If there is no ending, it should be Samsung. After all, it is still slightly inferior to the British crime drama of the same type. The structure and characterization of the multi-line narrative are not clear and neat, and the coincidences created in order to create a suspenseful atmosphere are also a bit far-fetched. But with this ending, everything is different.
Lori, who lost her son and husband at the same time, yelled hysterically in the car, and Mare watched her with mixed emotions; the pastor who had been cleared of injustice returned to the pulpit and said, "We are not qualified to judge whether others are outsiders who are out of the group, we Just love; Lori is in the kitchen preparing tea and Mare touches her from behind, and she struggles for a long time, finally crying.
When the old grandpa looked for Mare, he asked her in confusion, will the grief of the lost person change? Mare was silent for a while and said no, but you'll find a way to live with grief.
Rely on what? Relying on some entangled female strengths that are clinging to one another, slowly falling down by hugging friends, pausing when life takes its last breath, we find a way to coexist with grief in the mud.
Of course, life is still that fuel-efficient life, the ex-husband who ignores boundaries, the rebellious daughter, the suspended post, the illusory affair at the bar, and the plates with meat sauce piled up in the pool. You make a bowl of chicken soup, watch the sunrise, run to the mirror on a whim, and feel inspired and cheer up, and you will suddenly become enlightened. They are always there, their roots go deep into the land, and their emotions and relationships are connected to your flesh and blood, so that self-help and other-help are not as high as they are in the movie. The mundane, trivial, and watch-and-run life, the only good thing is that you seem to be tired, you can show weakness, and you find that everyone is the same.
Reconciliation may happen on an ordinary morning, the sun wakes you up, some fleeting thoughts pull you to the river bank briefly, you muster the courage to open the door of the attic and climb up. The raised dust choked your throat, but when the dust settled, it didn't seem like you expected to suffocate.
Only time changes vigorously, and we are all Mare, struggling silently, sometimes wanting to sink to the bottom, and sometimes having some inexplicable confidence.
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