cause loneliness

Reagan 2022-03-21 09:02:33

Fifty-year-old Jake is kind-hearted, knowledgeable, and versatile, but he has never experienced love because of his unpretentious personality and withdrawn personality. After his mother died, Jake lived alone in the city, working as a cleaner at his alma mater high school. A great sense of loneliness made him lose his mind. One day when a snowstorm is approaching, Jake is getting ready to go to work, fantasizing through the window that his younger self takes his girlfriend to meet his parents for the first time... Movie quote is not fully summarized: Richard Rogers -- Oklahoma! (radio song, ballet scene, Lonely Room ...) Eva HD -- Bonedog David Foster Wallace -- A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again Guy Debord -- Society of the Spectacle Pauline Kael -- review of A Woman Under the Influence Oscar Wilde -- Quote on non originality Robert Zemeckis, made-up movie Baby It's Cold Outside, period sexism A Beautiful Mind, John Nash's Nobel Prize speech Tulsey Town Ice Cream, fictional, inspired by Dairy Queen

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Extended Reading
  • Kennedi 2022-03-26 09:01:09

    Another deeply depressing work by Charlie Kaufman, full of fear and helplessness about aging and being without companionship. The endless driving in the blizzard and snow, the empty and empty campus corridors in the long cold night, are desolate and lonely, and there is no one to rely on. When the fatal loneliness invaded, the pas de deux scene in the fantasy of the old cleaner pulled me out of the atmosphere of the previous film, as well as the speech + opera that followed. Although this separation between the front and rear is interesting, it still detracts from it to some extent. Overall look. Jesse Buckley did a great job. Dream-like narrative + multi-type blending + multi-video embedding. The rambling chatter about the philosophy of life in the car is reminiscent of [Half-Dream Life]; Talk + Act [Affected Woman]; The Bizarre Farm and The Boyfriend's Parents Played by Thewlis & Colette are very [hereditary]; awkward dining table In the conversation, parents of different ages appear alternately, the time and space are confused like [Warm and Inner Light]; the connection between illusory characters and real situations is like [Mulholland Road]; Jesse Plemons resembles Hoffman, and then Coupled with the theme of aging and despair, it travels back to [New York Metaphors] in minutes; it is homogenous to [Life and Death] before the end. (8.8/10)

  • Allen 2022-03-26 09:01:09

    Kaufman does not represent time, memory and aging per se, but tells a story about time, memory and aging that is fascinating enough in an age where the tradition of storytelling has been lost.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things quotes

  • Young Woman: [about his onset dementia] I'm sorry that y-you're...

    Father: That's okay. Truth is, I'm looking forward to when it gets very bad and I don't have to remember that I can't remember!

  • Young Woman: Coming home is terrible whether the dogs lick your face or not; whether you have a wife or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you. Coming home is terribly lonely, so that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure back where you have just come from with fondness, because everything's worse once you're home. You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks, long hours on the road, roadside assistance and ice creams, and the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing because you did not want to return. Coming home is just awful. And the home-style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise. Clouds, such as they are, are in fact suspect, and made from a different material than those you left behind. You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth, returned, remaindered, ill-met by moonlight, unhappy to be back, slack in all the wrong spots, seamy suit of clothes dishrag-ratty, worn. You return home moon-landed, foreign; the Earth's gravitational pull an effort now redoubled, dragging your shoelaces loose and your shoulders etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead. You return home deepened, a parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail strand of... Anyway... You sigh into the onslaught of identical days. One might as well, at a time... Well... Anyway... You're back. The sun goes up and down like a tired whore, the weather immobile like a broken limb while you just keep getting older. Nothing moves but the shifting tides of salt in your body. Your vision blears. You carry your weather with you, the big blue whale, a skeletal darkness. You come back with X-ray vision. Your eyes have become a hunger. You come home with your mutant gifts to a house of bone. Everything you see now, all of it: bone.