We can't resist the wildness brought by Tristan's horses roaring from the field, can't stop Alfred from standing out in the crowd with the halo of civilization progress, can't stop pure Samuel from going to a war he doesn't understand and losing his life, the screenwriter chose Susan To endure all this, on her time coordinate, the colonel's three sons have fallen one after another, but everyone is burdened with hopes that she can't achieve, and they are stuck with a lifetime of love, hate and waiting. extricate themselves.
The breath of freedom is cruel, and Tristan is oozing bear blood, chasing his own impulses. The man crying in front of Samuel's grave, with long hair fluttering and tenderness like water, is difficult for any woman to escape such affectionate cowardice, and Susan is no exception. Falling in love with wild freedom means accepting his cruel choice, "Even if I have a child, do you still want to go?" Tristan almost got on his horse without hesitation, leaving his spitting lover in the dust. He loves her, I firmly believe. It's just that the nature of freedom is above everything, including your own life, so how can you take care of the happiness of love? Years and years of waiting, only inexplicable things are sent from isolated islands or wastelands, as well as overwhelming loneliness and deep-rooted despair. She never thought that there would be a reunion, "forever is too far", this is Susan's excuse, because the waiting end that she thought would never be reached actually appeared. I can totally feel her regret and surprise. Fate is so playful. Little Isabelle's dress, Samuel playing on Tristan's neck, that was originally hers, survived those years of hopeless waiting, and still To endure the sorrow of giving away love and dreams.
Susan has our own shadow flowing in it. We choose to persist because of love and dreams. We have to give up because our ideals are too far away. Because we are not ordinary people who firmly follow our inner voice, we cannot be like little Isabelle. is my man" and stubbornly waited until that day. Maybe, time to make a joke again, let us be like Susan, always missing the person we love most, always passing by the most beautiful dream, so believe in fate and waiting, from crying jealous to laughing envious, comfort ourselves Plainness is the truth.
And those roaring voices, suppressed in the bottom of my heart, always sounded in the middle of the night, so, falling in love with the autumn legend of a foreign country, I was moved by my own burning years.
When Tristan's unruly eyes approached from the field with the camera, he really only saw the desperate desire for freedom, but he forgot that betrayal of the world and exile was because of his inner passion, but also because of the unbearable soul torture . Passion is a double-edged sword, one side is freedom, the other side is pain.
Classicists pay the most attention to the human head, believing that the head is the organ of reason, which hides the wisdom to reach the end; while the romantics pay the most attention to the human heart, because the heart is the source of emotion, surging with passion beyond mediocrity.
Most of us, in the process of leading to the insurmountable eternal death, used our wisdom to select and preserved the precise head, but lost the beating heart, and even the pain was struggling in the utilitarian, vague and blind. In the loss, I ask for simplicity: if there is no passion and freedom, can the pain divide me?
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