Yang's childhood.
Not long after the film started, I began to worry about when the red balloon would burst.
When I was a child, every time I got a red balloon, I started to have the same anxiety. The most serious one was because I kept looking up at the balloon on the road, I pulled the wrong hem of the adult's clothes and got lost. . . (Fortunately, I didn't meet the traffickers.)
At that time, I always thought that every red balloon has a little soul. They will be happy or angry, they will run away, and they will die. . . I also talked to them a lot, sang to them, told stories to put them to sleep. . . .
The music with the old version sounds a bit exaggerated now, perhaps the most suitable music for roaming with the balloons in the wind, or the piano that seems to be missing. . . .
I have watched many Binoche films inadvertently recently. Yi has been very prolific recently, and most of them are weaving fragments of ordinary characters. It is light and calm, like Pu'er tea washed three times, with a slight dusty fragrance, mellow and moist. .
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