This is a turning point near the end of the film, where the true spiritual journey begins proudly.
The color of India is always a strong yellow. Across the distance, there seems to be a smell of curry wafting. Darjeeling is lying quietly. The three brothers who have not seen each other for a long time are gathered in a cramped carriage. They smoked cigarettes, and watched from a distance at the crowded streets and the girls in saris, sipping a sip of lemonade.
This journey begins with a blue tin wagon, and as far as the eye can see, the endless fields are immersed in the simple Indian singing. Under Wes's lens, the bright colors belonging to the East unfold one by one, smudged together. The three brothers were silent and devout. Although they still had the usual expressions in the Western world, they could not resist the silent invasion of Darjeeling.
"We have to regain our brotherhood, just like before, we have to find ourselves and care for each other."
India's religion is too mysterious and complicated after all. Although they are pious, they cannot change the way of praying with their hands together. The quarrels along the way, the haze of mutual suspicion, and the habit of fighting each other have finally melted in this spiritual country. The eldest brother Francis, whose face was ruined by a car accident, appeared in a tightly wrapped gauze. He stubbornly held onto his self-righteous supreme authority, swearing to distribute India's mysterious peacock feathers to his brothers. On the khaki hills, they clumsily divination in the way of the natives. Although the feathers had been scattered by the wind, they saw the bright side of each other's hearts like virgins in such primitiveness.
"We must make a worthwhile trip and spare no effort to explore the unknown and experience the spiritual journey."
The religion and the true meaning of emotion really do not lie in the three kowtows themselves. India is like a silent teacher, watching the strife of this group of tourists with cold eyes. At the exact moment, all these entanglements are turned into nothingness. The second child, Peter, was born with a lanky figure and always looked down, collecting his father's glasses, razors and all the trivialities. He wobbled between the nagging eldest brother and the funny third brother, like an unbalanced spinning top. An accident took them to a village far away from modern civilization, where there were newborn yellow-skinned children, women with embroidered embroidery, and fathers immersed in the loss of their children. Under the protection of the sun, the small village is endlessly living, and the true meaning that can be understood at this time is beyond words. Westerners know as much as Easterners about life and death. When different concepts, rituals and expressions collide, a kind of compassion is born, which is scattered by the wind in this pious land. A stop along the way, even a fleeting sight, eventually becomes almost religiously powerful at the moment of separation.
"We have to open our hearts and accept everything, even if it is thrilling and excruciatingly painful."
How much fresh experience does it take to stop being attached to the past? Aventures, Indian potions, poisonous snakes, smoking ban... all seem to have little effect on the train crossing Darjeeling. The third brother Jack, with a hippie-like mushroom head and mustache, writes third-person novels, and is often moved by himself accidentally. He tries to find the lost self, the self who is no longer moved in the busy neighborhood of the big city. By the bonfire at night, Debussy's moonlight song slowly flows, as quiet as the Ganges, and he takes a deep breath. Taste of India. The taste of India, he said, was so captivating that it held him tenderly in the end.
Wooden suitcases, one for each hand, are too bulky and cumbersome. They ran tirelessly, chasing the train across Darjeeling. Finally, he suddenly woke up, and simply went into battle lightly, and ruthlessly abandoned all his luggage. Jumping on the train again, the twilight was soft at this moment, and even the raised yellow dust seemed so ignorant. The past they were looking for had vanished in the far west, in a vista of thick curry yellow. Geographical barriers, just cross over, all you need is a slow-moving train. The same is true of the psychological barrier. If you want to stay away from all the sorrows of the past, you don't need a train. Walking or running is more than enough.
Where are you going tomorrow?
Let's leave that question to tomorrow.
In Black Kids #11 pg39
View more about The Darjeeling Limited reviews
