Six years ago in September, a sci-fi movie happened right under our noses.
Three planes turned into sharp daggers into the heart of America at the cost of their lives. The two echoing American symbols collapsed, and the five-pointed star of the United States was blasted with a corner.
Then the Americans suddenly, utterly, idiots.
Many people started cheering. More people were startled. Since then, 911 has become another symbol besides the alarm call, a more unforgettable symbol.
The White House survived, not because they forgot, but because they didn't. They were the last weapon in the plan, but the weapon failed.
I don't think Americans will say that the interests of the motherland are above everything else, long live the motherland to fight, they just insist on justice for survival and soul. But anyway, they were full of courage, they were full of determination, and they did it. They made it.
Someone once told me what their history teacher said, only after ten years in China can be called history and can be talked about. It's as if we can only talk about the student riots in Beijing in 1989. I admire the courage of the Americans, who dared to take out the national disaster and make a movie, and dared to make more than one movie. I admire their ability to capture the national calamity so deeply, so touchingly, and calmly demonstrate their heroism and great-power thinking.
Flight 93 is like this. There are not too many lines at the beginning of the film, and it is just written quietly with the camera lens along with the music. Indeed, it is the most touching and the most stinging narrative.
Talk about the most impressive places:
people keep calling their loved ones when they are on the line of life and death, and their loved ones are watching the fall of the American flag on TV. This is a call from heaven. No, it was a call from heaven. I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than any one else. These may be the English that people all over the world know, and they keep repeating them over and over again. If it were you, could you tell me?
On the side of the farm, a puff of black smoke rose, there was no sound, and the ending that everyone knew before watching the movie was handled lightly. Then there was a big pit, and people were done with it, leaving only the wreckage and the names of those people. Spring, summer, autumn and winter have passed. The pit disappeared. It's all over. All that's left is remembrance.
If it doesn't work, the only option is to shoot down the plane. That's what the U.S. military says.
music. The excellence of the film lies in the way the music sets off the atmosphere. Music before boarding and after a plane crash. Not too deep or too shallow, just right. A touch of gentleness is enough to touch people's soft hearts.
Perhaps the only downside is the obvious fake background we can see outside the cockpit windows, and the movie isn't as perfect as it gets when it comes to details. But what is perfect?
To those who have passed, pay homage to these names.
sleep. Amen.
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