Someone pushed this drama two days ago, and I had time to watch two episodes today, but I didn't expect to watch it with a kind of anger. Obviously the picture is beautiful, the color is bright, angry? It's a family comedy. After reading it carefully for a while, I realized that this is not anger, but jealousy. Jealousy of tolerated stupidity, indulged selfishness, tolerated eccentricities. I've never liked the troublesome spirits in any story, and when I think about it, it probably all stems from the same kind of jealousy: "Why can't they live like this, I can't." The troublesome spirits in the play can live like this because they have a magical mother. It's like Gaia, the goddess of the earth, or the Virgin Mary, who supports everything. But in real life, I have never seen such a person who is more divine than human. More common is a mother who breaks down and screams, and crackles in the face. Of course, this is just an adaptation of the story, also adapted from the autobiography of the youngest and most unworldly son at the time. Perhaps days that are desperate enough for adults are full of adventures and adventures for innocent children. From different perspectives, the same day becomes heaven and hell. Well, another sour remark with jealousy. In fact, what interests me the most is that even in my equally well-behaved and repressed teenage years, I watch films with malice and jealousy, and someone finds enough good in them. Why is there such a difference? What caused this divergence?
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