Too many piecemeal hits. While looking at the scenery in the fog. For the first time, I didn't pay attention to those so-called metaphors. When those very metaphorical objects appeared, the hand, the cyclist in the yellow poncho, and the man who played the seagull, I only regarded them as the director's unique life experience. After this, everything is simple and coherent. From the image itself, the form of the image itself to experience the emotions in the image, this is the first time I have watched a movie in this way, not through language as an intermediary, but intuitively. This really makes sense. But those directors who consider metaphors to images, like Wong Kar-wai, are very stupid, because their metaphors always have only one way of interpretation, that is, the director's interpretation, and those metaphors that are generated by the absurd and mysterious life itself are generated by the audience. , there are endless interpretations, depending on what it is for that individual. Such metaphors make sense. And because of this, there is no need to deliberately rack your brains, because it has long been in our respective lives.
When it comes to intuitive viewing experience. There are many scenes in the film, I think even if it was taken out to make a photographic work for me to see, I would still cry. Not because of the plot, but because of the shape. When the girl stood on the side of the road and tried to beckon a car to stop, the smaller boy crouched in a ball and squatted behind her, and the rain and fog enveloped the whole picture, which was clammy and cold, and my heart was aching badly. Every humble and powerless individual has a burden that cannot be unloaded. They work hard to manage their chaotic life for a dream that is not formed in their minds, and life has to constantly whip them. Everything looks so bad, sometimes good times, and then bad again. Why is it so hard to live well?
I feel so sad. for humans. for myself. For the self who can never feel satisfied. Pursue your false self. They went to find that father who was in Germany, but he didn't know where he was, what his name was, and he had never even seen his father. How ridiculous. But am I not funny? What else is there in the distant place where I go? Where is it? Is it really better than the here and now, and is it worth making every day so bad for me? However, the most tragic thing is not this, but I deeply doubt my decision, but I still go in that direction day by day. In fact, I know that I have no ultimate goal at all. When I think of the reality of my mortal death, everything is not worth my effort. And all I'm doing is giving myself a hallucination, using hallucinations to push myself to escape the life I hate. However, that hallucination is not what I really love, I have nothing special love at all. That's just a last resort.
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