两周前在纽约电影节看的这部片子,当时看完趁导演和主演还没走出来问答的空当儿,上豆瓣打了五星。虽然刚看完感觉片子并没有像预期中的那样成为一部“了不起的杰作”,但有托德海因斯的稳定发挥,从故事完整性,节奏的把控,画面的精美程度,演员表演等各个方面来看,都是一部完成度极高,几乎挑不出毛病来的作品。
然而刚看完以后那种压抑又兴奋,掺杂着感动的情绪并没有持续太久,取而代之的是一种失落感,失落的是这样一部令人期待的题材和电影,仍走不出以往同性爱情电影中话题与共鸣之间无法平衡的怪圈:如果不是因为同性,她们的爱情故事未免流于俗套,而过分强调同性,又削弱了主角之间感情的纯粹与真诚。也许在这类影片中寻找“深刻的社会属性”本身就是一种过度诠释,但不可否认的是,类似的同性题材在近些年的电影节当中可谓赚足了眼球。一方面利用同性题材的敏感性先入为主的抬高立意,一方面却对同性恋在社会中所受到的阻力避而不谈,这绝不是创作者的本意。说到底,可能因为敏感的并不是同性题材,而是我们观众自己。
故事背景在托德·海因斯擅长的五六十年代,低饱和的红绿色调,大萧条后的纽约街头,圣诞之前的寒冷天气,无一不营造了一种绝望的氛围,仿佛在这种绝望之中任何人与任何人相爱都是顺理成章。片头使用倒叙,先插补了一段结尾时两人分手又重逢的感情戏,加以铺垫,一边钓足了观众的胃口,一边在结构上弥补了两个人相爱时的前戏不足。特芮丝先于卡罗尔出场,交代了她商店营业员的职业和圣诞节前夕的时间背景,然后就是主角卡罗尔出场了,一个不知道该给自己的孩子买什么礼物的贵妇。这一段的可贵之处在于在某种程度上打破了同性题材中必须“一攻一受”的思维模式,虽然卡罗尔穿着奢华的貂皮大衣,而特芮丝只是个营业员,但此时需要帮助的是前者。她试图在商店里点烟而被制止的尴尬,不知道买什么礼物给孩子时的手足无措,无疑使她在这时处于相对的弱势,即使从她的眼神中我们感到,这有可能是她把妹的一种惯用手段。短暂的相识使得主动权来到了特芮丝手中,似乎在这场游戏中她不是卡罗尔的猎物,而是一个她想接近却又不敢试探的对象。那对遗留在柜台上的手套到底是卡罗尔的诱饵,还是特芮丝主动出击的猎枪,都是值得玩味的小细节。
虽然俩人好得很快,但胜在点滴入微,从家宴到送相机,从旅行到上床,水到渠成。丈夫(前夫)作为两人爱情的主要破坏者可能是一些人认为影片不够激进的原因之一,因为这个角色主要是一个受害者的形象,甚至可以说是一个可怜的人。但正是这种不左不右的态度使得这部片子没有过分强调性别意识和同性恋在社会舆论中的地位,而是把重心放在了两人的感情本身上,这种处理方式比同样题材尖锐的《远离天堂》显得还要高明一些。试想一下,如果一开始就在两人亲密出游时补一些男人们议论纷纷的镜头,或者借男人之口对特芮丝的冷淡加以点评,那么无疑把对两性意识形态的描写提上去了,但品位一下就low了,变成了另一种自以为是的“政治正确癌”,不好。但正是这种在两性题材上非常克制的把控,使得影片的高潮显得不够刺激和煽动(当然,如果把床戏当做高潮的话那就够了)。丈夫雇佣的私家侦探录下了两人的性爱音频,这本是一桩现在看来都非常严重的侵犯,但这么做的目的不是扳倒卡罗尔的社会地位,毁掉她的人生前途,而是为了在离婚诉讼中抢夺孩子的抚养权。虽然同样作为一个母亲我非常理解丧失抚养权对这个角色的意义,但是放到通篇中看,仅仅把离婚诉讼作为戏剧冲突中最大的“障碍”使得这一段的情绪爆发显得有些张力不足。
判断同性之爱在主题中是否重要的一个简单方法就是问一个问题:如果把特芮丝的角色换成男性,那个故事成立吗?答案是不仅成立,而且异常合理。但故事就变成了一桩我们熟悉的婚外情始末,一则单纯的爱情小品。
另外补充就是卡罗尔的闺蜜这个角色,前史过多,交代不清,作为情节的润滑剂很好使,台词帮助镜头丰满了卡罗尔这个人物,但是过于分散注意力,我觉得反而是删掉比较好。
开头和结尾的重逢段落是我非常喜欢的,文学性很强,凯特和鲁尼表演也是教科书般的走心,与这一段相似的是《相见恨晚》中的车站离别,不知海因斯是否有致敬的意思。同样是千言万语化作几句寒暄,同样是一个聒噪的第三者打破气氛,经过前面的铺垫,最后临别时肩头的一按,力量比一个吻还要重。结尾时特芮丝寻找卡罗尔的段落是一个比较好的情绪出口,避免了被打断的对话而带来的不安感,“众里寻她千百度”,最后找到了,啪,停。干净利落,不说废话。
