Guillaume Canet's smile and soft hair, I've seen it in "Two Little Guess", but the tyrant failed to make me as fascinated by him as this time - he always played music with different Woman goes home. He was wearing a dark sweater with a pullover, holding a small bottle of beer, lighting a cigarette; he was young, there were so many disappointments, he had no money, he had to take care of his grandmother, he had only Mondays off, he complained and lost his temper. But in fact he is a warm man. He closed his heart and sat in the kitchen room with the white wooden table and chairs, drinking coffee.
Audrey Tautou, 27 years old. She lost her long hair, revealing smooth cheeks and bright eyes like a dark child. She was thin, afraid of the cold, and unattractive. She curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cardigan, and read a book. She was a passerby wearing a red plush scarf. She hides her mother from crying in the bathroom, wiping away the tears; she invites Laurent to her cold, cramped little attic, and oh, look, how indifferent the building is, and people pass by. They ate dinner on plates and cups from the fallen nobleman Laurent, and they were good friends. At this point Laurent was still nervous and stuttering.
Laurent, blonde, aristocratic face. their good friend. Dramatically correcting his stuttering, he has such a good acting talent. He is considerate, good-natured, submissive, and polite. I like wearing a red bow tie. He ends up marrying beautiful blondes - pretty people who look dumbfounded when he sells postcards. One hour and sixteen minutes his stage play was captivating.
French movies, I always forget the ending, and always immerse in the details.
Wooden beds with flower bedspreads, old rugs, chocolate-colored plush cardigans, messy curly hair, cigarette butts burning at your fingertips, crowded diners, people kissing each other loudly on the cheeks, French winter breath, old lady's cat , shoes and socks thrown on the floor...
the details of life, the interspersed fragments, the story unfolds slowly.
Me and j went for coffee on a rainy evening. I told him that I missed the gardenia outside the window in the early summer of that year; I missed the afternoon sunshine in the library, I missed the smiling computer games... I also remember the shabby little restaurants we always go to eat, and the sleep in the boring class... I still remember I just entered the new school and felt cold and lonely. I was sitting in his rented house writing a chapter in a book, and he was busy with his business at the computer by the bed. He cooks soup for meals, he drinks soup and I eat all kinds of ingredients in the soup, and then he brings out his snacks, and we each take what we need.
He said that such a fragment is really still read. The details are the real memory and the real life.
On Christmas night, Guillaume asked, may I hug you.
That day, when I took him to the subway, I still didn't ask the question I wanted to ask.
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