“j’avais presque oublié ce que ça fait, d’être regretté.”
"i'd almost forgotten what it's like to be missed.”
not sure if I watched a movie or accidentally got trapped in a perfume commercial for 2 hours straight. bc there's a deadly STD kinda disease going around but no one’s having sex, just intense staring, running, and existential monologues in dim lighting.
took me three days to finish it because i kept falling asleep. not because it's boring (yes, it is)…
sofia coppola could NEVER… there’s no whispered ennui or melancholic gazes into the void here— just fast cars, loose plots, and a southern accent trying to survive in shibuya. it’s as if “lost in translation” took a shot of NOS and said “let’s ride.”
anyways, in the end, tokyo drift is dumb, loud, chronically uncool— and at the same time absolutely unforgettable. sometimes, you don’t need logic. you just need a car, a mountain road, and a guy who looks like he’s both flunking math and refinancing his mortgage.
