This 10-minute sequence is all executed in one unbroken shot, thus elevating the tantalizing prospect of a “Victoria”-type single-shot film. Alas, whereas the digicam glides elegantly from scene to scene, there is nothing so adventurous or technically accomplished for the remaining ninety minutes, nor does anything as dramatic as the car-park assault occur again. Instead, numerous individuals flip up, have glum, portentous conversations about their lives, and then they drift off, slowly, to have glum, portentous conversations with another person.
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It’s like the most miserable velocity-courting evening ever organized. While The Translators features as a thriller, its attempts to go deeper on the nature of storytelling and possession don’t land as nicely. It doesn’t make a persuasive enough case for the audience to really care about this guide we will’t learn (however sounds bonkers) past the mystery of the unimaginable heist.
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