At that time, I imagined myself as the protagonist, starting from New York, taking a classic car to Denver, and then crossing the vast wasteland, small towns to Mexico, sitting on the icy hills and the hot sunset toasting with Dean and talking about Nietzsche and Prue Sturt's passing years, Alan Ginsburg's poems, and of course, hot women and fat girls with dark skin.
The north wind was bleak, so I bought a lunch box, went back to the hotel, and watched the film adaptation of Kerouac's novel On the Road. This is the third time I've watched it, and the first time I've watched it. In Beijing, snowflakes are flying, and I've finished watching it in one breath. The second time I saw it, in Chengdu, it was so hot that I was covered in sweat, and I fell asleep when I saw half of it.
With a canvas bag on his back, Searle walked across the desolate wilderness, the golden plains, got into the van, and joked with a few people in the van. They went home for the fall harvest and he went to Denver.
At night, the earth is like a beast crawling on the ground, with its mouth open, it devours all life.
I set off because I was tired of living by the rules. I was tired from the road, so I went home. Because the fire of the spirit was extinguished, he was carrying his luggage to look for the fire.
Throughout the film, Dean doesn't mention his mother at all. I mentioned my father several times. My father was an alcoholic who was wandering outside and didn't know where he was. like shit. On the cold street, in front of the red brick wall, and on the green grass, several old people were drinking and playing cards. An old man holds a grey wine bottle and looks at passing pedestrians. Dean thought it was his father, looked sad and looked at each other, only to realize that it was not.
Before going to Mexico with Searle, carrying suitcases and carrying bags, we crossed the streets and alleys in a frantic search for his father.
Searle didn't even mention his mother, and a few times his father, who once said, "Look, you don't even have calluses on your hands, and you haven't even done a damn job."
The sunset is like an egg yolk, the car is parked in the barren wilderness, Marylou is sitting in the car, looking at the mountains through the car window, full of tears, at this moment, more than ever, she wants to end her wandering life: "I just want to To have a home, to have a child, I'm leaving Dean and marrying my fiancé Sailor." Later, she finally married Sailor and lived a normal life. At that time, Dean was homeless, and Searle was writing novels in New York, and no longer fanatical desire to travel far away.
The past is like a movie shot, one after another flashing in my mind. Searle is ill.
"I'm going back to Denver to file a divorce with my wife." When Dean left, he took the money that Sale put on the table.
Sayre burst into tears.
On a cold and windy night, Purcell, dressed in bright clothes, picked up his girlfriend into the car.
"Hi, Searle. I've been on the train for five days and five nights just to see you."
Searle looked at Dean, his eyes cold.
Dean looked at Searle with warm eyes and tears, which were tears of excitement and joy when they reunited with an old friend after a long absence.
"Can you give me a ride to East Fourteenth Street?"
Purcell turned to leave.
"Searle, I still love you." Dean looked at Searle's back and said on the street in the cold and windy night.
View more about On the Road reviews
