Because of this opening statement, like many petty bourgeoisie or pseudo-bourgeoisie, I fell in love with this novel based on the autobiography of Duras. This is a strong woman who makes no secret of her desire for lust, and confesses to a man embarrassingly, but is dignified, wise, vicissitudes of life, self-harm, full of suffering but never defeated. Falling in love with this, the soul of writing with the body of a prostitute, the soul of the writer.
Duras said that the more I write, the less I exist. I can't get out, I'm lost in the text. I think that anyone who has a high sensitivity and sense of responsibility for words must have a heart eager to talk, dragging heavy footnotes about love and hate. If a writer just plays with flashy rhetoric, rippling in the swamp of word games, "looking up at the sky at 45 degrees," he can burst into tears, but he does not check the deep-seated pain in his heart and is ashamed to show it, then At best, he can only beat like a lice in the shell of a literary fanatic, which is painful but unforgettable.
I have seen someone comment on her like this: Duras's inner desire world is a rushing river that will never dry up. Alcoholism and indulgence, her self-harm comes from an innate sense of destruction. And this sense of destruction stems from her family. Before she started to use a kind of absurd sexual activity and alcohol anesthesia as a way of life, the world she lived in had been devastated by natural and man-made disasters. Her spiritual homeland means that the enthusiasm for life and the confidence in family affection no longer exist. What brought her this subversive disaster, as can be seen from her works, was her mother, and all the misfortune, embarrassment, poverty, and poverty caused by her mother’s bad luck to the family under the special colonial background at the time. Endless quarrels. Duras's hunger and thirst for lust has taken shape in the environment of lack of love.
This passage is a good explanation of the anxiety, hunger, despair, and self-willingness of the white girl who wanted to sell her body as a prostitute in "The Lover" that my beloved Duras created in "Lover". Complex psychology. As she herself said: If a woman has sex with only one man in her life, it is because she does not like sex. And: the way to deal with men is to love them very, very much, otherwise they will become unbearable. I love men, I only love men. I can have 50 men at a time.
She said that all my life I have struggled with feelings different from ordinary people.
The influence of the novel "Lover" on me is that I read it seven times from beginning to end, from pondering the words to being able to memorize it almost backwards, but it also made me never dare to watch any film adapted from this novel. The living actor destroyed the breath between the lines in the book that fascinated me. What's more, this film is defined as a French pornographic film, and the source of a film whose limit level is not lower than "Lust Caution" is not so easy to find.
It just happened to get its seeds up and down on the campus BT, and after the screen was unfolded, it was out of control.
This time I will not be a spoiler party. I just want to tell you that the tension of the film and the analysis of the original work are completely beyond my imagination.
The sound of the tides of the Mekong River, the rainy season in Vietnam, the vitality of tropical plants, the ubiquitous love, are all a ray of hopelessness. The music is mellow and melodious, flowing in the once barren land of Saigon, Vietnam, the dampness of people, and the fluffy slightly curly hair, the blurred eyes, the thin body wrapped in the dangling old silk dress 16 The year-old "Dulas", Liang Jiahui, who seems to be hanging from the skylight of a lifeless old house with a ray of light hanging from the skylight, can see the face of the dancing dust, is so appropriate that it becomes the light and shadow of the film, gentle and long. Scorching hot.
Among the countless stunning shots, one of the most detailed warmth is the scene where she is kissing his car window glass. Duras said that it felt like making love in the street.
Later, when they made love in that dark hut, he said: You will remember this afternoon in the future. Even if you forget my looks, my name.
Perhaps love did not exist that day, only because of the heavy makeup of memories, love showed its beauty in the beginning of love.
Finally, he said: I think you are more beautiful now than you were when you were young. At that time you were a young woman. Compared with your face at that time, I love your face that has been devastated more.
This passage makes me think the same can not be suppressed so I love that song "When I'm old,"
When you are old, white-haired, sleepy,
nap before the fire, take down this poem,
slowly Yin chant, your eyes and dream of the year
that soft blue light and vignette of quiet;
how many people pretend the truth, love your beautiful,
loved you happy and charming youth,
but one man loved the pilgrim's heart you,
love The grief on your fading face;
when you squat by the hot grate,
you will speak softly, with a trace of sadness: the
lost love is now on the mountain,
Hidden its beauty in the dense cluster of stars.
Shadow hangs over the fate of a lifetime
of despair sex silent farewell
desire burning love in the sublimation of
life goes on hope in the corner
Duras said: If I'm not a writer, must be a prostitute.
Dear Duras:
Because I understand,
it hurts,
because I am lonely,
so indulge,
because, because when I am old, I will have the same dream as you.
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