Chapter 13 Sober (13)

Another twenty-nine day love letter There is a friend who likes it very much and never forgets it.Ask him which one he likes the most, he said that at the end of the movie, Fujii was moved to tears when he saw the portrait on the back of the book card.It seems that after a thousand turns, it suddenly becomes clear.The unintentional concealment of love and the kindness of revealing, in the end, are the common refraction of the depths of human nature. The film is Shunji Iwai's representative work that became famous in one fell swoop in China, even though he later appeared in more in-depth works such as "Swallowtail Butterfly" and "Everything About Lily Zhou".But it's simple and pure, but it's more like a small mark, so bright that you don't think about it.

I forgot when I watched the disc, and I don't know if I can find it again.Some shots are always remembered.For example, the vast snow at the beginning.A short-haired girl with a cold receives a greeting letter from a stranger.The girl Fujii waited for the boy Fujii at the bicycle parking lot.He ran down the hill and put a bag over her head.Playing pranks is a typical introverted teenager's way of expressing affection.The beautiful faces of the two teenagers have a bright luster like moonlight.The lens feel is very clean.There is attention to detail and light.The writer-director quality is very evident.

I don't know if the young Fujii tree in the novel is a reflection written by Shunji Iwai for himself.Loose and lazy, not good at dealing with people.Maverick but persistent. "A person like him often looks into the distance. Those eyes are always clear, and they are the most beautiful I have seen so far... He likes mountaineering and painting. If he is not painting, he is climbing a mountain." Just a few words.An affectionate man is always more like a silent tree.A real creator, in his own works, projects not only himself, but perhaps the world he desires.Even if it's just an illusion.

I think that kind of cherry blossom-like faint fragrance, prosperous nostalgia, and the feeling of leaving quietly and calmly, should be what he likes.So he writes, so he shoots. With the communication between Hiroko and Fujii, a secret love in the past of a teenager is gradually unraveled, and the truth is revealed.And for several parties, it was like digging for a treasure. Suddenly, deep in time, there was such a twists and turns of mind.In any case, it is like a cool spring that seeps slowly and flows deep in still water. It is a retrospect that can make people's hearts soft and clear.

I once talked with my friends about the way of love.In an adult world full of death, abandonment, doubt and unbelief, is it possible to have classical and clean feelings? Classical love can exist in silence without any sounds or demands.A small flame lit in the dark is only used to warm one's own soul and illuminate the other's eyes.As for pure love, it may be blind, hesitant, and traumatic, but it must not have any utilitarian purpose, and it is also selfless, as if it exists only for faith. I don't know how many people are asking and looking for love as a belief.Perhaps it is more easily reduced to tools, standards, measures, judgments and misinterpretations.It requires too much patience and capacity.As a result, many people do not have confidence.

Hiroko wakes up on the snow and looks up at the poster with falling snowflakes, which seems to have become a symbol of a source of emotion.The contrast between life and death, the echo of memory and disappearance, and the sincere questioning of love and time.How precious everything is. So true feelings are ultimately irrelevant to all grand events.It has nothing to do with deep and difficult religious philosophy.It has nothing to do with indestructible moral ethics.It has nothing to do with the ever-changing world.Maybe it's just a tearful greeting among the snow-capped mountains: How are you?I'm very good.To be attached to and miss someone lonely is like missing our ineffable joy and desolation in life.

If there is grandness, it is only the subtle memories and clues that belong to time.