This film, based on the work of another important Beat Generation writer, Charles Bukowski, like most Beat Generation authors, is full of autobiographical or self-life portrayals. mean.
Director Bent Hamer, a Norwegian who is said to be a master at adapting literary works, was also chosen after a war of words among Bukowski's research experts. I give him an 8, it's not easy, the slow narrative style he established fits the protagonist's dazed and passive state. The protagonist Henry, who is actually Bukowski himself, is an older literary and artistic youth wandering in Los Angeles. Although he can't find a job, he has always held the dream of becoming a writer. I think foreigners are a bit special. As long as they usually write, when people ask him about his occupation, they will answer without blush that it is a writer! Even if your own stuff has never been published.
In this sense, foreigners regard writing as a way of living, not just a means of making a living, so they may be more religious. Henry does not have a job, so he keeps on writing by eating soft food, drinking heavily, gambling on horses, and living a trance life. Matt Dillon took the role amid a chorus of swearing, and did a good job of not turning an independent film into an eye-catching Hollywood blockbuster. Just as Henry was getting drunk at the bar, the first glowing editorial letter had slipped into the hands of his former landlord, and I liked the ending, in another corner of the city, something is going on that affects our destiny, and At the time, we didn't know anything about it.
After reading it, I read some of Bukowski's poems with interest. It's interesting. The following one can almost be used as a summary of the whole movie:
The tragedy of leaves
I realized that the dry, ferns died in
pots the plants are as yellow as corn
My women have gone
Empty bottles like bloody corpses
Surround me with their idle uselessness
But the sun is still beautiful
My landlady
is full of cheap suspicions in every word; what's needed now
is a good comedy Actor, archaic, a
clown who elicits laughter with absurd pain , pain is ridiculous
because it exists, but not many
I carefully shave my face with an old razor
This once-young man
is said to be gifted; But
that's the tragedy of the leaves, the
dry ferns, the tragedy of the dead plants
I walked into the dark hallway
where the landlady stood
cursing and finally
sent me to hell
She shook her fat, sweaty arms
Screaming
hysterical for rent
'cause the world has
beaten us both
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