The pianist in this play can be said to have gone through the vicissitudes of life, but when watching this play, I still just can't help but laugh. Because he didn't resist the slightest bit of resistance to his own destiny, he was left with only cowardly irony. In fact, he hopes to plunge into the vigorous history, hope to resist, and even die. However, no one wants to believe in a pianist, so in seeking asylum again and again, he was helpless afterwards, and still relied on the bombs bombed by the Nazis. Even at the end, even rescued, but a joke of wearing the wrong shirt.
Perhaps he wore the wrong gold hazel, that era does not belong to him, or even no era belongs to us.
We, I don't know when I was reduced to that group of people, people who have nothing to do with reality. I am used to protecting my own world, and I am used to observing everything from a safe perspective, tactfully and satirically. I even suspect that even in the so-called big era, I will only be like now, like the pianist in the movie. It's just that when the baby at hand dies in front of your eyes, turning the beginning, or forcing yourself to stare, sympathize, lament, only become a way to please yourself, escape reality with sensual satisfaction, just like the melody.
Before that era, I would have hoped to become demented, ignorant of the world, or go away with the wind.
Waiting for the answer to make up, this can be said to be the state of my life. I am indeed waiting for the passage of time. I am not sincere. Even in my favorite field, I just treat it as a pleasure and don’t give life passion. . Reality and myself are easily separated by me. I am like a plant in a pot, and the world is just a piece of loess that I ask for, or absorb all the influences in my own way.
However, I am very clear about the value of my life, I cannot define it, but I always feel the existence of the answer, all my thinking, manic, unhealthy lifestyle, every part of my life hints to me that the answer is coming, Fragmented and harmonious.
I know that in the end, I will give myself an answer, or even more than one.
Or I have already seen that life is not just an answer, I live for no reason. Yes, I believe in the truth, and even willing to believe in various explanations of life. Because I know that no matter how sophisticated, beautiful, and fascinating the process of demonstrating it, I will never become a believer in it. I exist, and this in itself already satisfies me.
This existence is not real, it has no practical significance at all. The slightly disillusioned and comical reality gives way to fanatical fantasy, passionate enthusiasm, and beautiful evil thinking.
I watched and analyzed all this clearly again with cold eyes, and waited for them to pass.
What is another kind of life? The people who surround the pianist, they really live for something, even her girlfriend said that they died for dignity. I don’t think I can do that, or I can’t act according to certain guidelines, I don’t believe it.
I admit that I have never experienced the vicissitudes of life? I don't admit the vicissitudes of life.
PS. I haven't read Jiang Fangzhou's book, but I found the title interesting, so I borrowed it.
This movie is a masterpiece. Roman Polanski has a thousand ways to show that era, but he chose such an alienated perspective and a balanced rhythm to weaken what happened in history, and leave the audience with a thousand possibilities of their own.
And record some of his ideas, and what I think is interesting:
his unique dislocation narrative unfolded in a fixed lens (thank you for not shaking like Lou Ye), the wall is just built and so on.
The difference between family meals three times.
He doesn't forget to flirt when in a small restaurant.
The two people hiding in the closet live together.
When a row of people died, in the end the bullets were gone, and that person was waiting for the hope of changing the bullet clip.
He had a conversation with her when she was pregnant, watching her play the cello.
The bad guy who lied to his watch, that way of expression.
The last thing he said to the German military officer, I will still play piano on Polish radio.
Later, playing the piano on the radio, his hands trembled.
The place where the music appeared, the empty hand playing piano in the room, when I was in the hospital, when I climbed up to the attic, I heard it, then turned around, and played it for the German officer. These are good places.
A real biography should be shot like this, because this alienated non-story narrative allows many personal experiences to be perfectly integrated with the film. If it is a story-telling narrative, then the final appeal of the German military officer cannot be integrated into the film.
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