Tim Burton’s movies, I prefer animation to styling interpretations than real-life interpretations, probably because I also want to eat this bowl of rice, but it is also very likely because of his works that I have seen. There are too few, too few, and the cells in the head are still in their infancy, and I prefer to accept the symbolized modeling plot under the gloomy sky.
By the way, "Sweeney Todd" has already been released on a collector's edition DVD, so I just took it out to watch it. There is not much nonsense, I always like to distort other people's stories, how can I make an exception this time.
Who is married to death (——this is the subject...)
I have heard people say that if the tears that accumulate in your eye sockets can’t flow out, then after time, they will wander back and forth in your stubborn eye sockets. , I have been close to the bloodshot eyes of your spider silk thread countless times, and they will also be dyed into this outstanding color. Looking forward to one day, I can escape from the corner of your eye or throat.
A man and a young man on the same boat talked about London, irretrievable memories, ghosts running around, time holding their hands, like an eloped bride. He talked about a couple, in this London that concealed their humanity, that their hearts and faces were pure to stupid, and how the eyes from the side looked like wolfs and tigers.
He walked on the streets of London, as if he was still walking in the time flow of a few years ago. I wouldn't be surprised if what he saw and heard was stained with dust from the past. But you listen to his footsteps like a clanging butcher knife on the chopping board, what a harmonious tremor with this gloomy ghostly weather. This is a revisit to the old place. Some things filed out of his mind, following him, pulling him, pestering him, pulling him under the ceiling that was once full of laughter and laughter, but now it is only The blade-like glass shuddered solemnly-like a huge, sluggish eye, looking dumbly at the stagnant street.
He made mistakes from the beginning, didn't he? The lesson has never been learned, is it because the color of his heart remains the same? Or is the liquid in the eye sockets already jumping and escaping into the distance?
Have a glass of rum bar, or a bite of the gray-green cat meat pie, whether the pie crust or the meat is as difficult to swallow as tears. Or what is swallowed is the memory, the razor in the attic flashes lonely in the silence, and is still slowly chewing the moments carved in the mind, so that once they breathe, the pretty lips will spit out a rotten taste. When your fingers touch the silver that will not fade, will you feel that they are solid mercury penetrating into your skin? You say you can feel the sound of their breathing, saying that they are urging you to remove them Put it on people's throats. You said that you will have your revenge, but any revenge will end in heartbreak, and the sound of glass breaking can only pass through the chest and reach the ears of the Avengers when the curtain is closed. At this point, Hamlet can be regarded as a prophet, but it is a pity that because of his prophetic foresight, his revenge is even more mournful.
If the killing really satisfies you, I will sincerely follow your path, selfishly obliterating myself in the first second. If all the people walking in this world deserve to go to hell, then no one of them is qualified to wield a butcher knife, of course, including you. However, even if your life is long and long and you have enough time to wipe every slender neck, your skin will be dyed the color of the devil because of the accumulation of blood, but the void in your heart will never be able to make up. This is a curse, no different from what Sleeping Beauty has encountered, but the kind princess and the prince who cut down the thorns and climbed the cliff for her, and you, what you face is just a portrait in your mind. Your silver razor cannot cross the boundaries of time, nor can it embrace any memory that is about to fall into the earth.
I think that in Mrs. Lovett’s eyes, your razor-wielding motion must be so beautiful. Look at your dashing figure in her pale pupils coincides with the past afterglow. You didn't see her shivering profile, you didn't touch her pulse, you didn't realize her heartbeat that stopped from time to time. How different she is from you, in the past it only expressed too much regret and eagerness to forget the mistakes. She once had such a wishful illusion, delusion that your heart that is no longer happy can really smile, thinking that using a parasol or a picnic cloth can hold up your falling love and her own happiness. The incinerator grinned from the rust-red petals. I can't describe how she would look when she was struggling to deboning a corpse, because when people see the end of others, they can always draw their own faces.
That song evoked my heartstrings. When the sailor blurted out the tune, the whirling wings of the Braun from the depths of the heart climbed carefully on the edge of the castle on the cliff. The petite bird called to the companion in the cage with its own voice. When a certain eye met, like the touch of two fingers, the princess threw off her long golden hair and waited for the prince to take her away.
Only one-sided fate can be entrusted for life(?), or is it because the purity of their hearts makes them easy to believe in each other's eyes? If they have the opportunity to spend the rest of their lives together, I sincerely wish them to grow old.
Killing bloomed everywhere, and the unspeakable fragrance came from the once dilapidated butcher pie shop. When these lingering white smoke stretched out such a fleshy and gentle arm to deceive people's hearts, it was swallowed by the buried incinerator. There are so many bones, and that razor like a mirror, as long as you wave it in the air, people will look around because of the strong smell of blood. The whole of London seems to be abandoned by God, and the gray and cold air is more persistently attached to the rough walls of Fleet Street, and every window clearly reflects the picture of people devouring the same kind-dull knife and fork next to red-brown meat The stuffing made a terrible noise on the bone-gray plate. This kind of sound will only be terrifyingly familiar to those who have unfortunately witnessed the decapitation process—those warped servants would choose a giant axe without a blade, and then patiently polish it on the neck of a certain prisoner.
A beggar woman saw through this daunting blood mist at a glance. She said that she saw the thick and sticky dark cloud coming from the chimney of a pie shop. Her eyes covered by dry hair were like an irreversible past. Beautiful and shiny, the moon in the pool is far from comparable to them. So she was chased and intercepted. Fortunately, her confused nerves prevented her from telling the truth clearly, otherwise she would die before seeing you, not by you. And if it is so, you will not feel the slightest comfort, and then imagine if she is really not crazy, if the judge who should go to hell has not violated her, if you have not been wronged and exiled from afar.
But she did not forget you. Even if the drug destroyed her logic and destroyed her consciousness, she did not forget you. She stretched out her hand to pull you away from your endless loneliness and emptiness, and because you desperately yearned for your meaningless revenge, you pulled out the razor and ended her life. When the blood spring water was flowing steadily from her wound, I shed a small tear for you and your wife stingy.
This is a fairy tale. The only difference is that the quill in the hand of the author is still stained with the blood of the poultry, but as long as it is a fairy tale, it will have a happy ending. So, when you stroked your forehead for the warm body, you remembered her love, even though the portrait soaked in blood had gradually turned into a rotten foam, you still remembered her Love. Should I shout for you, because in the end it is love that triumphs over hatred.
I don't know how to discuss Mrs. Lovett. She wrote love in her name, but she could only keep this love with imagination and lies. Maybe she didn’t want much(?). At the end of the movie, she was dealt with as a behind-the-scenes man-deserved (?), and finally you pushed into the incinerator that swallowed such bones The second part of "Germany" is called Monster Pie House...).
Then, it's your turn to pay the price, those red tears are about to move in your eye sockets, a pair of small hands tapping your blood vessels. Then your loyal partner resolves the pain for you, and the hands of the young man who symbolizes that the Avengers cannot rest in peace grabbed the silver razor and swiped it lightly, and those bright red tears poured down. Tears sang joyous tunes, savoring the freedom that has not been available in decades, and running along your chin, it also wets the silent corner of your sweetheart's eyes.
Death ensued, and he gently held his bride's hands and kissed her tearful eyes gently. They swayed their thin silhouettes, spinning beautiful dance steps in the dust of the basement, and finally turned into an invisible plume of blue smoke, floating from the towering chimney.
Who will finally get married with death? Only love is worthy.
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