte at the end of movie. The important thing is that he said it and no one in the world except for Charlotte could hear it. The fact that Copolla muted that line of dialogue completely nullifies the voyeuristic tendencies she introduced in the previous portions of the movie. As the audience, no matter how much we intrude in Bob and Charlotte's life, there are still aspects of them that we don't know and perhaps, we don't need to know in order to fully appreciate their character arch at the end of film. Visually, the ending of the film reinforces the two main characters. The shot of Bob and Charlotte embracing in the middle of the Tokyo street visually summarizes the entire movie. Both characters are in the center of the frame, communicating without words and enjoying each other's company purposefully ignoring the rest of the world passing  them by. What they have is ultimate intimacy and affection for another-it's theirs and as the audience, we are just there for the ride.