I would rather not talk about this as a movie, because
it's not.

Sometimes you see the grass in the middle of those
bricks and mortar, then you feel that the architecture
is living.

The collages of life are flown into your eyes through
many channels and you feel like they go through the same one.
Different fragments are seem to be dealing with or depicting
different issues in life, or the contrary of death, but
it's more like the fragments are one, and the borderline
nature of different settings doesn't show the edgy corner
of human, but the humanity itself. What you feel is not
the blade of life, but the dancing steps on it, and loving
hands warming it, self-consciously, sub-consiciously,
non-consiciously, and life is a blade while it's not.

You can't keep your tears back even though you are hiding it,
just the way you can't pretend to ignore so many beautiful
facets of life itself and seeking life elsewhere. Those
sentences full of the life, the most precious present of life,
- the love, and the enemy and the best friend of life,
- the death, are not bringing you back or putting you up
into somewhere strange or alien, they are telling you that
you are in the middle of life, and that's where you are
and your dreams belong to no matter how many ways you lose
them or seek them. I can't remember any of those words spoken,
but I do see something blinking inside, or the blinking saw me.

There are so many ways and reasons that you can hide yourself,
somewhere far away from people, somewhere bleak inside out,
and somewhere you try to be dedreamed, and you are not afraid
of it. But before life, those hiding places don't exist.

I don't think this is a movie that could be critiqued. Because
it's life itself. So please forgive me if you can't find any
technical analysis in this essay.

Sorry, and blessing all of you!
 
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Playing by heart
ISBN 0-7888-1709-4
Theme song: "Lay it down, child"