The portrait of the girl is hidden in the encrypted space, weaving desire and imagination. The phone rang one after another, and it was the director's bait before he set the trap. The consternation in front of the screen, we who seem to be out of the picture, have already fallen into an adultery of art and machinery. This is a layer-by-layer scam, but perhaps in addition to the empathy for a rainy day, if you can pay attention to the details, you may find that the director has set the alarm bell at the very beginning. Mechanically cold. As Robert said: Mechanical break-in makes parts similar. Oldman is fascinated by the special way of communication. Claire, who claims to have agoraphobia, and Oldman, who is reluctant to touch other people's things with all kinds of gloves. Similar illnesses make people sympathize with each other. The phone bell unlocks new levels, and the tension of the rhythm is the rare charm of the story. The abnormal parts were grains of rice scattered by the director in the castle, and Robert's identification made Oldman add a burst of blood to the icy equipment. The patchwork of robots continues to improve Oldman's incompleteness, the delusion of the girl becomes the real body temperature, and the old man who enters the adult world is the most critical part, which constitutes the cold ridicule in the final robot's mouth. The lingering warmth of art. Oldman uses a high-tech darkroom to collect women and art. A clever auctioneer can see the authenticity of art at a glance, but it is difficult to tell whether a woman is genuine or fake. Peeping after kissing the sculpture is like investigating a piece of art, but he finally bought back the first fake with the highest bid, which was already doomed when he stopped dyeing his hair. Every fake has a real side, and the last painting sent to him by his white-haired collaborator is a fiery satire of art. Rather than wrestling with the reason why Oldman was deceived, it is better to feel the enthusiasm in his opera-like sing-along. The film finally stopped in a steampunk restaurant, and there was endless waiting under the rotation of the gear machinery. This time he chose to believe the authenticity of the fake. He shuttles between classical art and modern technology, the age of mechanical reproduction and art have a chemical reaction, and the paintings in the room disappear with the collapse of value.
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