Memory is a wonderful thing, if I hadn't stumbled across this film on Bilibili, I would have almost forgotten that I had seen such a film. All of a sudden, I went back to my memory from a long time ago.
There is not much language in the film, and the style of painting is clear and strange. As far as I am concerned, it really cannot be classified as a comic comedy, but it is a bit heavy after reading. After reading it before, I sealed it in the depths of my memory, neatly folded it and placed it in a small fantasy drawer. The house of the grandmother in my dream finally collapsed.
Until I went to New York for the first time and saw three young girls singing Bellevelle
Rendez-Vous, full of memories came back all at once, autumn wind, music, square underworld, fat Statue of Liberty. . .
Until yesterday, I was looking for an Iranian film. It suddenly jumped out and reappeared in front of us, during the public quarantine of the epidemic.
I also lived with an old man when I was a child. Without the control of my parents, the freedom of laissez-faire, and the doting of the old man, I could wander alone until it was dark and then go home for dinner; I don’t know why I always associate this film with Peter Pan and the Czech Republic with a propeller. Little people mixed together. I don’t know if it’s a matter of cultural limitations or the world’s creations are really drying up. The older I get, the less I feel that I encounter works that touch the soul. Maybe art needs suffering or a quiet reflection after suffering.
This song has been lingering in my head these days.
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