Yang Meizi's beauty did not begin with self-study of poetry, but was entirely contrived. It can be seen from the details that she insists on dressing up as an elderly person who lives in poverty and is gradually intolerant of society. The film is divided into two lines, one is Yang Meizi learning poetry, and the other is Yang Meizi dealing with the issue of her grandson who participated in the campus sexual violence that caused the girl to commit suicide by diving. The former is the process of nourishing beauty, especially the revival of female beauty who broke away from the role of grandmother, while the second event is the suppression of beauty, which can be said to be the fermentation of poetry.
There is a section in the film about her relationship with the old man she serves as a nanny.
For a long time, Yang Meizi seems to have no shortage of people praising her for her beauty, but it is actually a perfunctory scene. It's like the old man's daughter praised her, but she didn't bother to chat with her when she turned around. Only the wind-paralyzed old man thought of her as a woman when he was thinking of "becoming a man at last". On the day that Yang Meizi was silent when he learned of the sins committed by the grandson, he discovered her abnormality. "What happened to you?" he asked. Because usually "you are always noisy, chattering like a lark". At that moment, he escaped from the body of an involuntary old man, and also from the identity of the "master", like a young soul caring for his lover. This concern also awakened Yang Mezi's youth. She playfully answered the reason why she didn't smile, because she smiled so beautifully that men would fall in love with her if she smiled. They were in a relationship of yelling at each other, but this time, the old man triggered her as a woman, and was bewitched instead, crawling to the bathroom door to eavesdrop on the sound of the water in her shower.
The latter time, he made an inappropriate courtship and was categorically rejected, which is impossible for her to do, whether as a grandmother or a nanny, and more importantly, she did not love him, and she had no passion. At this time, in the sharing activity in the poetry class she participated in, one person shared the experience of beauty, and the other woman shared a tense story of accidentally having an extramarital affair with a male colleague. It reminded her of when she was very young, maybe even the first memory, when her sister helped her dress up - "Miko, come here, come here" - how beautiful she thought she was then. After more than 60 years of wind and frost, the original beauty experience and passion she had forgotten was revived with the course.
I think she has no other choice. She needs an outlet that can appreciate her beauty to express herself, so she changed her mind and returned to the old man's house to let the paralyzed old man take medicine and have sex. She sat on top of him and looked at his hemiplegic face, a rich old man who "wanted to be a man again before he died". This face may have many stories like hers in the past, but it was abandoned by old age. Does she love him? Maybe love born of sympathy. This scene is the sublimation of beauty. It was as if she came to the bridge where the girl jumped into the river to commit suicide, and the wind blew away the white hat she had been wearing on her head. Her beauty, hat, fell into the river like that beautiful girl. This moment was the annihilation of beauty, the culmination of repentance and guilt, and instead she smiled relievedly. I took out the book, but I couldn't write a single word, and the rain left a wanton trace.
The policeman who came to pick up her grandson was a member of the Poetry Club. She was not panicked. He played badminton with her and praised her "nice shoot". Perhaps she simultaneously fulfilled the role of a grandmother who vilified her beauty as a blackmailer and atonement for her grandson, and fulfilled her conscience as a confessor and protector of beauty. Immediately afterwards, everything became invisible: a bunch of white flowers, a poem without an author, listening to the repeated voice of the river - I only hope that this is not destruction, but flowers blooming on the mulch, and "apricots fell to the ground." The earth, willing to be trampled on for the sake of rebirth."
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