最后总结就是,我个人认为,整部影片的叙事镜头表演都拿捏得恰到好处,简洁,克制,不留余地,也没有在题材上故弄玄虚,自命不凡,但是“同性”作为主题的核心基本没有体现出来,是一部比较纯粹的爱情电影。
等不到电影,只好先拿小说来解渴。
原著是以作者Patricia Highsmith自己的故事为原型的,她在快30岁时,在纽约Bloomingdale's百货公司的玩具区遇见了一位已婚妇女,并爱上了她。
原著虽是第三人称,但基本是以Therese的视角写的,内心描写很丰富,用词很美,不算艰涩,读起来很流畅,很抓人,不忍释卷。
读的过程中不断带入Cate和Rooney,因此十分有画面感,完全被带入到故事之中,许多描写太细腻,太真实,跟着Therese一起忐忑,也跟着她一起迷醉在Carol的冷漠与温情之间,这些文字,慢慢地在我脑海中拍成电影。
原著中Therese是一个stage designer,但在改编剧本中变成了一个photographer,其实我觉得这样反而更易于表达她作为Carol的暗恋者的角度。
Rooney和Cate绝对是Therese和Carol的不二人选,这点你看了小说就会明白这次的选角有多么完美。
书我还在读,读了大半了,书摘会陆续更,每晚都又期待故事,又不忍读完它,到了该睡的时间还是不情愿放下,不断安慰自己说“好东西值得等待”,才心不甘情不愿地关灯睡下。
即使读原著知道故事的始末,依然不会“剧透”电影,因为我真正期待的不只是故事本身,而是Rooney和Cate的演绎,服装,场景,Todd Haynes怎么营造1950s纽约的复古模样,以及代入感十足的黑胶唱片老歌,而这些都是文字之外的全新创造。
总之,北美上映都要到12月18,有资源的时候估计已经是2016了,只能先来感受原著了。
----
附上非官方的原声,听吧,你会沉醉的。
http://pan.baidu.com/s/1bnfMneB----
以下为书摘,按阅读先后顺序
"How do you like it pronounced? Therese?"
"Yes. The way you do," she answered. Carol pronounced her name the French way, Terez. She was used to a dozen variations, and sometimes she herself pronounced it differently. She liked the way Carol pronounced it, and she liked her lips saying it. An indefinite longing, that she had been only vaguely conscious of at times before, became now a recognizable wish. It was so absurd, so embarrassing a desire, that
Therese thrust it from her mind.
----
Therese was propped on one elbow. The milk was so hot, she could barely let her lip touch it at first. The tiny sips spread inside her mouth and released a melange of organic flavors. The milk seemed to taste of bone and blood, of warm flesh, or hair, saltless as chalk yet alive as a growing embryo.
