Seeing Lost In Translation on the Upper East Side

Context isn’t everything, but it counts. We just got back from seeing Lost In Translation with a multi-generational crowd, in the movie theater around the corner from Holly Golightly’s brownstone. As they say, it’s the little differences:

“Gorgeous sheets.” –Woman of a certain age behind us, upon the cut to Bill Murray sitting on the Park Hyatt bed. [300-count egyptian cotton? Nice, but could be better, lady. Now pipe down.]

“hahahaha.” –me, laughing alone at the previously unrecognized 4:20 reference.

“nice soundtrack.” –me, wondering if the limited edition soundtrack is out yet.

“soundtrack’d be better if the idiot in front of us’d stop proclaiming Shinjuku landmarks to his mother/sugar mama. It ain’t no Harajuku, pal. Now pipe down.” – me.

“I loved it.” –adult children of the sheets woman, after it was over.

“I hated it.” –the sheets woman.