This week, nothing was written. Sometimes I wonder if I can change the angle, thinking and entry point to deconstruct the images I am interested in, but this is not easy. A few years ago, I watched "The Difficulty of Being" written by Jean Cocteau, and I experienced the tempering and pain of a director. For someone as fond of movies as I am, there is nothing to groan about. It is like a restless autumn day, filled with dust and thirst until the heart trembles. The slightly dark water droplets are still quietly on the road.
The films "My Father, My Son" (2006) and "The Lonely Heart" (2008) by the Turkish director Chan Ermark make people feel that this is a director that is different from other Turkish directors. He is more concerned with the narrative logic and the sculpting of the storyline, a bit like the low-budget movies of the 1970s and 1980s in Hollywood.
Both films are very aphrodisiac, can be described as the superior work of tragicomedy. No rambling, no foreshadowing, no cumbersomeness, simplicity has become a luxury, but it does not feel procrastination. Of course, the movie still has room for omission. It's just that each director's style dictates the language of each film.
"My Father, My Son" is filled with a touch of sadness, dual identities, not just the label of a family, it should carry responsibility and hope. The wheat is ripe, the family love is priceless, and after the dust billows, there are more marks of loneliness. No one really owns the future on earth, but father and son are connected to a reality full of love. But reality will eventually be lost, and tomorrow will eventually come, even if the pain is like a shadow.
Compared with "My Father, My Son", the detachment and shadow of "Lonely Heart" are equally rewarding. A love that was originally made in heaven was ecstasy in the retreat of the male protagonist Albert. Anxiety and fear, between gain and loss, can be described as the loss of the so-called most sincere love. The problem is that the director gave the movie a libertine premise. The prodigal mentality has become the biggest stumbling block to the love of life. Therefore, there is the firm refusal to turn around, and the sadness of being alone after many years.
"My Father, My Son" turns ice into warm water, and three generations appreciate the inter-generational blood relationship in the unpredictable life. This is a small grace in a big era. This is a bouquet of fragrance that cannot change one's destiny, and it is the spiritual hometown of all people who have nowhere to go.
2013, 10, 28
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