----
"There's a train in about four minutes," Carol said.
Therese blurted suddenly, "Will I see you again?"
Carol only smiled at her, a little reproachfully, as the window between them rose up. "Au revoir," she said.
Of course, of course, she would see her again, Therese thought. An idiotic question!
The car backed fast and turned away into the darkness.
----
But there was not a moment when she did not see Carol in her mind, and all she saw, she seemed to see through Carol. That evening, the dark flat streets of New York, the tomorrow of work, the milk bottle dropped and broken in her sink, became unimportant. She flung herself on her-bed and drew a line with a pencil on a piece of paper. And another line, carefully, and another. A world was born around her, like a bright forest with a million shimmering leaves.
----
They stopped for a red light, and Carol rolled the window up. Carol looked at her, as if really seeing her for the first time that evening, and under her eyes that went from her face to her hands in her lap, Therese felt like a puppy Carol had bought at a roadside kennel, that Carol had just remembered was riding beside her.
----
Happiness was a little like flying, she thought, like being a kite. It depended on how much one let the string out.
----
"Are you busy? If you are, I'll leave."
"No. Sit down. I'm not doing anything—except reading a play."
"What play?"
"A play I have to do sets for." She realized suddenly she had never mentioned stage designing to Carol.
"Sets for?"
"Yes—I'm a stage designer." She took Carol's coat.
Carol smiled astonishedly. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly. "How many other rabbits are you going to pull out of your hat?"
----
And perhaps she was in love with Carol, too. It put Therese on guard with her. It created a tacit rivalry that gave her a curious exhilaration, a sense of certain superiority over Abby—emotions that Therese had never known before, never dared to dream of, emotions consequently revolutionary in themselves. So their lunching together in the restaurant became nearly as important as the meeting with Carol.
------
• Carol glanced at her. "You imagine," she said, and the pleasant vibration of her voice faded into silence again.
The page she had written last night, Therese thought, had nothing to do with this Carol, was not addressed to her. I feel I am in love with you, she had written, and it should be spring. I want the sun throbbing on my head like chords of music. I think of a sun like Beethoven, a wind like Debussy, and birdcalls like Stravinsky. But the tempo is all mine.
• As if she wouldn't turn down a job on a ballet set to go away with Carol—to go with her through country she had
never seen before, over rivers and mountains, not knowing where they would be when night came.
• Behind Carol, an airport searchlight made a pale sweep in the night, and disappeared. Carol's voice seemed to
linger in the darkness. In its richer, happier tone, Therese could hear the depths within her where she loved Rindy, deeper than she would probably ever love anyone else.
• It shook Therese in the profoundest part of her where no words were, no easy words like death or dying or killing. Those words were somehow future, and this was present. An inarticulate anxiety, a desire to know, know anything, for certain, had jammed itself in her throat so for a moment she felt she could hardly breathe. Do you think, do you think, it began. Do you think both of us will die violently someday, be suddenly shut off? But even that question wasn't definite
enough. Perhaps it was a statement after all: I don't want to die yet without knowing you. Do you feel the same way, Carol? She could have uttered the last question, but she could not have said all that went before it.
• "I suppose the first thing is not to be afraid." Therese turned and saw Carol's smile. "You're smiling because you think I am afraid, I suppose."
"You're about as weak as this
match." Carol held it burning for a moment after she lighted her cigarette. "But given the right conditions, you could burn a house down, couldn't you?"
"Or a city."
"But you're even afraid to take a little trip with me. You're afraid because you think you haven't got enough money."
"That's not it."
"You've got some very strange values, Therese. I asked you to go with me, because it would give me pleasure to have you. I should think it'd be good for
you, too, and good for your work. But you've got to spoil it by a silly pride about money. Like that handbag you gave me. Out of all proportion. Why don't you take it back, if you need the money? I don't need the handbag. It gave you pleasure to give it to me, I suppose. It's the same thing, you see. Only I make sense and you don't." Carol walked by her and turned to her again, poised with one foot forward and her head up, the short blond hair as unobtrusive as a statue's hair. "Well, do you think it's funny?"
