He's tired of the world

Genoveva 2022-04-19 09:01:45

He's tired of the world

-- Review of "Death of the Sharpshooter"

I have to say that the male protagonist is really handsome, especially the little melancholy in his eyes, which is even more charming.

After watching this movie, I couldn't calm down for a long time, how did the sharpshooter die? Why is he dying? With his wit and bravery, he can obviously not die?

Rather than saying that he was killed, it is better to say that he died voluntarily. He knew that his partners were going to kill him, but he still did not hesitate to create a chance to be killed by them.

why? I think he must be tired of the days of fighting and killing, hiding in Tibet, he is tired, he is too tired, plus his own personality, depression, even close to depression, makes him unbearable, Just die happily.

He must have known that his partner was going to kill him. The reason is that I noticed that when he looked at the painting on the wall, it was bright because he had just wiped it. From the bright mirror, he saw his companion who was slowly raising the pistol behind him, but he Nothing was done, he just lowered his head quietly, and was killed. So I think, he did it on purpose, he did it on purpose to be killed. If he didn't want to die, he could just crouch down, or pounce on the side so his mates couldn't hit him. But before, he deliberately took off the pistol that never left his body. You must know what a pistol means to a sharpshooter? For a man who can't even take a bath without a gun, he removes the pistol, which means that he gives up offense, gives up defense, and puts himself in danger. Before that, he had obviously been suspicious of the two partners. From the deep eyes and cold smile when he talked to the two partners, he could tell that he had already suspected and saw through the two partners for a long time. , the two partners must be lying, must be lying to him. So what? He's tired, he's too tired. He was tired of fighting and killing all his life, burning and looting everywhere. What's the use of being famous? His fame is enough, he has lived enough, he is tired of living, and there is no new pursuit or excitement in life. And betrayal, speaking of betrayal, he has witnessed too many betrayals along the way, and killed too many rebels and betrayers, but can the betrayers be killed? Originally thought that these two partners treated him sincerely, maybe he had already developed feelings for them, he fed them, lived for them, and slept for them, but I didn't expect them to betray him now. That's all, I don't want to live anyway. Instead of living this life of hiding in the east, maybe I'll be caught by the police later, it's better to let them kill him, maybe he can keep his image as a gangster. It would be a shame if he was caught by the police, but he has never been caught by the police in his life.

Forget it, they want to betray me, they want to kill me, kill me, I have nothing to love.

So he was killed, without fighting back, at peace.

The sharpshooter just died.

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Extended Reading

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford quotes

  • [first lines]

    Narrator: He was growing into middle age, and was living then in a bungalow on Woodland Avenue. He installed himself in a rocking chair and smoked a cigar down in the evenings as his wife wiped her pink hands on an apron and reported happily on their two children. His children knew his legs, the sting of his mustache against their cheeks. They didn't know how their father made his living, or why they so often moved. They didn't even know their father's name. He was listed in the city directory as Thomas Howard. And he went everywhere unrecognized and lunched with Kansas City shopkeepers and merchants, calling himself a cattleman or a commodities investor, someone rich and leisured who had the common touch. He had two incompletely healed bullet holes in his chest and another in his thigh. He was missing the nub of his left middle finger and was cautious, lest that mutilation be seen. He also had a condition that was referred to as "granulated eyelids" and it caused him to blink more than usual as if he found creation slightly more than he could accept. Rooms seemed hotter when he was in them. Rains fell straighter. Clocks slowed. Sounds were amplified. He considered himself a Southern loyalist and guerrilla in a Civil War that never ended. He regretted neither his robberies, nor the seventeen murders that he laid claim to. He had seen another summer under in Kansas City, Missouri and on September 5th in the year 1881, he was thirty-four-years-old.

  • Narrator: And so it went, Jesse was increasingly cavalier. Merry, moody, fey, unpredictable. He camouflaged his depressions and derangements with masquerades of extreme cordiality, courtesy, and goodwill towards others. But Even as he jested or tickled his boy in the ribs, Jesse would look over at Bob with melancholy eyes as if the two were meshed in an intimate communication. Bob was certain that the man had unriddled him; had seen through his reasons for coming along; that Jesse could forecast each of Bob's possible moves and inclinations and was only acting the innocent in order to lull Bob into a stupid tranquility and miscalculation.