EV @ The Movies: Lost In Translation

I was doing the laundry the other day, by myself, and thinking about reviews I had read of the new-to-video, Academy Award-nominated movie by Francis Ford Coppola's daughter, Lost in Translation. I was about to call my friend Becky or Lysol the bathroom. Then it hit me. The thudding sound of the washer went away, the soft fabric feel of the clothes disappeared from my hands, my sorrow over my cold, unloving father went away (as well as my irrational paranoia about black people), and it hit me:

Bill Murray's going to not quite fuck me.

We don't really have enough money to go to Japan, and Terrence really can't get away from his job to travel (if I tried to leave by myself, it would ruin the whole slow-romance-without-touching thing that I'm going for, okay)? So Bill Murray's going to come here, to my town, Culver Springs, in Wisconsin. I don't know what movie he could be filming here, or if he could film a whiskey commercial. People in Wisconsin have funny accents like the Japanese.

Where was I? Where is the Clorox? I am so fucking stupid. I'm losing my goddamn mind --

Oh yes.

Bill Murray's going to not quite fuck me.

We both won't be able to sleep, and we'll hang out in the local bar at night, not sleeping. But really, we can't do that, because that bar closes at one, and it's kind of creepy, and I know everyone there. But anyway, slowly, through references to the Roxy Music and Elvis Costello, and no specific romantic monologues, we'll share the strange and foreign culture of Culver Springs, Wisconsin. We'll go to the arcade and stare in sophisticated bewilderment at the odd games, such as Maximum Force and Vice Team. We'll marvel at the strange delicacies and customs in our local restaurants. They'll be gratuitous shots of my ass.

Oh yes.

And instead of staying around the house designing the bathroom coverlets I was planning on making this week, I'll sneak off with Bill. We'll giggle, and wear very, very nice terrycloth bathrobes. Terrence won't notice because he'll be too busy involved in the exciting world of graphic design for our local newspaper.

We won't talk about his film career. I won't get off. He'll just have that sad look in his eyes, and so will I, and we won't say much. We'll just know that in another world, at another time, our grossly differently aged bodies could have a sticky, nasty coitus, but not in this one.

And then he'll leave, and I'll be here, and I'll live out my days with Terrence for the rest of my life. I'll get a cat. I'll be able to rent Lost in Translation on video at the local Blockbuster. We'll go out with our friends, Becky and Carl. We'll continue to have that American flag in our yard. I will never, ever take up smoking. My sister Danielle will still be dead. Terrorists will probably blow something up. I'll probably continue not traveling. We'll have kids (unless I get that hysterectomy). Terrence will finally get to see the last Star Wars movie.

But the key thing is, me and Bill Murray are going to hang out. We'll enjoy ourselves. And we will not quite fuck.

Overall Rating: A-

Special thanks to our guest reviewer, a young housewife in Culver Springs, Wisconsin. She asks that we not use her real name so that her husband will not find out that she wants to fuck Bill Murray. But really, who doesn't?

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