• Carol went into the green room, and stayed there while it played. Therese stood by the door of her room, listening, smiling.
... I'll never regret... the years I'm giving... They're easy to give, when you're in love... I'm happy to do whatever I do for you...
That was her song. That was everything she felt about Carol.
• Was life, were human relations like this always, Therese wondered. Never solid ground underfoot. Always like gravel, a little yielding, noisy so the whole world could hear, so one always listened, too, for the loud, harsh step of the intruder's foot.
• Therese still felt the effects of what she had drunk, the tingling of the champagne that drew her painfully close to Carol. If she simply asked, she thought, Carol would let her sleep tonight in the same bed with her. She wanted more than that, to kiss her, to feel their bodies next to each other's. Therese thought of the two girls she had seen in the Palermo bar. They did that, she knew, and more. And would Carol suddenly thrust her away in disgust, if she merely wanted to hold her in her arms? And would whatever affection Carol now had for her vanish in that instant? A vision of Carol's cold rebuff swept her courage clean away. It crept back humbly in the question, couldn't she ask simply to sleep in the same bed with her?
• She rode up in an elevator and she was acutely conscious of Carol beside her, as if she dreamed a dream in which Carol was the subject and the only figure. In the room, she lifted her suitcase from the floor to a chair, unlatched it and left it, and stood by the writing table, watching Carol. As if her emotions had been in abeyance all the past hours, or days, they flooded her now as she watched Carol opening her suitcase, taking out, as she always did first, the leather kit that contained her toilet articles, dropping it onto the bed. She looked at Carol's hands, at the lock of hair that fell over the scarf tied around her head, at the scratch she had gotten days ago across the toe of her moccasin.
"What're you standing there for?" Carol asked. "Get to bed, sleepyhead."
"Carol, I love you."
Carol straightened up. Therese stared at her with intense, sleepy eyes.
• Then Carol finished taking her pajamas from the suitcase and pulled the lid down. She came to Therese and put her hands on her shoulders. She squeezed her shoulders hard, as if she were exacting a promise from her, or perhaps searching her to see if what she had said were real. Then she kissed Therese on the lips, as if they had kissed a thousand times before.
"Don't you know I love you?" Carol said.
• Then Therese set the container of milk on the floor and looked at Carol who was sleeping already, on her stomach, with one arm flung up as she always went to sleep. Therese pulled out the light. Then Carol slipped her arm under her neck, and all the length of their bodies touched, fitting as if something had prearranged it. Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh. She had a vision of a pale-white flower, shimmering as if seen in darkness, or through water. Why did people talk of heaven, she wondered.
• "Go to sleep," Carol said.
Therese hoped she would not. But when she felt Carol's hand move on her shoulder, she knew she had been asleep. It was dawn now. Carol's fingers tightened in her hair, Carol kissed her on the lips, and pleasure leaped in Therese again as if it were only a continuation of the moment when Carol had slipped her arm under her neck last night. I love you, Therese wanted to say again, and then the words were erased by the tingling and terrifying pleasure that spread in waves from Carol's lips over her neck, her shoulders, that rushed suddenly, the length of her body. Her arms were tight around Carol, and she was conscious of Carol and
nothing else, of Carol's hand that slid along her ribs, Carol's hair that brushed her bare breasts, and then her body too seemed to vanish in widening circles that leaped further and further, beyond where thought could follow. While a thousand memories and moments, words, the first darling, the second time Carol had met her at the store, a thousand memories of Carol's face, her voice, moments of anger and laughter flashed like the tail of a comet across her brain. And now it was pale-blue distance and space, an expanding space in which she took flight suddenly like a long arrow. The arrow seemed to cross an impossibly wide abyss with ease, seemed to arc on and on in space, and not quite to stop. Then she realized that she still clung to Carol, that she trembled violently, and the arrow was herself. She saw Carol's pale hair across her eyes, and now Carol's head was close against hers. And she did not have to ask if this were right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect.
