It's all about off topic.
Maybe it's because of the high expectations, the habit of expecting sensational things to happen, as if the story had to be that way - you know what I mean. It had to be full of ups and downs, and it had to be bright and colorful when unshelled, just to catch my eyes stained by the things around me, and I was no longer curious about things. I look forward to the story attracting me, looking forward to someone waking me up, or eliciting an extremely difficult look in my eyes.
"Contempt" didn't appeal to me, and all I thought about was just the emotions from my experience. The only thing left is Brigitte Bardot's cold and glamorous face. I saw some people say that she is not elegant enough. I don't know what the other party wants to see, and I don't agree. He confined French cinema to his own imagination, as if everything had to be that way to make French cinema. But don't forget, the film itself is first of all directed, actors, screenwriters, countless people related to the film, and finally French cinema, and it's only possible. Maybe it will have other shadows, the director's personal trace is undoubted, so why should it be defined as a French film in the first place, and tell everyone according to your own standards - what is a French film. This is ridiculous. There are so many things like this, people are always self-righteous and too arrogant to hold anything. I have seen it, the world is like this, it must have something or it is not the world.
Whose contempt is it, I cut in from this angle now, and maybe it can also become part of the text. Not only the contempt of the characters themselves, but also the contempt from countless viewers. I don't like the plot, I don't like the presentation, and I don't even like Brigitte Bardot's face. Even myself, where is my contempt, I can't stand its trivial and ordinary.
But I couldn't be more familiar with it. It was very similar to my ordinary life, and I knew with my eyes closed where they were drifting away from each other. I feel a sense of collapse, a sense of offended but powerless, I have lost the right to judge, I can no longer deal with it freely, because that is what I am, I can no longer stand in the position of an outsider Criticizing other people's lives, because that's how I am.
"The boy you like will always become Nino in the end." All the feelings are messed up in the end, and the cycle goes back and forth, and no one is spared. Maybe that tragedy is a good thing. If one day, you show contempt to me again, another person will appear and take you away from me with love. Me too, maybe I'll get tired of you and long for new throbbing, and I'll show you a look of contempt.
Beloved, what made us like this, you look back, and there's a wasteland behind us.
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