In the room with a small lamp lit, the old man with the pipe in his mouth stared at the old photos on a wall, while the sea outside the house shone with sporadic light and rustled.
This is the first picture of the film, as silent and peaceful as yellowed film. And this stillness permeates the whole story, a twilight old man and his house that keeps rising because of the rising sea level.
Some say the short film won this year's Oscar because it explores environmental issues in a very poetic way. Indeed, the warming climate and the slow flooding of the city by the sea are the background of "Reminiscence Building Blocks", and I want to impress the judges more, or what impresses me even more, is the old man's memory of the lost time in the embrace of the sea.
Memories have always been a word with a bit of warmth, so the author uses a warm yellow setting in each of the old people's memories, but uses a somewhat icy blue when depicting reality. The continuous interweaving of warm yellow and dark blue seems to be a deep and shallow dream, lonely but beautiful.
In order to find the pipe that was lost in the sea, the old man opened the window to the next room and tucked his knees and swam down. His heavy body was light in the diving suit. Soon he found the pipe, but the story didn't end there.
Because as he picked it up he remembered that it was in this place that his wife picked up the pipe for him. And when the warm yellow picture was quickly switched to the dark blue background, the old man's bright eyes suddenly became lost and lonely.
Memories are addicting. Those times that are still potentially in deeper waters, the old man will continue to find.
So he went to the second floor, the third floor, the fourth floor... In the warm yellow and dark blue that are constantly blending, it is the old man who is pressing the quilt for the sick old man, it is the old man who is taking family photos for the laughing family, it is his The daughter went from sitting on the ground building blocks to flying onto the deck and waving her hands to study, and then to her marriage and the growth of a mother.
Then he got to the bottom. When he pushed open the door, the picture was suddenly filled with the most tender yellow.
At that time, there was no sea water here, but large swathes of trees and flowers, and low houses standing on the undulating hillsides in the sunlight. The camera then switches to a small tree, two children are running around the tree, and they grow up after a circle. The girl shyly holds up an umbrella for the boy who is soaked in the rain. Big, two people who love each other make a lifelong promise. When they swirled and embraced, the birds flew up from the lush branches and leaves, and the petals splashed all over the picture like happy raindrops.
So they started building the house, the bottom one. The two of them laughed and raised their glasses in the room, and the most common red wine was full of sweet taste.
I love this part very much, the old man's childhood sweetheart time made my fingers that have always been calm tremble with the waves floating in my heart.
As you can guess, the blue water drowned out the memories again, and the old man who returned to reality picked up the leftover wine glass and looked up -
now the house is so high and so high, just like when his young daughter was playing The building blocks are accumulated layer by layer, and then the big and small bubbles swirl and rise, rise...
and then return to the lonely house at the beginning, still a dim light, the old man is in the small He poured two full glasses of wine on the table, and he toasted each other with his two hands, as if his wife was still sitting there smiling...
I have no reason not to believe that the old man in the potential sea is happy enough, although There is no hugging hand by his side, but the memory hugs him tightly, exuding a warm fragrance that will never go out of style...
Isn't it, time is moving forward with vigour and vigour but silently, we want to build building blocks with a little bit of heart My own life, and occasionally stop to look back, those old times come up little by little, not over our ankles, hands, until a soft place in our hearts, and then we will return to the original way of life, remembering every point Pure inspiration.
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