It's a prose-like film, with no ups and downs, just frame after frame of golden tones, and a 74-year-old man driving a lawnmower, over hills, over hills, over plains, A road story of finally reaching a destination 300 miles away during a months-long trek.
The elderly are frail and sickly, with decreased eyesight, and depend on their mentally weak daughter. One day he learned that his brother, who had broken up for ten years, had suffered a stroke. He had this idea and went to see him. Because he doesn't have a driver's license, he can only drive a lawn mower. Like everyone in the film, we all thought it was ridiculous. But this is a movie based on a true story.
Why not go there by car? The old man said he didn't like riding in a car driven by someone else. Why do you have to go? With the slow shots in the movie, I had time to speculate on this.
On the way, he met a girl who ran away in a panic because of her pregnancy. She was convinced that her family would hate her. The old man told her that when they were children, their parents played a game of breaking branches with them. It was easy to break a branch. It's hard to break a bundle. That bundle is family.
He met another World War II veteran just like himself. Veterans are addicted to alcohol due to war trauma. He told the veterans
The secret of accidentally killing a comrade-in-arms when he was a sniper.
"No one knows you like this guy you grew up with," he told the brothers who were constantly bickering about fixing his car.
When the young ask him, the old, what is the worst? He said it was a memory of when he was young and strong.
When we are young, we have a lot of energy and good health, we are ambitious about the world, we feel that we can control everything and change everything, and we are numb to the envious gaze and kindness around us. When I was old, my body was limited, and my soul was trapped, I finally took my eyes back. Mr. Street, looking at his daughter who is not smart enough, his eyes are gentle like water. I remember when I was a child, in the summer after the cold winter of nine months a year, I made the bedding with my brother early, camped on the roof, and looked up at the stars. At that time, the future they looked forward to would never be old and dead.
Ten years ago, he turned against his brother because of vanity. Now, he's going to see him, when he can still drive the lawnmower. They finally met, sitting in front of his brother's dilapidated wooden house, looking at the lawn mower in front of him, and looking at their life's journey.
I breathed a sigh of relief, afraid that when he called out his name in front of his house no one would answer.
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