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Culturebox: Sofia Coppola

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Sofia Coppola
You either love her or hate her. Here's why.
By Nathan Heller
Posted Tuesday, Dec. 28, 2010, at 7:33 PM ET

Illustration by Charlie Powell. Click image to expand.In the past two decades, Sofia Coppola has been publicly laughed at, booed, and wept over by Quentin Tarantino--treatments that, in the ledger of Hollywood fame, add up to something slightly short of canonization. But her greatest talent may lie in inciting small-scale culture wars. Last week, the Los Angeles Times described her recent film, Somewhere, as "a kind of road movie of the soul, a delicate, meditative look at a particular state of mind in a particular time and place." The New York Post, that same day, wrote, "[I]magine a film called 'Wanna See Me Crack My Knuckles?' " Both are typical reactions. With their dreamy self-absorption, flickers of romantic transcendence, and fabulous indie-rock soundtracks, Coppola's movies seem to come as missives from some never-ending sophomore fall, a kingdom ruled by moody young folks who have read Rousseau but never seen the inside of a tax return. Their appeal is a question of taste, but rarely of negotiation. On God, lifestyle, and Coppola, we are a divided nation.

It doesn't help that Coppola's body of work often seems divided on itself. Her first feature, The Virgin Suicides (1999), was a braid of gauzy romanticism and Midwestern gothic that, in pace and sensibility, followed the footsteps of Blue Velvet-era David Lynch. Lost in Translation, which earned Coppola the allegiance of Moleskine-toting aspirants across the land, moved toward ruminative transition shots and hand-held work that she and others said was inspired by early Wong Kar-wai--though Coppola's burnt-out deadpan shared little with Wong's high, ecstatic burnish. In 2006, she cast herself anew again with the pop-pomo bedizenment of Marie Antoinette. Coppola likes to say she makes films for her friends, not for the market (inner-circle vanitas or indie cred?), but given her wide-ranging style, it is fair to wonder whether those friends are more fickle than any box-office tastemakers ever could be.

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Nathan Heller is a Slate copy editor. Follow him on Twitter.

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