...I think, this is a person's life. I know very well that this film only captures her later years and the ending of her death. Her first half of her life is abstractly summarized in the five or six lines of short text at the beginning of the film. But I still believe that the length of the film is more than an hour long enough to cover her life, which is due to the surging emotions in the latter part. Just as we have seen the lower reaches of the river, it is not difficult for us to infer the long history of its middle and upper reaches. At the same time, the narrative tone of the film further strengthened my opinion. The film uses a tone of storytelling, but my melancholy and distant emotions tell me that this is also a tone of reminiscence. All the times of joy and pain that have ever occurred are as dim and clear as writing on yellowed paper, indistinguishable. The light and shadow on the screen advance little by little, but the story behind the screen can never end. It constantly awakens the viewer's memory and gathers together with the memory in the film. It can also be said that the story in the film starts at the same time as our real life path, walks side by side, sometimes intersects, and sometimes separates. That's what's so fascinating about a good movie, it's like we've got a new part of our life back. In fact, I must first state that I don't watch movies very often, because several so-called blockbusters made in China have given me a very bad impression. All I can see is the money pouring down like a waterfall, and the desire to describe inflating, and finally blowing one soap bubble after another. They did not restrain their strength, or talent. I think they might be able to learn from Marcel Proust's penmanship - "I knew that I put myself in the worst position and would end up with the harshest punishment from my elders, whose The severity of the severity, outsiders can't actually estimate. They may think..." Such a narrative is extremely clever, our emotions are infinitely stretched in our inner space and time, like a river sinking into the surface. ; so it has the maximum possible capacity and acceptance. But this video recommended to me by my roommate gave me a huge surprise. When I had nothing to do and wanted to watch a movie to kill time, he told me with a cautious expression that I could watch this movie. As it turns out, I unexpectedly got what I wanted. I think I can say something, and I really need to say something. But you also have to pay attention, I don't see any plot introduction here - a good film does not need me to tell you the plot in advance. It's a nuanced film, the narrative in it reminds me of Proust's "Reminiscence of the Time Is Like Water", and the pain in it reminds me of Ai Qing's "Dayan River My Nanny", in which the long-awaited Tears and smiles remind me of my hometown and family. An old man wrote an essay about Wang Zengqi's taste in the kitchen, the ward, and the nursing home, but it should be more three-dimensional. The film also shows the director's obsession with details: a hawker who cares about the street in the vegetable market, a fresh steamed fish, aniseed with garlic, ginger and star anise and braised beef tongue, a panicked look, a phone call, a bouquet of late flowers, a little late at night The lights and other fragments of life, they grow silently with the flow of the long river, and under the sparkling water is a constant undercurrent. There is no doubt that food is the boat that crosses the river. Sister Tao thinks that her cooking skills are more important than her identity, or that her identity is all about her cooking skills, so even the bird's nest that makes her excited, Even in the face of the old master who looked a little embarrassed, she still did not hesitate, and answered decisively: "Finky." My viewing process was a long stream of water, just like the sea gradually flowing onto the beach. If the sea breeze picks up, and the sea falls like a wall, colliding with the indelible part of the impression in my memory, white waves and lustrous water droplets will be scattered; Or in the future thoughts of melancholy trance. Or that I was looking for a name or a past event in the depths of my memory. When I thought I had found it, they ran away like frightened rabbits, and I suddenly found nothing. My viewing experience reminds me of my listening experience when I listen to light music, they are all so well-mannered, complacent, stretching the folded time like a piece of rope to as if there is never room for an end, and they end up They all disappeared into the air crisp and sweet. As a literary film—literary—I appreciate its language, which is dialogue. It started with a doubt. At the beginning of the film, the dialogue between the master and the servant is so rare that there are brief blanks. Such a silent atmosphere surprised me, because I knew in advance that this was a warm story, which did not match my presupposition. I can't understand what special taste a glass of cold plain water can have. But the subsequent progression of the plot proved that the director has amazing talent. Narratives completed by language should be seen as an extension of the film's narrative, rather than mere dialogue. The director's precise grasp and the actor's unhurried performance reveal how a burning flame radiates its brilliance, and they usually cover this fiery emotion with ashes carefully and discreetly, so that we sometimes even feel kind of cold. It feels like when we were in the country, we buried sweet potatoes in the ashes of the stove, and when we woke up in the morning, we ripped open the dirty skin of the sweet potatoes we pulled out, and our tongues and mouths were only I was able to exclaim loudly. So I want to tell you that this is not a movie you can watch with your friends while eating fries, drinking Coke, and laughing with friends, but a