March 24, 2014

Whenever I grab the TV guide lately there’s a film on with Scarlett in it. I am not complaining. I like her. Lately she has been in the news a lot. She’s expecting. For a female star this is maybe not the best way to draw the attention but it definitely works for a while. Not allowed to compete for a Golden Globe with a vocal performance that is said to be as stunning as her physical aura, it makes you wonder what the future will have in store for her. A lot of commotion about another new film (sci-fi) with a nude Johansson, and according to what I have read, shocked audiences.

For me her best performance so far still is her role of the glam photographer’s wife Charlotte in Lost in Translation (2003) directed by Sofia Coppola. (Although I’m pretty sure many (men) prefer her in the role of the tragic blond seductress in Match Point, Woody Allen’s kick-off of his London-based phase.) She really landed that one, being perfectly counterweighed by Bill Murray, who was unexpectingly wry and serious. I believe La Coppola was even nominated for an Oscar, which is quite unique in the Hollywoodies for a girl. Gosh, I should check that fact. Later. Both Scarlett and Bill were embraced, or re-embraced, revered even by audiences worldwide. The more academic minded film buffs raved about the deeper meaning of the script, the mystic quality of Scarlett’s voice.

Spike Jonze materialized the power of her voice in the recently released feature Her. Or should I say he stripped down Scarlett’s toolbox to what might be considered the essence of Scarlett. That voice. It’s not the sensual layer of it per se that is so alluring. It’s the irony seeping through every syllable she utters. The dark color that discolors a timbre that used to belong to the blonde bombshell heroine. The essence of a husky voice is the weakness of it, the chance of the voice losing control, it screams for (our) support in a subtle way.