Haneke understands. He really understands.
My hometown is a typical small Chinese village, not particularly poor, nor at all rich. Except for the two aunts who got married, among my father's brothers, he was the only one who went out of the school and went to our current city. A few years ago, the elder brother of the uncle's family made a living in the provincial capital and took the uncle's family away. There are only two uncles, three uncles, and grandparents left in the old family.
From a very early age, my father wanted to bring my grandparents to live with us. It was also received, but it was only a few months at most, and the old man insisted on going back because he was not used to living in a building in the city and missed the old house at home. After that, no amount of persuasion would work, so the matter was abandoned. Fortunately, our home is not far from our hometown. From childhood to adulthood, we always go back to live for a period of time during the New Year and summer vacations. In recent years, the family has a car, but it is more than an hour away, and I often go back to see it on weekends.
With only two sons left in the family, people will mistakenly think that things are much simpler, and those bad stories of big rural families that are often seen on TV programs will not happen to them. But where there are people, there are rivers and lakes, and you will never understand what kind of grievances they have.
Four years ago, the brother of the third uncle got married, and all the brothers and sisters went home to organize the happy event together. At that time, my grandparents were over 80, but their bodies were still quite hard, and they were able to get through on their own, but my grandma was often confused, or was disturbed by the sound of suona firecrackers all night at the wedding night and had to go farther away. The village people stay overnight.
The wedding was completed, the grandson learned about the major events in life, the old man was very happy, and we went home to continue working and living after our help. Just two days later, I received a call from my mother, saying that my grandmother had fallen and had been hospitalized.
The reason and the process still make me helpless and puzzled to this day: my original second aunt died of cancer a few years ago, and then the second uncle found another partner. On the wedding day, everyone went to help, and the people who helped at the wedding banquet stayed behind. For wedding wine, the wedding wine is divided into the main table and the side table. Maybe there are too many people to sit, so the third uncle arranged the second aunt to sit at the side table (my mother also sits at that table, but I don't think it makes any difference), the second uncle is not happy. The next day, I went to the third uncle to discuss the theory. The two disagreed and quarreled. The second uncle took out a kitchen knife from the house and went to fight, which alarmed the grandmother and went to dissuade the two sons. Ground, broken bones.
Just describing the process has made me feel ashamed, I don't know how they did it. But that doesn't matter anymore.
The story after that is like the plot of the movie being staged in advance.
After an extremely painful fracture operation, one of my grandmother's legs is basically the same as paralysis. At this age, the muscles and bones are injured, and the muscles and ligaments are atrophied and ligaments are tightened, which makes the recovery difficult. again possible. In the days that followed, my grandmother had to rely on a wheelchair and bedridden to get by.
The stubborn grandmother was reluctant to leave the old house and move to our home to recuperate. My parents had to work, so they only went back to take care of her for a short time on weekends. The two sons beside him were stiff and rarely came to his side. Most of the time I can only rely on my grandfather in his eighties to look after him.
For the first year, except for the pain during the recovery period after surgery, my grandmother was normal. One leg can't move, so I rely on support to get up to solve the daily food, drink and Lazard; occasionally sit in a wheelchair and go outside; often people come to visit, and they are happy to chat with others. Even during the New Year's Eve, she was sitting in a wheelchair one night. My father used a comb to straighten her hair. I took pictures of her with a DSLR, and I saw her long-lost kind smile. That was the last time I can remember seeing her smile.
The next year, everything suddenly went bad. Grandma could no longer support her to get up, she would vomit even when sitting in a wheelchair; her appetite decreased greatly, and she couldn't eat anything except liquid food; she began to lose her mind, often talking loudly about her youth; she no longer wanted to see people , pulled up a curtain in front of the sickbed to separate the room into two worlds; often cried out in pain, and when it hurt, he would shout "mother" (yes, just like Anne in the movie when she called her mother); I’m alive”, “Let me die” and so on; I will always reprimand my grandfather for all kinds of wrongs; my grandfather gradually feels powerless and can’t breathe...
Until the Spring Festival of the previous year, the cold and quiet morning of the fourth day of the new year, everything The pain came to an abrupt end.
The whole two-year process was completely similar to the plot of the movie, like a remake-except that Grandpa didn't know the pain with his own hands. But I'm not sure he never had the same thought in those two years.
When Grandma left, "Love" had just been released. At that time, I already knew roughly what kind of story this was, so even though I knew it was a good film, I kept putting it off and didn't dare to watch it.
A year ago, less than a month before grandma's festival day, grandpa also left. I even thought he didn't want to wait until that day to recall the past, so he followed.
So the movie was dragged by me again and again, until today, I finally dared to click to open it.
Delaying for two years did not reduce the pain by half, and the two hours of watching the movie can undoubtedly be counted as my most painful viewing experience. Especially when the final scene came, I cried like the desperate cry when my grandmother died, hiding behind the wall of the old house. Even if I covered my mouth with my hands, I could still hear the piercing screams.
But even with the pain, I have to thank Haneke. Not only because he almost completely presented the spirit of my grandparents in the last few years of life, but also because of his calm restraint (except for the piano music that must be in the plot, he didn't even use the soundtrack, including the end credits. , for the first time in my film history, and this is the true breath of death and suffering), spectator insights, and real presentations have given me a little relief from my guilt—I could never imagine anyone who could really They understand the pain of their grandparents in the final stages of their lives, and worry about whether they will be able to walk away when they have nowhere to pour. Now I know that Haneke really understands, and I think they can leave better.
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