• "Go to sleep," Carol said.
Therese hoped she would not. But when she felt Carol's hand move on her shoulder, she knew she had been asleep. It was dawn now. Carol's fingers tightened in her hair, Carol kissed her on the lips, and pleasure leaped in Therese again as if it were only a continuation of the moment when Carol had slipped her arm under her neck last night. I love you, Therese wanted to say again, and then the words were erased by the tingling and terrifying pleasure that spread in waves from Carol's lips over her neck, her shoulders, that rushed suddenly, the length of her body. Her arms were tight around Carol, and she was conscious of Carol and nothing else, of Carol's hand that slid along her ribs, Carol's hair that brushed her bare breasts, and then her body too seemed to vanish in widening circles that leaped further and further, beyond where thought could follow. While a thousand memories and moments, words, the first darling, the second time Carol had met her at the store, a thousand memories of Carol's face, her voice, moments of anger and laughter flashed like the tail of a comet across her brain. And now it was pale-blue distance and space, an expanding space in which she took flight suddenly like a long arrow. The arrow seemed to cross an impossibly wide abyss with ease, seemed to arc on and on in space, and not quite to stop. Then she realized that she still clung to Carol, that she trembled violently, and the arrow was herself. She saw Carol's pale hair across her eyes, and now Carol's head was close against hers. And she did not have to ask if this were right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect. She held Carol tighter against her, and felt Carol's mouth on her own smiling mouth. Therese lay still, looking at her at Carol's face only inches away from her, the gray eyes calm as she had never seen them, as if they retained some of the space she had just emerged from. And it seemed strange that it was still Carol's face, with the freckles, the bending blond eyebrow that she knew, the mouth now as calm as her eyes, as Therese had seen it many times before.
• "My angel," Carol said. "Flung out of space."
Therese looked up at the corners of the room that were much brighter now, at the bureau with the bulging front and the shield-shaped drawer pulls, at the frameless mirror with the beveled edge, at the green patterned curtains that hung straight at the windows, and the two gray tips of buildings that showed just above the sill. She would remember every detail of this room forever.
"What town is this?" she asked.
Carol laughed. "This? This is Waterloo." She reached for a cigarette.
"Isn't that awful."
Smiling, Therese raised up on her elbow. Carol put a cigarette between her lips. "There's a couple of Waterloos in every state," Therese said.
• Therese threw the newspapers on the bed and came to her. Carol seized her suddenly in her arms. They stood holding each other as if they would never separate. Therese shuddered, and there were tears in her eyes. It was hard to find words, locked in Carol's arms, closer than kissing.
"Why did you wait so long?" Therese asked.
"Because—I thought there wouldn't be a second time, that I wouldn't want it. But that's not true."
Therese thought of Abby, and it was like a slim shaft of bitterness dropping between them. Carol released her.
"And there was something else—to have you around reminding me, knowing you and knowing it would be so easy. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair to you."
Therese set her teeth hard. She watched Carol walk slowly away across the room, watched the space widen, and remembered the first time she had seen her walk so slowly away in the department store, Therese had thought forever. Carol had loved Abby, too, and she reproached herself for it. As Carol would one day for loving her, Therese wondered? Therese understood now why the December and January weeks had been made up of anger and indecision, reprimands alternating with indulgences. But she understood now that whatever Carol said in words, there were no barriers and no indecisions now. There was no Abby, either, after this morning, whatever had happened between Carol and Abby before.
• "You've made me so happy ever since I've known you,"
Therese said.
"I don't think you can judge."
"I can judge this morning."
Carol did not answer. Only the rasp of the door lock answered her. Carol had locked the door and they were alone. Therese came toward her, straight into her arms.
"I love you," Therese said, just to hear the words. "I love you, I love you."
