A big surprise for watching movies in January! The protagonist has a flattering face, a face that has been smiling forever, but his heart is surging. This kind of role setting made me lose my skin. From the beginning of innocence to blackening to murder, he attributed it to his own awakening, everyone was drunk and I was alone.
Politics, The Great Socialist, does not appear on the scene, it is a magnificent and upright image. Years later, the hero officially met her, and a bit of old black sputum on the table made me sick enough. What bullshit democracy is not just an excuse to accumulate wealth and power.
Class contradictions, I like the different perspectives provided by the movie. The protagonist Balram, Pinky who grew up in the United States, the returnee Ashok who went to study on the way, the dignitaries Stork and Mongoose, the politician The Great Socialist, the brother and grandmother living in the country, and the face The "landlord" with ugly white spots? . Pinky, who is impressed, has always encouraged Balram to pursue his own life and be positive. As a result, he has an accident. Even if he does not surrender and assume responsibility, he quarreled with his father-in-law before escaping, thinking that he was unfair to Balram, and then escaped back to the United States. I didn't feel that I had killed someone and made Balram the guilty one. It was Pinky himself who hurt him the most. There are totally two standards for oneself and for others. However, Pinky's rebellion against patriarchal power is particularly exciting, with a sweet-looking appearance, and is the most likely character in this film to be Like.
The violent part is similar to "The Destiny of Heaven", and the insurmountable class is like "Parasite." There is at least a home in the parasite, and here is the last haven. Enemy with the world, killing people and grabbing money, but not guilty, and told the Prime Minister in a bragging tone, you see, how good I am, and I help them. Personal growth has the coldness of "Old Nowhere". The religious part reminds me of "Big Buddha Plath", as if a bloody hole was dug behind the human heart, and it was so real that it made people tremble. Every character has Flaw, and every character is not a good person.
The heavy theme, but the form of expression is full of entertainment, not an art film of Mensao. Close-up, Crane Shot, constantly pushing the protagonist's emotions to your eyes. Photography Stylish, sound processing is also in place. Entering Climax is a bit backward, you can push forward for at least ten minutes.
Quotes:
The moment you recognize what is beautiful in this world, you stop being a slave.
It's amazing. The moment you show cash, everyone knows your language.
Go to Old Delhi,and look at the way they keep chickens there in the market. Hundred of pale hens and brightly colored roosters, stuffed tightly into wire-mesh cages. They see the organs of their brothers lying around them. They know they are next, yet they cannot rebel. They do not try to get out of the coop. The very same thing is done with humans in this country.
Me, and thousands of others in this country like me, are half-baked, because we were never allowed to complete our schooling. Open our skulls, look in with a penlight, and you'll find an odd museum of ideas: sentences of history or mathematics remembered from school textbooks (no boy remembers his schooling like the one who was taken out of school, let me assure you), sentences about politics read in a newspaper while waiting for someone to come to an office, triangles and pyramids seen on the torn pages of the old geometry textbooks which every tea shop in this country uses to wrap its snacks in, bits of All India Radio news bulletins, things that drop into your mind, like lizards from the ceiling, in the half hour before falling asleep--all these ideas, half formed and half digested and half correct,mix up with other half-cooked ideas in your head, and I guess these half-formed ideas bugger one another, and make more half-formed ideas, and this is what you act on and live with.
You ask'Are you a man or a demon?' Neither, I say. I have woken up, and the rest of you are sleeping, and that is the only difference between us.
Iqbal, that great poet, was so right. The moment you recognize what is beautiful in this world, you stop being a slave. To hell with the Naxals and their guns shipped from China. If you taught every poor boy how to paint, that would be the end of the rich in India.
It is an ancient and venerated custom of people in my country to start a story by praying to a Higher Power.
I guess, Your Excellency, that I too should start off by kissing some god's arse.
Which god's arse, though? There are so many choices.
See, the Muslims have one god.
The Christians have three gods.
And we Hindus have 36,000,004 divine arses to choose from.
The dreams of the rich, and the dreams of the poor-they never overlap, do they?
See, the poor dream all their lives of getting enough to eat and looking like the rich. And what do the rich dream of?
Losing weight and looking like the poor.
Sometimes I wonder, Balram. I wonder what's the point of living. I really wonder...
The point of living? M y heart poundedTh e point of your living is that if you die, who's going to pay me three and a half thousand rupees a month?
Do we loathe our masters behind a facade of love-or do we love them behind a facade of loathing?
He read me another poem, and another one-and he explained the true history of poetry, which is a kind of secret, a magic known only to wise men. Mr. Premier, I won't be saying anything new if I say that the history of the world is the history of a ten-thousand-year war of brains between the rich and the poor. Each side is eternally trying to hoodwink the other side: and it has been this way since the start of time. The poor win a few battles (the peeing in the potted plants, the kicking of the pet dogs, etc.) but of course the rich have won the war for ten thousand years. That's why, on day, some wise men, out of compassion for the poor, left them signs and symbols in poems, which appear to be about roses and pretty girls and things like that,but when understood correctly spill out secrets that allow the poorest man on earth to conclude the ten-thousand-year-old brain-war on terms favorable to himself.
I think we can agree that America is so yesterday, Indian and China are so tomorrow.
A good servant must know his masters from end to end. From lips to anus.
Rich men are born with opportunities they can waste.
There are only two ways to get to the top, crime or politics.
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