You could have ended it now

Sigurd 2022-04-23 07:03:19

After reading the whole story analysis of the big hand in the front row, I felt a sudden realization. Several things that I didn't want to understand suddenly became clear, and I said a few interesting details and my views.

The movie is 1440X1080 resolution, which is 4:3, which corresponds to the resolution of the honest TV that the old man watched in school.

I think the whole movie is the epitome of the old man's mind when he was dying. It contains all the literature, history, drama, film, etc. he has accumulated in his life, interspersed in a road trip that was not successful. The heroine's intention should be to play the face of his former friend, imaginary girlfriend, and female star in the movie. While driving, most of them are playing himself, and jake and his girlfriend are like normal and fast information exchange between the big and small brains/left and right brains.

The old man likes sweets very much, and the element of ice cream seems to be static in the movie. Time passes by, but the ice cream never melts, which shows the importance of sweets in the old man's heart.

The whole movie is like an endless cannonball, constantly firing at all kinds of things that have been experienced in this life and have not experienced; it is also like a labyrinth of time and memory, in which there is a non-linear time ( It can be seen from jake's house), there are fragments of memory, there are clear icons, there are strong emotions (this is undoubtedly), there are logical story lines, and there are unspeakable sorrows.

Watching the old man turn into a maggot-infested pig, I just wanted to say: 'You could have ended it now'

I don't know much about Charlie Kaufman. When I looked at his works, I found out that he was the director of "Becoming Ma Yo". Sure enough, it is in the same line, and stream-of-consciousness movies are waiting for you.

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Extended Reading

I'm Thinking of Ending Things quotes

  • Young Woman: [about his onset dementia] I'm sorry that y-you're...

    Father: That's okay. Truth is, I'm looking forward to when it gets very bad and I don't have to remember that I can't remember!

  • Young Woman: Coming home is terrible whether the dogs lick your face or not; whether you have a wife or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you. Coming home is terribly lonely, so that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure back where you have just come from with fondness, because everything's worse once you're home. You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks, long hours on the road, roadside assistance and ice creams, and the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing because you did not want to return. Coming home is just awful. And the home-style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise. Clouds, such as they are, are in fact suspect, and made from a different material than those you left behind. You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth, returned, remaindered, ill-met by moonlight, unhappy to be back, slack in all the wrong spots, seamy suit of clothes dishrag-ratty, worn. You return home moon-landed, foreign; the Earth's gravitational pull an effort now redoubled, dragging your shoelaces loose and your shoulders etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead. You return home deepened, a parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail strand of... Anyway... You sigh into the onslaught of identical days. One might as well, at a time... Well... Anyway... You're back. The sun goes up and down like a tired whore, the weather immobile like a broken limb while you just keep getting older. Nothing moves but the shifting tides of salt in your body. Your vision blears. You carry your weather with you, the big blue whale, a skeletal darkness. You come back with X-ray vision. Your eyes have become a hunger. You come home with your mutant gifts to a house of bone. Everything you see now, all of it: bone.