When I first watched it, I was absent-minded, because of the slow progress of the plot, the restraint of the plot, and because I didn't agree with the overly plump female protagonist and the male protagonist who suddenly lost his aura. Even so, as ordinary as I am, with the deepening of the plot, the substitution of self began to gradually enrich the story, and the movie seems to be getting better and better in the imagination. And in any case, the film's sets and costumes are impeccable, and the picture is as quiet and beautiful as a dreamy idyllic. The beautiful red-haired little sister covered her cheeks shyly. The purple lavender grass, the white sheets blown by the wind, and the music and Keats's beautiful verses make people feel heartbroken.
The poetry translation in this film is quite commendable. I rarely read foreign poems, because I always feel that translated poems are like dried food. The original flavor no longer exists. I also don’t believe that foreigners can understand the distant mood in the English version of Meng Haoran. But those wonderful lines in this movie made me want to read Keats. Especially the recitation of Ben Whishaw at the end, with its beautiful rhythm and rhythm like singing, made me insist on reading all the subtitles for the first time.
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