smooth underside where you should drink a cup of tea on a wooden table in a hollow room The astringent way to watch movies. Or should I also point out that my initial viewing attitude was casual, and the slow unfolding of the opening chapter even made me impatient. They did get into my mouth, but they disappeared without chewing through the teeth and digestion in the stomach. But the real power is like mountains rising above the surface, and when I realized my mistake, the arrow of the movie had stopped in my body. I felt a pleasant pain from it. This feeling was brought to me by Ye Dexian's expression when she entered the nursing home. In fact, when I saw the cast list, Andy Lau's name and the subject matter of this film once made me doubt whether the director and producer were sincere enough, but in the end, Ye Dexian's eyes and tone made me feel a heavy weight. I think Chinese movies are not hopeless after all, and they are not always digging the graves of their ancestors or piling up people's coins. This idea makes me very happy. Let me go back to the video. I think if I hadn't strayed from the subject like my college entrance examination essay, then one of the directions of this film would be death, or, more accurately, aging. The real opening of the story of Sister Tao and Roger is after Sister Tao has a stroke. Just made the braised beef tongue that Roger wanted to eat, and aging has brought Sister Tao such a bewildering condition. After leaving the hospital, Sister Tao went into a nursing home with some of her luggage. To be honest, the oldness of the old man inside gave me some kind of secret dread, especially when I thought about the day I had. But we all know that aging is always an inescapable predicament for human beings, whether they are ordinary people or heroes. Aging means many things in this film, such as being stupid, irritable, indecent, causing trouble, unable to take care of oneself, relying on others, etc. The bad thing is that they are all powerless reality traps one after another. We age, we die - that's all. When we get old, only the visible and unknowable death is the only reality, and everything else is reduced to appendages. There is an old Chinese saying that longevity brings more humiliation. An old man has lived for a long time and his mind is not clear and he has done stupid things. He forgot that he had also criticized such old age when he was young. This is self-humiliation; It's his humiliation. Such four words always make the world difficult. So the Buddhists said, "There should be no place to live, and the mind should be born." But I know that Zen language is easy to know but difficult to practice. Taoism says, "Knowing that there is nothing you can do, you can be at peace with it." If you are fooling people, what is "An"? Peace of mind, that is, resignation of fate - in this way, if you want to be detached, you must be dead, or unless you are living like death. But fortunately, Sister Tao's old age and death gave me a comforting answer. When she asked for jelly like a child, I saw Roger's sadness. This sadness gave me a long sigh and then a long sigh of relief—they told me the reality that it is necessary to acknowledge aging, but also to deny aging. Borges, the great Argentine writer, had a wonderful metaphor, which I think is apt here: As water disappears into water. Aging does not need noumenon and metaphor, it is metaphor itself. It is round and mature. I think I have to thank Director Xu Anhua. She is 48 years older than me, and we are not only separated in time, but also in space. She lives in Hong Kong and I live in the mainland. But "Sister Peach" still sits firmly on the rod like a brilliant angler, and fishes out some of my sleeping memories from under the water, even as miraculous as the monkey finally picks up the moon in the water. There is an example as proof. Sister Tao was unmarried all her life, and Roger was in his fifties and still not married. When the two of them made fun of each other, my emotion and laughter made me feel more cordial. As if I had taken a sip of clear spring water, my heart and spleen were clear, and my thoughts were scattered uncontrollably. Thirty years later, I will also be fifty years old, or if I am still single, when I look back on how I feel today, I will sincerely admire it, this is it, this is it, this is what I see. I'm not referring to their conversation, I'm referring to the way they talk, so real that it makes me suspect that it's not Roger but myself who is chatting with Sister Peach; I'm taken away by them. My memory is as intermittent as my breathing. But I still remember the way home, I have to rush to a place where warmth and mixed feelings are mixed, this is the time when I gain and leave love in this world, and then I go straight back until I see my belt now smiling face. I use a forward and a reverse to eliminate the direction and the courage of my youth, and aging will also erase the last expression on the corner of my mouth - in short, we disappeared like this. But I don't know why, but the last thing I thought of was a little poem by the amazing writer Borges, especially the last sentence, which gave me a lasting shock and moving. The title of this little poem is "Ordinary", and the full text of the poem is as follows: The grilled door of the garden opens and obeys like a page of frequent and habitual inquiry. Once inside, our eyes do not need to look at those in memory Certain things I know habits and minds and that cryptic jargon Every group of people weaves them I don't have to speak or pretend to be privileged The people around me all know me well my worries and my weaknesses They know it all that's the highest Getting to God may give us no wonder and no triumph but simply being accepted as a part of an undeniable reality like those stones and plants.
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