He said he knew her, he said they met in Marienbad. She was skeptical and in a trance. In the rush of music, he and she finally ran away together.
What is the distance between reality and memory? The material that looks real and the illusory heart that looks like a dream, which one is the real thing?
I watched this film three times, and I never thought to try to understand it, because I knew early on that it didn't matter whether I could understand it or not.
When did you see Duras use a traditional narrative style to tell her smug story, especially one that vaguely revolves around love, lust and temptation, betrayal and entanglement?
Everything was uncertain, and then it looked as though it had a definite ending.
It looks
so weird
and unreliable
, but it is the ultimate writer's film, and of
course my favorite style.
We no longer need storytelling
, we need subversion and surprise,
we choose what we want to believe to believe
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