Watch it for the first time. It was two o'clock in the morning, and when I heard Julie's line of what is feels like for a girl, I was really shocked. So I found Madonna's song of the same name from the computer and played it with the film. It was the first time I knew what sampling was, and I was surprised by Sister Mai's accomplishments. Watch it a second time. It was midnight, and the Chinese subtitles were turned off to appreciate it little by little. Too many details in the first half evoked childhood memories, about every barren summer, those stretched skins inch by inch, those jointed in the wasteland Abandoned house, covered with light and dust, as barren as dirty in the mirror. But when the mother also died, the direction of the film is no longer related to any memory. You jump out and watch the novel-like plot approach you step by step, catch you, and torture you. You can't mobilize any other person or even just a little similar experience to perceive, but you can perceive a truth somewhere, naturally without any flaws. It's still about desolation, I think, and that desolation isn't limited to a specific period of time. Such emotional experiences live deep inside everyone and go unreported years later. Everyone thought it disappeared, like a corpse buried by time, just like in the film, Julie and Jack can't remember what their mother's life was like when she was alive. And it's always been there, it's just been put on the back of the memory, so damp and rotten that you don't recognize it at all. Now I can still remember when I was a child in my hometown, in such a hot afternoon, in such a hot afternoon, piles of crazy children, lying on the concrete floor, came with a dizziness, carrying the whole thin and dark Together, the body floated to the sky that was so white that there was nothing at all. At that time, I thought this feeling was death, but death is not so beautiful. I can still remember those long holidays now, in the yard in the afternoon, running in groups of bungalows without children, only one person somehow slipped into those empty houses, picked them up Those who have been used and discarded by others, or found an old bed, lie down, and after a few hours, return home as usual as if they had forgotten for a while. When Shunji Iwai's youthfulness requires you to bite the bullet and not fall asleep, you can say that you are far away from being a teenager. So you start living off your memory, and occasional sentimentality is ruined beyond recognition by time and trivialities. You can also be thankful that you didn't go to the second half of the movie, or in other words, the second half of the novel, in that kind of desolation. And just like that, your emotion is placed behind the memory, it becomes missing and no longer pure. So it's not beautiful, it becomes an emotion you can't overcome when it is occasionally evoked. Everyone has been desolate, but you have never been desolate so thoroughly.
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