It is always interesting to see how different viewers encounter their reflections in a work of art. Lost in Translation is, perhaps, “a set-back in our struggle for recognition of a culturally diverse Japan” or an exercise in “anti-Japanese racism”–or at least it seems so to many Japanese expatriates and second- and third-generation Japanese living in the West, who probably deal with these problems regularly and thus embed them in the film they see.

I lived in Tokyo for five years. For me the film captured like nothing else has the wonderful strangeness of the first few weeks of being a foreigner in Japan. At that time Japan was ridiculous, as it reflected my own ridiculousness back at me, until I rode out the paroxysms of culture shock.

Instead of mocking modern Tokyo culture, the Lost in Translation I saw revered it. I saw the beauty of my favorite city and all it has to offer, traditions both old (ancient temples, flower arranging) and new (karaoke, club culture). My wife saw a vivid and loving representation of the city she grew up in, and she cried with homesickness. Most Americans, probably, saw a funny Bill Murray movie, or a beautifully shot Sofia Coppola film. A few friends of mine saw a great music video for My Bloody Valentine and The Jesus and Mary Chain.

I believe the number of interpretations a work of art supports correlates with its quality. By this measure, Lost in Translation is a superb film. Not a masterpiece. Just one of my favorite movies (and soundtracks) of 2003.