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30 marzo 心中的Narnia原来Narnia就躲在大衣橱后面,原来绝望的时候,我们心里都有Narnia,原来那里也有冰天雪地和小河流水,那里的狮子叫“Aslan",小马叫“Philip",还有亚当和夏娃的儿女们,他们是勇敢、正义、爱心和伟大的化身;原来坏人最后总是会遭殃,原来好人(好狮子)即使死了也会重生。 看Narnia的时候,我很安静。 PS:第一次看电影前被严格安检,人民大会堂里看电影就不一样 也说“金枝玉孽”
那天和同事吃完饭要一起去逛中粮广场,路过长安街地下通道,脚一不小心走到了卖碟小滩那。随便一瞅,便看到了“金枝玉孽”。前段时间有听说过她大放异彩,狂扫各个重要奖项,于是有一点点心动就买了。
都说这部勾心斗角的片子没什么好看的,但是却着实让我这个早已经对香港片尤其是古装片产生免疫的人又狠狠的感动了一把
其实摩挲着DVD的封套时,我揣测着这是怎样一个故事:轻柔的粉霞中,浮出四张娇颜,凤冠璎珞,明艳不可方物,光洁细白的脸孔上,一色的剪水双瞳,一色的烈焰朱唇;细观,怨毒目光中又闪现着一色的腾腾杀气,轻扬的嘴角挂着一色的飞扬跋扈:媚和毒,是她们在紫禁城的生存之道……两个身着清装的男子立于下角的城楼旁,却显然不是什么高官,眉宇中有种超脱悠然,也有种谦卑敦实,他们注定在这部地地道道的女人戏里扮演悲情的绿叶……
或许以前对无线古装剧的印象还停留在那些制作粗糙的武侠片上,这次看《金枝》,有种眼前一亮的感觉:横店取景——宫宇轩昂,终于看出了皇城的壮观;考究的内廷布景,贵人精致华丽的服饰——使人感到了TVB此次的一丝不苟;演员无论角色大小,终于都是公认的佳丽,虽然四位芳龄的beauty也都不再年轻了。还有,背景音乐终于有了些创新,尤其是安茜和孔武传抒心意的那段笛子二重奏,悠扬悲切,如泣如诉,我到现在都一直在搜索想用它做手机的morning call。
金枝表面上讲的不过人四个清宫女人斗争上位的故事,但根本上是在讲人性。这或许是编导组合一贯的风格:《天地男儿》《创世纪》《金枝欲孽》,哪个不是血淋淋得揭露人性的阴暗,人性的复杂?
《金枝》的结局虽然惨烈,却是整部剧中最平缓的部分,最有浪漫色彩。在玉莹和白杨相拥火葬的滚滚硝烟中,在孙清华丧子的悲恸眼神中,在如妃远眺的目光中,在孔武载着尔淳与奄奄一息的安茜远去的马蹄声中,《金枝欲孽》的繁华终成一梦。终于,我意识到,这只是电视剧。
做为一个局外人,可以对剧中的勾心斗角一笑避之。然而现实中的人,对于名利和地位,大多时候不是也一样的执着吗?人老了以后可以说看淡一切,但热血沸腾之时还不是沉浸在对物欲的迷恋,对名利的追逐之中吗?现实中对付一个人,不见得有那样狠辣,那样不留余地,却也会一样的笑里藏刀,心怀城府。知心朋友是值得用真心去维护的,可以其他人呢,如果不是于己有利,哪有那么多的殷勤和真心?所以人们身在其中时会尽一切可能去占有,去享受权力,正如别人笑说“有权不用,过期作废”。去争去抢甚至不择手段,却还要掩饰得不留痕迹,若不然,一开始被嘉庆知道他那么多妃子心怀不轨,戏还怎么演得下去。哎,总结就是无论在哪个朝代,哪个国家,人与人之间永远是微妙的,在善与不善之间往复运动。
就写这么多,作为一个普通的观众,06年春天与《金枝欲孽》的这段邂逅将使我生活中许多细节发生质变。我开始关注TVB,开始喜欢Bowie Lam,这个笑起来眼睛弯成一道可爱的特殊的弧线的绅士;另外,我还有一个刚刚在心中形成的离实现很近的愿望:今年6月到9月的一天,要去香港走一走……
说了不过多说剧情,还是说了这么多。我不得不佩服自己对剧情记忆之深刻,哈哈。至于好看的闪光点,真的太多太多。。。。。。还是最喜欢玉莹。小脾气,天真,傻乎乎,好哭,单纯,自以为聪明,有时候还搞个自以为天衣无缝的局,脑子不好使,需要别人一直解释啊,照顾啊之类的。她没头脑却自己以为自己有头脑,然后又装没头脑,所以做的还是本色。 喜欢孙大人。有何魅力,是帅?还是酷?抑或风度翩翩?难道声音好听?玉树临风?才华横溢?自信满满?机警睿智?观察入微?胸襟宽阔?勇敢?温柔?恋母情节?——全部都有,还有一些别的,而我的文字已经枯竭到了尽头,再也写不出什么了。眼前似乎又看见看玉莹缝给孙大人的钱包被春天挖出又被冬天埋藏……我已经看得不能够眨眼,因为一眨眼,眼泪就会掉下来。
因为真诚,所以累,再加上我写了这么多,所以,我现在感到很疲惫。
17 marzo 偶得蓝色妖姬骨朵24支今天,24支蓝色妖姬美丽的花骨朵送到了我的手中。她们是特意赶着清晨四点的飞机从云南空运过来的。呵呵,客户的一片心意啊!根据公司规定,收到的礼物是要上交的,而且要尽量引导客户送锦旗。这些我都记得的。可是今天一直忙得我根本停不下空来,手中的电话一直没从耳边放下来过。后来下班了,公司里也没地方放。我就先把美丽的她们带回了家:P
15 marzo Rush匆匆I don't know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus--the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal, and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.
What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to the world, stark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing!
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
04 marzo 一滴水里藏着整个大海,五分钟里藏着你的一生
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