Changing channels is a general prejudice of the illiterate against the classics, and tearing is an atonement for the shame of the sleepy ones.

Most of the violent things in this world come from the ignorant class. For example, when I was in a rural elementary school ten years ago, I neither knew music nor cared about the structure of the story. Give me the smallest person I can enjoy. In that era of illiteracy, Compared to Disney's strange symphonic stories with no lines, I prefer slimy girl magazines. Don't blame me, this is the general prejudice of the illiterate against the classics. Ten years have passed. I have read some classics and learned some newcomers. I understand that behind the most difficult science is the most romantic imagination, behind the most fascinating art is the most sensible calculation, music, painting, dance, poetry, philosophy. It is a tool to see the world clearly, one inch narrow. The reason for looking back at Fantasia nowadays is neither because it was recommended by a powerful predecessor, nor because it is a classic compulsory course, nor is it looking for the signs of Disney to find clues that can make me improve. I suddenly found that I wanted to listen to it on Halloween night. The tunes were actually translated by Disney, which is different from Kandinsky’s signature rational music. Disney is like a gentle Santa Claus, packing simple stories with music and stuffing them quietly into your bedside sock. Duka’s "The Magician’s Apprentice" is not as easy to resonate as Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in terms of the audibility of music. It takes coherent patience to connect the rhythm before and after. There is no grand concert hall and symphony orchestra. The sense of ritual is difficult for people to actively taste. Fortunately, Disney knows the goods and smoothly translates it into an intimate story. Although it is very different from the more vicious "Apprentice Sorcerer" in my heart, I still marveled that Mickey fell into The troublesome look matches the rhythm of the symphony’s roar. The sharp violin pulls it from the whirlpool to the surface. The one-key piano at the end is seamless with its careful glance, so cute, so rich, so 1940, a classic translation. The cutting-edge has now become a classic. Can't help crying to atone for his ignorance.

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