One night, I couldn't help but read it twice.
Many of Fellini's works are full of personal memories, such as "Roman Style Painting", "The Clown", "The Wanderer", etc. However, this one is the most poetic to me. The Chinese translation is also particularly flavorful, "I remember what happened back then."
Just like when I was a child, the stories told by adults always start with "long long time ago".
When I grow up, the stories I tell always start with "Thinking of the Years".
Was it really that year? Not necessarily.
It may be many, many years, and the memories of many, many people are concentrated in the spring, summer, autumn and winter.
Fellini could be the kids at the same time, the guy with the hat pushing the bicycle, the man with the tricycle, and the guy speeding by on the motorcycle...
what he saw , three women who are always wriggling their butts together waiting for their lover, and the woman who is a little bit mentally ill on the beach, or the fat woman, or the mother at home... Of course, there are all kinds of things happening in the town, Classrooms, shops, churches, theaters, gramophones...
all the memories are interwoven and condensed into the seasons of the year.
All sorts of events, perhaps with political overtones, ended up being just a joke in personal memory.
When the film was about to end, I suddenly wanted to light a cigarette; the cigarette was lit, but I didn't take a puff, just quietly watched it burn point by point until the last breath of fire went out; I suddenly remembered many, many people and things in the past, those who are usually Can't remember people and things, these things that come to mind have nothing to do with happiness or sadness, just suddenly remembered. Those exclusive memories.
So many desires, so many movies, so many colors.
All the things of the year, no matter how unbearable and happy, will always pass.
Nothing can last forever.
Even memory may be adjusted by thinking.
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