Based on Murakami's novel
The wind blew through the black sand. The boy sat on the ground, rubbing the already solid sandcastle with both hands. His father emerged from the nearby horizon, walked forward, stood beside the boy for a moment, and walked around the boy into the black wall.
The boy lay on the table carefully and attentively, and the art teacher walked behind him and probed. The gray pencil meticulously outlines the meridian texture of a leaf growing in fullness on the white paper. The teacher called him, Tony. A slightly odd foreign name compared to the Japanese. Words crashed through the solidified air into the black wall.
The world in the film is like a sphere squashed by silence, the camera is cut horizontally to the right, each frame is a mystery of mist and light cage, and it is cut off by a black hard stone wall. There are no clear boundaries between the walls. Just like a young Tony guarding his own castle and pictures, indulging in the precise operation of the mechanical gears, he stopped the aunt who raised him and said that he could cook dinner tomorrow.
Loneliness is the original appearance of this world where the night sky gathers neon lights. At a young age, he does not feel that there is anything wrong with maintaining his own sense of belonging. He is obviously a person who is more complete than the leaves in his own writing, because the wind never stops when the tree wants to be quiet, but he can move orderly and inch by inch under the strong protection of silence and not being shaken. However, some of the openness and integration sought in life requires the power of the wind and the secret manipulation to portray the wheel line in circles around the situation.
Loneliness is like a prison.
That's how Tony saw it.
You taught me not just that I was lonely,
but how important it was for me to meet you,
and how I've lost everything like that in my life.
This lack of loneliness , felt even so sightly odd to Tony.
Because now that he wasn't lonely, he found himself constantly teriffied,
by the possibility of being alone again.
These are Tony after adulthood and even a family. Delighted and terrified, he gained his beautiful wife, and then lost her unexpectedly. Their love for each other is itself a kind of intentional but overspend captivity.
The wind always misses the sound of the swaying leaves for a long time, and misses the thoughts just now after leaving.
The gentle singing has disappeared, but the shadow of his wife is hidden in the color and delicate texture of each coat, the legendary costumes fill the room, and the camera lens is like a line of sight, blurred to clear. to fuzzy. Fang Fei, who remained in his consciousness late at night, often choked.
He left the barren, former dressing room, vacant for a long time.
And even the emotions he had once embraced, gradually receded from his memory.
His memory gradually shifted, like mist in the wind, growing dimmer with each change.
She took good care of The oddly shaped cactus that he had passed was still growing well, and he didn't need to pay attention to it at all. The trombonist father who followed her left him a hill of jazz records, old and smoky even when they weren't spinning on the turntable. Memories are like secret warehouses filled with old things through the skylights, while loneliness is the ubiquitous emptiness that settles down in this fullness. The old things associated with it need to be cleaned up and cremated. And there is a place that can't be dissipated, and it can be left behind after going through it again.
She was like a bird taking flight for a distant land. I
remembered that in a dream, I searched all over the mall and finally bought the soundtrack of Ryuichi Sakamoto, and before that you took me to a family Eat at a restaurant called Shangyi. In our dreams, we have words that fit perfectly, as if the world can't match. After waking up from the dream, it is still the undemanding boiling and loneliness outside the hustle and bustle.
The horizontal travel is like dew slowly falling on the glass, but it is fleeting against the background of different media. Only the vertical depth inside the body can find a balance point on the steel cables that tend to be sharp at both ends of life in the long run of time. In the pungent dust smell, let yourself stop.
above.
View more about Tony Takitani reviews
