Attracted by the introduction of the film's short but eternal love story, as for the geography of Siberia Noun, in memory it was the place where the Decembrists were exiled. Is this a love story? Maybe, because I only see hormonal overproduction. Andre in the weak crown year was too pure and too impulsive. It was always his head tilted at 45 degrees, which was too staged. Although the confession is beautiful, it is difficult for such an impulsive person to bring happiness to his lover, not to mention, he does not even give the other party a chance to explain.
He went for the love story, but was moved by other elements. Family, friends, classmates, teachers, so many people who loved him deeply were deeply hurt by him. The mother who was looking for her son in the crowd with glasses, the teacher who was staggered by the crowd but still saluted and said goodbye, and the classmate who was crying at the end with singing farewell on the platform. In my opinion, this is the most touching scene in the film. It's even more touching to pass by ten years later.
Ten years of exile may have allowed Andrei to grow from a boy to a man. People always have to pay for certain decisions they made when they were young, and life doesn't treat you just because you're a kid. After ten years of exile, the inaccessible Siberia may be the most suitable place for Andre to live. When the water is clear, there are no fish. A person with a pure heart like Andrei can only become Duke Meshkin in Dostoevsky's writings in the world. Therefore, finding a place to live in the vast birch forest is not a bad idea. A best ending.
This film can be said to be a Russian national style painting. The group fights in the snow, feeding bears and drinking white wine, people drinking like animals, the vast Siberia, and the final glory of the Tsarist Russian Empire are the monologues of this huge country sandwiched between the East and the West.
For many of their peers, Russia is nothing but a distant neighbor, and the fighting nation is their label. But for our fathers, the Russian complex is inescapable no matter what. From "The Story of the Office" to "The Evening on the Outskirts of Moscow", from "The Tracker on the Volga" to Paul Korchakin, those were the youthful years of the fathers. For me, N. Ostrovsky was the first foreign writer I came into contact with, and even in a place as suffocating as the Gulag, it still radiates humanity. In this country where literature was only born in the first half of the 19th century, her words, her films, and her art are all as dazzling as the flames burning on the last day of the festival.
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