Sex, power, and the subconscious have always been the magic weapon for dealing with such films. Work hard, folks, I'm just here to make soy sauce.
So I only saw a small house, exactly like the one we all live in. And the people in the film are all ordinary little people, just like you and me. That freak is the helplessness and pitifulness of those of us, as well as the teasing that is teased, both self-deprecating and ironic to others.
Our life is to move from one desolate place to another desolate place, the only comfort is the bed, even the table and chairs in the room are so hard to help as if the ribs will be broken, and in the dream, the quilt is bound like a piece of clothing Prison clothes, no matter how tired I sleep, I want to go to sleep when I wake up, and when I go to sleep, I wake up again, a little comfort is released from the record player, a theater blooms in the radiator, and the theater and its songs are a floating on top of daily life. Bubbles are the sparks that the impulses of the lower body shake in the heart, and the sparks in the eyes. When all meaning is unreliable, when all thinking is mass-produced into a pencil that writes and speaks, and all that is written is but a scratch on an eraser—when all this goes on, only the following Impulsivity can lead us to heaven, in heaven, everything is fine.
But desire also loses its freshness, and with it comes mediocrity, and guilt. We live in the ubiquitous evils of our daily life, and new evils are born, and evil and evil pity, ridicule, combine and destroy each other.
In fact, it's not evil, it's just mediocre, a small house, mediocre to the point of suffocation, breathing on the surface with a dick, protruding a bubble, seeing something wrong, puncturing it again. Life is like a dirty steam train, kicking and banging forward, everyone wants to stop it and clean it up quietly, but no one has the ability, painful blisters spread all over the body, we die in pus .
I love this movie because it's totally realistic.
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