When I watched "Hiroshima Love", I had this feeling: Director Allen seems to be telling you a love story, but the form of telling the story is far greater than the story itself, so a story becomes a lot of emotional entanglement Hairballs, and the naked body that snuggles into a close-up of gritty skin beneath the dust of war. He wants to tell you so much more than the story itself. And "Last Year at Marienbad" is equally complex and pure. It may have happened in the past, it is happening now, and it must happen in the future. The truth and the falsehood are slowly merging in this intricate time and space.
Using architecture to advance the plot, strong magic and realistic photography, bold style, and the soundtrack is very similar to the performance of a pipe organ, this gorgeous but gloomy hotel is inhuman under the background of religious music. People are like placed sculptures, easy-to-color oil paintings, or even vague memories after a quick glance from strangers, and a group of travelers in search of quietness come to a hotel to make a fuss. Drive away time with emptiness and boredom while trying to maintain the taste and taste of high status.
The monologue repeated at the beginning of the film seems to drive away all loneliness, the loneliness hidden in the sculptures in the style of the bygone era, the loneliness forgotten in the corridors of similar appearance, the loneliness lingering in the empty and silent living room, the loneliness buried deep in every effort to make a sound. The loneliness in the hearts of guests who come to attract others. However, the more people spoke, the voices were slight or even silent, the more lively people came and went, but everyone seemed to be completely stuck in place.
In the hotel, a man told another woman about their relationship in a certain place a year ago. He vowed to remember the beginning and the end, and even the woman's promise to see him again in a year. The woman has no memory of this, but men everywhere keep telling her the details of the year, and gradually the woman begins to doubt her own memory, and begins to believe that the story he describes really happened to her, and even builds the year together with him. Separate cause process.
People's memories are the most deceiving, especially recalling their own affairs. The most peculiar thing is that when recalling, their perspective becomes the person sitting opposite to them, as if they were watching from the beginning to the end. The pain and pleasure of being watched can be preserved in all expressions, which is convenient for people to tamper with and smear when recalling in the future. Because of being repeatedly invaded by men's memories, women's memories have also changed. Such blurry photos turned into thousands of pictures occupying their own space. The inexplicable person may be his husband, and this man may be the one who can change his life.
With no clear character relationships or firm plot threads, this stream-of-consciousness movie is all about flowing with the tide of thoughts. The dialogue about memories connects the scene one year ago and the woman one year later. Numerous hotel guests walk between the two time and space, and many thoughts of the brain appear on the same picture: the person one year ago walks to a different place. Years later, with devastating forgetting. So women after a year are often placed in the mirror, in the same frame as men in a false space. It is impossible to tell whether the so-called memory of a year ago is a fiction, or the pursuit a year later is a fiction; Through various stories, the breath that once existed is tightly trapped in this lonely tomb.
When all the guests stood still, it was as if the man's memory ordered them to do so; the boring game that no one wanted to expose won over everyone who dared to challenge it with a sense of ridicule. Does the man fall in love with the woman in his memory or the woman now? Does the woman fall in love with the man in the created memory or the real existence at the moment? The answer is hidden in the back of leaving together, there is no joy and free and easy back, only endless doubts.
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