Music and pictures are more expressive than the actors themselves. When you see the tide submerging the pebbles on one side, and the day and night cast by the sun swaying on the blue water, different stories are played out on this shore. Edward is so handsome that he is not close to human feelings, especially this story. Obviously, he should not be the most handsome character. On the contrary, it is Willoughby's baby face, which looks a little evil in the dark... Someone once praised me for the British implicitness. For example, in "Atonement" everyone waited for Robin to come back, Ce sat uneasy on the steps and smoked, he appeared, The atmosphere seemed to be climbing—fear, doubt, curiosity, accusation, the moment before it was spoken. The mother instead told her little daughter Brioney to go to bed. If you're going to count this as a British understatement, the movie is better than the book.
favorite lens. Willoughby and Marianne go to his aunt's house, their hands on the stairs - there's a subtle intimacy in that shot, one behind the other, dimly lit, a slight touch around the corner. I don't know if there are ripples in the hearts of both of them. Later, when Marianne recalled that scene in the heavy rain, she had a feeling that I got it... I don't know how many people noticed it the first time it appeared.
In front of the window she was as beautiful as an angel. Willoughby kisses her, the background music and angles are so good, I didn't fast forward~. When they moved before, Edward gave Elinor a gift, and he still hesitated. But that place is not very well expressed; maybe the director is trying too hard to make this atmosphere, but it seems a bit blunt.
love. How beautiful is love. Marianne is also beautiful and her curly hair is beautiful. Her face reminds me of Anniston.
And their mother. It fits the character's image and temperament very well, making people see that she was once beautiful, rich and hopeful; like all ordinary mothers. Their little sister Maggie is also pretty - reminds me of Emma Watson - and the ugliest Elinor has a British girl vibe and loves her voice with a brit accent. The most shocking thing is that I seem to hear an American accent at the beginning... I
wonder if every girl has a period like Marianne, believing in love, romance, passion, and the future. The first thing she did when she came to her new room in London was to sit down and write a letter; from beginning to end, Marianne's face was always pink, although it flashed happiness and joy and sadness. Emotions are replaced by reason, love is replaced by life, youth is replaced by marriage. During their nightly conversation, my sister answered honestly, No, I don't know, maybe.
So we were able to see Mr. Darcy crawling out of the water, and then the more handsome Edward chopping wood in the rain. ...greatly satisfied the eyes of erotic women (aka nympho). The BBC's masculine feast, that's right. Charlotte's husband is funny...or a typical husband figure...a little episode. As soon as I sat down, I unfolded the newspaper, and when I left, I dropped a sentence and the roof transformed into this!
Lucy is beautiful, while her sister is loud. Why is it the secret she heard? The pair of eyes on Elinor's side face, which always gave the impression of deliberately widening, disappeared into the place where light and dark meet. Implicit makes people want to be swaying, but the ambiguous is always like a dull knife, cutting time and space to cut off the unreasonable thoughts. Who said ambiguity is sugar, sweet to sadness.
A long time ago, we have not learned so many skills and so many scheming. A lot of people later believed it made it easier for people to fall in love with you. Being in a relationship is like a war; it took a few days for him to call her, and it took a week for her to go out with him. The same is eager to miss but want to hide and do not care. Marianne obviously didn't understand. She cried that he loved me - no, he never said...
Implicit sometimes brewing into ambiguous. To love, or not to love. Implicit looks beautiful when both are deeply in love. It felt like first love, a look in the eyes and a small smile set off the stormy waves, landslides and tsunamis in the bottom of my heart. When you convince yourself that many years later, it is no longer the joy of first love, but you can still hear your own heartbeat like a rabbit in your arms. Only slightly sweet emotions remain. The memories of the past retreat like a tide to a corner that cannot hurt you, revealing the continent. The wind and the sun are both delightful, the language is forgotten leaving a smile and a tenth of a second feeling, the city is just a mirage in the background. Forget him, remember love, what a humble wish it was for you. Only to realize that all emotions are not as dangerous and decisive as you think. You think that complete forgetting is shattered by reality, and you wonder if you are doing something wrong, after all, you are you and he is him. Your mood is a monodrama, imposing others as the hero like Marianne, but the reality is nothing but tears.
When Marianne was recovering from her illness and heard the excited statement from the man she had been so obsessed with, what kind of emotions would be mixed in her heart.
Then you find that feeling. Desire to remember but it doesn't matter whether you remember it or not, love is like a shallow wind blowing your heart full of joy and sadness. I don't want anything, I don't envy anyone, I don't feel sentimental, I just like him. You don't understand whether this is liberation or deep depression; why did the fool in the story who cried out for my love and my love finally succeeded in cultivation? You don't want to say love. It was an invisible yet present object that followed you like a shadow, and could only talk to you when you were with yourself. The mood of the past is like sand being blown up and down by time, and tears flow out of my eyes. You say that you have grown up, hiding many ins and outs. In the eyes of others, your crying, laughing, laughing and angering are like uncontrollable changes in the weather. Only then did you realize that it was no longer him who felt sorry for you.
Only after you lose, do you know how to have it.
Colonel infiltrated her heart like a cloud of rain and mist. It seems that there is such a person in every story, watching for love, and finally waiting until the clouds bloom. The author of Snoopy once wrote: I don't know why I use so many unrequited love materials, probably the world is made up of unrequited love. As Marianne sat in the study and played the piano, he let loose the white birds on his arms in the twilight of sunlight on the grass. Her heart was in a trance and it flew with it. Everything was like a long dream and a serious illness. When she woke up, her smile was still sweet and moving, but the story went to a happy ending.
Maybe it all seems too classical; I grew up reading classical love, and maybe that's why it seems so out in some ways. There are happy endings, and there are infatuated and determined heroines and heroines, who have beautiful appearances and beautiful souls. I like and believe but can't expect Jean Austen-esque stories; from Elisabeth to Emma to Fanny to Elinor, maybe Jean Austen is comforting himself like we are: smart and reserved girls are not only not unwanted, but deserve better man. I kept listening to contraradiction, saying that only a weak, brainless and beautiful woman like Elisabeth's sister Jean would win her favor. Of course it is a reality. One of my personal habits is that I like looking at handsome guys very much, but that like admiring an empty vase that will never be used. Seeing only their faces but not their hearts makes them less likely to fall in love than ordinary people. Until one day someone finally protested, and I still couldn't take his emotions seriously - prejudice? The protagonists in the stories in the novels are generally beautiful, men and women, and I don't know if it is to make the audience impeccable or aesthetically fatigued. Perhaps because of this, the occasional sight of less-than-beautiful actors, less-completed personalities, is more appealing. Just like Zhang San Li Si, you and me, everyone has their own story, and I don’t know how many people can be touched by telling it. Reality is always more dramatic than fiction.
By the way, there is a very moving scene in Ang Lee's version. Although in this BBC version, Edward and Elinor stood a few steps away in an empty room to talk, the camera switched to the silhouette and front of the two, which is a very good part. But I prefer Li An's filming. Without any warning, when Elinor heard him say that he was not married, Elinor could no longer restrain his emotions and burst into tears. After all, we are all human beings. You can cover up your emotions for a day, a month, many years. But it shouldn't let it die out because of your own restraint. I am afraid we are all easier to understand Marianne, love is love, hate is hate. Life is a play with indistinguishable colors, and it cannot end with a happy ending.
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