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passerby
Linnea 2022-10-03 22:42:02
The title translates very well: Like a sunny day, like a rainy day. The shots and tones are excellent, and the tone of the film is set from the first shot: soothing, warm. During the excellent viewing process of the soft piano foil, the music is just right as a natural expression, but it is not abrupt and overwhelming, and it plays a very good role in retouching the plot. The character setting is very wonderful: a gifted child and a down-to-earth talented girl. Although the child is knowledgeable and intelligent, no one understands the loneliness and autism. The heroine is in distress and emotionally injured but approachable, like the "confidant sister" in the language newspaper in elementary school. In the process of healing, the heroine opened the boy's heart, and the boy encouraged the heroine to stick to her music dream. This is more like a friendship. We meet someone in the course of our life. It is a hurried passerby. But it will always stay in my heart, when I get along with you like a drizzle, when I leave, my heart is heartbroken, and when I am sad and painful, I miss this person as if it was warm like spring yesterday
Extended Reading
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Chaz 2022-03-20 09:03:03
We turned to say goodbye, trying to hide the powerlessness and sadness that were invisible but dense like a sea of tides. Maybe in the long years to come, we will smile when thinking of the warmth you have given. However, what is lost is always the part that cannot be made up. Like Sunday, Like Rain
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Rosemary 2022-03-21 09:03:22
It's hard to believe it's only been a couple of months. I feel like I've known you… Under every shell that seems to be hard, strong or indifferent, there is a lonely, sad and longing to be understood and warmed by a soul, one day They met, warmed and soothed each other, then brushed past and turned to say goodbye. It may be their best home to find themselves bravely after parting.
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Reggie: The prospect of ending up a bitter and lonely drunk doesn't quite appeal to me.
Eleanor: Okay.
Reggie: And not to mention the fact that art, as a language, is dead. It doesn't matter what you have to say or how well you might be able to say it. Dead.
Eleanor: Kind of a bleak view.
Reggie: Yes, it is.
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Eleanor: I just don't want you to worry about it, or think about it. Okay?
Reggie: Okay. I won't worry about it. I'm not worried about it.
Eleanor: Good.
Reggie: But I can't guarantee I won't think about it. It's what I do. I think about things. It's my nature.
Eleanor: Fine. You can think.