Shinjuku, Tokyo - a scene in Lost in Translation that consistently evokes memories of this vibrant metropolis.
How popular culture influences how we perceive a city
Perhaps this feeling is something unique to me, but I’m always surprised when I find myself physically present - flesh and bone - in a place I’ve only previously experienced through film or YouTube documentaries. There’s something strange and surreal about it. You build a connection with the place in your imagination, picturing how it might feel to be there, walking its streets, absorbing its atmosphere. But of course, the reality of being there often feels completely different to what you had imagined.
As I mentioned in a previous post, Lost in Translation - flawed as it may be in its somewhat stereotypical portrayal of Japanese culture, cannot be faulted for its cinematography. The way it captured Tokyo and its urban landscape left a lasting impression on me. Yes, it was clearly staged, but the opening scene stuck with me: Bill Murray’s character, jet-lagged and slightly bewildered, riding in a taxi from the airport through the bright chaos of Shinjuku, mesmerised by the neon lights. It might be a stereotypical way to introduce Tokyo - as a high-tech, neon-drenched metropolis - but it’s effective. It makes an impact.
Although I had visited Tokyo once before watching the film, Lost in Translation still struck a chord. It brought back a rush of happy memories from that first trip - travelling with my parents as a wide-eyed teenager, marveling at the scale and density of the city.
On recent trips, I’ve found myself seeking out places I’ve been before, camera in hand, in an attempt to recapture old memories and create new ones. Tokyo, and particularly Shinjuku, is no exception. I had a few key locations in mind to photograph - spots that, to me, perfectly express the organised chaos and electric buzz of this man-made wonderland.
One of those places was the pedestrian bridge overlooking Kabukicho. Positioned above a major highway into Shinjuku, it’s the very same route taken by Bill Murray’s character in the film. I thought capturing this view would be a fitting tribute to the personal memory I hold of the city.
While I was pleased with the shots I got from that bridge, I kept wondering whether other locations I’d scoped out would capture the spirit of the area even more powerfully. A second location - under a railway bridge overlooking a major junction, ended up giving me a much more dynamic composition. There, I could photograph the chaotic blend of neon signs, advertising boards, and the blur of light trails left by traffic zipping in all directions. It felt alive. Energetic. Distinctly Tokyo.
Naturally, standing there with a tripod in the middle of the evening rush, I drew my fair share of stares. Locals are used to seeing photographers, but that doesn’t stop the curious glances - especially when everyone else is either heading to meet friends for drinks or rushing home to loved ones. Almost without fail, a few fellow tourists will pause when they spot someone setting up a tripod. They’ll stop, wonder what I’m shooting, and inevitably whip out their phones to snap the same shot. It’s practically a ritual now when I shoot in a busy urban area.
Looking back at the process of capturing these photos, it’s clear that they mean more to me than just aesthetic composition. Each frame holds a bundle of personal memories, shaped as much by lived experience as by media I’ve consumed. It makes me wonder: how much of my perception of these places has been formed by films, books, or images I encountered long before visiting?
I wouldn’t say Lost in Translation completely reshaped how I see Tokyo, but it certainly romanticised it for me - painting the city in a light that I found both moving and memorable. And I’m sure that influence lingered somewhere in my subconscious. I can think of other examples too - films like Léon: The Professional, An Autumn Tale, and countless Hollywood portrayals of New York have coloured my impressions of that city. Not to mention more academic works like The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs, which has deeply influenced the way I think about urban life in the Big Apple.
I wonder has anyone else experienced this? Where a film, book, or documentary left such an impression on you that you felt compelled to visit the place, just to see if it matched the vision you’d built in your mind? There’s something fascinating about that moment of comparison when your imagined world meets the real one.