A steady rhythm and a bland plot are the tone of the whole film. Also the mood of the whole story. Even the pictures are slowly and warmly flowing like a stream in that unique old-fashioned London building, slowly infiltrating your eyes and hearts, and finally turning into a huge impact energy. Makes people unable to calm down and breathe for a long time. Perhaps this is more of a profound film about loneliness, aging, and death. No matter how you look at it, there is nothing wrong with it, what matters is who we will be in the movie.
The old lady who lives in the old van is withdrawn and has a weird personality. A stubborn, vicious self lives on this street. The humorous and humorous language is astonishing and endless. Facing the help of the neighbors, his self-esteem is also bursting, but the old man who hates listening to music is a graduate of the music school. Lonely, aging, eccentric and living in the garbage pile of old people, and her witty, tongue-in-cheek character. It's more like an elegant aristocrat following the usual self-esteem of an aristocrat in a dilapidated truck. Compared with those happy, naive, family members, couples, and married couples who live in clean and tidy rooms, their hearts are much purer, and the neighbors who dislike the elderly on their backs are complacent because they have one less burden. After all, in all the good qualities, there is a sense of accomplishment of self-compassion for others, and the disgust and disgust of oneself is always like a beast deep in the heart.
Only the gay writer with split personality in the race for humanity and the old penitent old man full of childlike innocence are the existences like the Virgin of Jesus in this small town. Just as the two met for the first time under the statue of Jesus in the church, the cute and honest writer worked tirelessly to help the old man push the cart, and the elegant old man with good self-esteem was also happy to ask for some small things, such a warm Under the combination of contrast, on this ordinary road, in this peaceful town, warmth, calmness, and slow flow of this powerful, yet cruel and helpless story. It's like a gifted student who was supposed to be a music school but had to give up music because of nuns and priests, and couldn't even play that wonderful melody anymore. And the last time she talked about her wearing yellow clothes, and then she liked yellow like a paranoid, but also followed that wrong decision and stopped playing music. So I hate hearing the rhythm of music, because life will forget it, but the rhythm in my heart can never be forgotten. Listening again and again is like a painful alarm clock or a twilight drum that beats my heart with heartache and death. And frantically pray every night, asking for forgiveness. Every time, I never miss Mass every day, but I feel guilty and punish myself because of the mistakes of others. This person who believes in God and fears. It's ironic that Faith and the priest lost their most beloved music, but it's much more than that. Because of the guilt that didn't need to exist, she became a woman who lived in a truck and a garbage dump. This coffin made by her own hands, and finally died in the piles of stench in a clean, tidy and fragrant death. And this coffin like a barrier was given to her by the power of fear and belief in God in her heart. To make her life a crime of poverty and poverty, to force her to be imprisoned in the prison of her own heart.
I think this may not be a beautiful and tender story. This is a blatant satire that truly restores the so-called faith, so-called religion, so-called reverence that destroys a man who should have played a wonderful movement in the Royal Hotel and formed a beautiful family. A woman with true love. However, he spent his life in such a tragic and mournful way, and the divided gay writers are also not understood by their neighbors, and they are also not understood and accepted by the world, but they are equally lonely and exist. The two self-communication and understanding, rational and emotional, can only be split. Even in order to cater to the public, I have to use the clichéd review of the mother's illness to make a fuss. I think this is for the world. A real mockery of everyone, and contempt for realism.
What really touched and warmed my heart was when Grandma McGee, after the first bath, stopped the writer in a sensitive, timid voice and said, "My hands are clean," and then shook it. This stinky woman has maintained her inherent pride and the graceful delicacy she deserves from beginning to end. And when the writer gave her a perfect ending with the same beauty, and even the petty grandma McGee stubbornly said that she had won. Laughing and crying, I think she is the real angel who redeemed the writer, let him start doing what a real son should do, and let him find himself on a journey of salvation. Also let this cleanliness obsessive-compulsive disorder patient savor and experience the extraordinary life of this proud, elegant and funny grandma. British veteran actor McGee's divine acting skills go straight to the softest depths of the human heart and the weakest link of human nature, moving everyone. Cry and laugh, laugh and cry. Impressed.
Just like the poem of Bei Dao, "The despicable is the pass of the despicable, and the noble is the epitaph of the noble."
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