After reading it, stayed. I originally thought that the killing was violent, fiercely full of bloody anger, but I never thought that it could be completely peaceful and peaceful, and it had nothing to do with hatred, race, and nothing in the world to be a reason for killing. Killers have no distracting thoughts when they murder. Perhaps life is no longer a carrier of love, hatred, hatred, sorrow, and joy for them, but just some flesh and blood composites to satisfy their most primitive killing pleasure. This method of killing itself is a mockery of the value of life. While sighing, we have to look back at ourselves and see if we are also drifting away from human nature.
The holy white snow of the small American town is stained with the blood of innocent and guilty people, and under the soft language of the lens lies the forthcoming killing. Suddenly realized that the black humor of the Cohen brothers turned out to be as terrifying as David Lynch's nightmare.
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