It's been a long time since I watched a movie, so I bought The Limits of Control today. I thought it was a shootout movie, but it turned out to be a big tail wolf movie.
French films are inherently pretentious, and an American director with a strong French influence, Zhuangbilitiest, (smiling.)
Well, I admit, there is a serious bias toward France and the United States in this review, as well as some other bad ideas. Emotional release. The Limits of Control is still very good as a latecomer tribute study, but it is too far away from the masterpiece.
For this film, my interpretation, is a stream of consciousness Odyssey, killer version of the road film.
A metaphor is to visualize and simplify complex truths, rather than to complicate simple things.
One of the functions of these kinds of films is to let a self-righteous but utterly ignorant person like me know that I'm not alone - all the little wise men are bewildered to explore our mysteries.
Life and the world are mysteries that words cannot explain. Words can't, pictures, music can't, science can't, all rational and irrational means can't add up.
No, it ends with death. Death may be the ultimate meaning of life.
We cannot resist the temptation to challenge the "can't", even at the cost of death.
The above may not have anything to do with the movie.
While writing a diary, I watched the DVD of Anita Mui's last concert.
Of the very few entertainers I know of, she is worthy of a parallel with Michael Jackson: at the center of the rumors, indomitable.
Such a true, diligent, and well-rounded life deserves tribute.
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