It was "The Four Hundred Blows" that she knew from Teacher Mao Jian. She often mentioned it and was full of praise. It is the representative work of the new wave of French cinema. I was born in the 1990s, a long way from the lights of 1959. There is an indelible diaphragm. But growing up has always had a similar core, and frankly, I love this kid a lot. I choose not to understand his parents and what they stand for.
Antoine. From the beginning, the dull and dim family atmosphere, quarrels, loneliness. He slept on a small sofa near the door, his whitish pajamas broken at the shoulders. When my mother came home late at night, she always brought in a wind that was so cold that it could penetrate the flesh. Father is busy with his weekend club. Mother is busy cheating. Antoine was busy dealing with the loathsome old man in the classroom. None of them believed him. They unknowingly destroy a person. An unformed soul.
Antoine was struggling, trying to break free. He was not used to and uncomfortable with his mother's sudden warmth. He was used to verbal abuse, slaps, and the rubbish that he had to take out every night. He runs away, steals, flees, and his growth rots before being well directed. He wanted to go and see the sea.
Perhaps today, there are not a few families with parents who have gone to college and are well educated. Therefore, the guidance given to the younger generation will no longer be irresponsible misleading and a laissez-faire policy of abandoning responsibility. Today's children are the lucky ones. Fate gave them good times, the right time. They will live well.
But please have pity on our little boy, he's only 13 years old. He was rough-fed and thrown into a cage. He sheds manly tears in the flickering light of France.
At last he saw the sea. But he was doomed to be unfortunate.
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