tokyo sonata

by Feng

Even those with a limited capacity for reflection can sense the urgency of emptiness.  “How can I start over?” “Can I start over?” They ask themselves, they ask no one in particular. But what would they do?

“Screw your authority”.

I was struck by the mute interactions between family members here. Seemingly nothing binds them together. Necessity keeps them coming back to the home. The father’s life is pathetic, a thin gauze wrapped around a huge mass of humiliation. In the end, the kid piano player is the only one who can convey some kind of dignity and feeling, and humanity returns, and they are no longer dead people. They turn beautiful.

The members of the family do not seek to convey anything complex, only to hold together the precarious nucleus of their co-existence. They struggle with the inability to uphold primitive ideals, to fill their roles. They unthinkingly stumble through suffering and meaninglessness, unable to create their own meaning. Sometimes I am ashamed of myself because I look down on others, thinking that there are “coarse” souls and “polished” souls. I separate myself from the characters in the movie, from the uneducated.

I begin to doubt real depth. What’s so great and transcendent about intense self-awareness? How am I more alive? Is beauty more beautiful to me because I’ve written theory papers? Does my life have more “meaning”?

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