It was the best era. Chow Yun's windbreaker and double guns poured out endless bullets at will, and the sunglasses and the slanted matches couldn't hide the brotherhood of a man who was burning in his chest; Leslie Cheung was picturesque and intoxicated. Let us in front of the screen hope with him that the dawn will not come; Jet Li in white as snow, with a wine gourd in his left hand and a green sword in his right hand, happy and enmity like a laugh from the ocean, Dugu's nine swords cut through the tide on both sides of the strait; Brigitte Lin's heroic arrogance makes countless The men and women are ashamed, but they can't escape the helplessness of the world.
20 years later, what do we have today?
We have the golden armor of the SM department, and the Lingling dog who stir-fries the cold rice with the stool;
No more righteousness of the sons and daughters of the rivers and lakes, happiness and hatred; I saw a group of dancing clowns and demons dancing wildly. There are more and more stars, but they have all become empty shells like inflatable dolls. Chic like Chow Yun-fat, handsome like Leslie Cheung, heroic like Jet Li, aura like Brigitte Lin, sexy like Zhong Chuhong, pure like Maggie Cheung, looking back, misty and rainy, nowhere else to look.
There is no more imaginative and unrestrained thinking, doing whatever they want; behind the monitor, there are only a pair of greedy eyes and bound hands. The director is getting bigger and bigger, but he can only get the pleasure of self-destruction in the pile of old papers. John Woo's love in the rivers and lakes, Tsui Hark's slanted sword, Liu Zhenwei's arbitrary interpretation, and even Wang Jing's vividness, have all turned into clumsy self-replication and shackled dancing.
Brother Hao said, Xiaoma, Hong Kong is no longer our world.
But I still can't forget the tears in Xiaoma's eyes when he heard "That's not what you said in your letter to me", and I can't forget Dongfang Invincible's "In the joke of Huangtu and hegemony, you can't win a life of drunkenness", and I can't forget the steamed buns In the porridge, I can't forget Wang Zuxian's coquettish eyes when he first appeared on the stage.
The hawthorn tree that splits his thighs and pretends to be pure, and the lost swordsman who plays the basics, in Guo Degang's words, give me play go.
I just want to speak Cantonese.
leave.
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