The movie slammed us into the land of England. The plot was like a wave of wheat in the wilderness, stirring people's hearts one after another, making the heart beat with the sound of horses' hoofs. In "Far from the Madding Crowd," there are no ladies in bonnets, no puns talking about poetry, no idiots reading letters scattered on the hillside like clouds, the men in the film wear Muddy boots, women jumping into murky water to work, the squeak of wheat stalks underfoot, and the fragrant freshly brewed ale in the sloping hut on the edge of the farm, even love is unreasonable. What floats in the air always falls to the ground, like a love swollen with sweet words. After a strong woman abandons her strength at all costs, she wakes up with far more grief than a weak woman who has no strength to give up. Bath's love was as passionate as summer, but as young as spring, and it fell too fast in the eyes of the sergeant standing in the green forest in bright red military uniform. "A coral reef that's just so close to growing above sea level is no different to the horizon than a reef that has never grown. Twenty-four hours of depression and sadness have worn away Bathsheba's youthful vigor. She has not yet developed a mature open-mindedness." But no matter what, "I have a farm, a carriage and a piano, and I have an independent will and life, so I don't need a husband. But if you meet love, you might as well just get married. Let's get married." Such a subjective consciousness, in the Victorian era, was such a precious rebellious gesture. Dressed in red and riding the dust, Bathsheba greedily enjoys the freedom and freedom brought by independence.
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