The film world of Louis Mahler is full of objects. Trivial, elegant, bloated, indifferent thing. In the end it was also empty.
Things are human works, human skins, and intricate labyrinths. Even if they can understand each other for a minute, they will eventually fall apart. Objects lie in their place waiting for people to touch them, but people can't touch them. Just like reaching out to touch the sun, but empty. People are out of balance, and things are the most hypocritical reliance and fulcrum, which creates illusions. Taxiing before the plane crashed, creating the illusion of flight. Alcohol is a bitter medicine that makes people too sober.
Long eyelashes, compliant suit collar, dusty mirror, books, pointed nose. Observations that are too detailed will lead us to the grave with the protagonist. Maturity means that the recipient is the product of the cooling of passion, and it is the ashes after burning. The ashes do not burn but prove that it has burned. Maturity depends on this equation to live. Youth refuses to extinguish, but cannot refuse to cool down. Youth walks in the world wearing a material coat, and it will eventually be poisoned to death by the cold coat like Hercules. Heroes cannot escape fate.
The material of Louis Mahler crushed his film.
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