Another old movie.
And then there's the delicious surprise.
The stories of gossip magazines, what else can be new!
Lively, crowded, with its own appearance, absurdity, boredom, calculation and betrayal, the devil of the world, drugs and sex, conspiracy, after the mantis catches the cicada and the oriole, ten years in Hedong and ten years in Hexi.
Without him, nothing new.
Just kill time.
- That's the word I've been thinking about two days ago before shoveling the disc into the optical drive.
Facts once again prove that 'underestimating the enemy' is always a foolish act.
DIRT turned out to be one of the rare dramas with the darkest temperament.
Lively, crowded, with its own appearance, absurdity, boredom, calculation and betrayal, the devil of the world, drugs and sex, conspiracy, after the mantis catches the cicada and the oriole, ten years in Hedong and ten years in Hexi.
Nothing is missing.
But it's all dark.
Black to the core.
Even more surprising, there is the cutest, most professional, most artistic, and most disturbing paparazzi photographer in history, and the editor-in-chief of the beautiful femme fatale who spends his days with a massage stick every night, and the mysteriously hanged father. There were ghosts, severed heads in wine bottles, and several utterly adorable cats.
I don't care about the stories of the stars.
Every story, I can guess the result early on.
What is fascinated by the madness, twist, chaos, despair, and ugliness in the whole play.
Everything is like a derailed train, uncontrollable, rushing somewhere at full speed.
That somewhere, should be all the truth.
At the end of all the darkness, the convergence of all the darkness is not the darkness, but
the scarlet skirt of Lucy's corner.
All truths are white knives in and red knives out,
all scarlet.
But do you know only truth can set you free?
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