• She looked at Therese, and at last Therese saw a smile rising slowly in her eyes, bringing Carol with it. "I
mean responsibilities in the world that other people live in and that might not be yours. Just now it isn't, and that's why in New York I was exactly the wrong person for you to know—because I indulge you and keep you from growing up."
"Why don't you stop?"
"I'll try. The trouble is, I like to indulge you."
"You're exactly the right person for me to know," Therese said.
"Am I?"
On the street, Therese said, "I don't suppose Harge would like it if he knew we were away on a trip, either, would he?"
"He's not going to know about it."
"Do you still want to go to Washington?"
"Absolutely, if you've got the time. Can you stay away all of February?"
Therese nodded.
• "Do you mean that about not writing to him? That's your decision?" Carol asked.
• "Yes."
Therese watched Carol knock the water out of her toothbrush, and turn from the basin, blotting her face with a towel. Nothing about Richard mattered so much to her as the way Carol blotted her face with a towel.
"Let's say no more," Carol said.
She knew Carol would say no more. She knew Carol had been pushing her toward him, until this moment. Now it seemed it might all have been for this moment as Carol turned and walked toward her and her heart took a giant's step forward.
• It was an evening Therese would never forget, and unlike most such evenings, this one registered as unforgettable while it still lived. It was a matter of the bag of popcorn they shared, the circus, and the kiss Carol gave her back of some booth in the performers' tent. It was a matter of that particular enchantment that came from Carol—though Carol took their good times so for granted—seemed to work on all the world around them, a matter of everything going perfectly, without disappointments or hitches, going just as they wished it to.
• "What's going to happen when we get back to New York? It can't be the same, can it?"
"Yes," Carol said. "Till you get tired of me."
Therese laughed. She heard the soft snap of Carol's scarf end in the wind.
"We might not be living together, but it'll be the same."
They couldn't live together with Rindy, Therese knew. It was useless to dream of it. But it was more than enough that Carol promised in words it would be the same.
• Carol picked up her wine glass and said, "Chateau Neuf-du-Pape in Nebraska. What'll we drink to?"
"Us."
It was something like the morning in Waterloo, Therese thought, a time too absolute and flawless to seem real, though it was real, not merely props in a play—their brandy glasses on the mantel, the row of deers' horns above, Carol's cigarette lighter, the fire itself. But at moments she felt like an actor, remembered only now and then her identity with a sense of surprise, as if she had been playing in these last days the part of someone else, someone
fabulously and excessively lucky. She looked up at the fir branches fixed in the rafters, at the man and woman talking inaudibly together at a table against the wall, at the man alone at his table, smoking his cigarette slowly. She thought of the man sitting with the newspaper in the hotel in Waterloo. Didn't he have the same colorless eyes and the long creases on either side of his mouth? Or was it only that this moment of consciousness was so much the same as that other moment?
They spent the night in Lusk, ninety miles away.
• Carol wanted her with her, and whatever happened they would meet it without running. How was it possible to be afraid and in love, Therese thought. The two things did not go together.
How was it possible to be afraid, when the two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle.
• But there were other days when they drove out into the mountains alone, taking any road they saw. Once they came upon a little town they liked and spent the night there, without pajamas or toothbrushes, without past or future, and the night became another of those islands in time, suspended somewhere in the heart or in the memory, intact and absolute.
• Carol went into the bathroom arid turned on the shower.
Therese came in after her. "I thought I was using this John."
"I'm using it, but I'll let you come in."
"Oh, thanks." Therese took off her robe as Carol did.
"Well?" Carol said.
"Well?" Therese stepped under the shower.
"Of all the nerve." Carol got under it, too, and twisted Therese's arm behind her, but Therese only giggled.
Therese wanted to embrace her, kiss her, but her free arm reached out convulsively and dragged Carol's head
against her, under the stream of water, and there was the horrible sound of a foot slipping.
"Stop it, we'll fall!" Carol shouted. "For Christ's sake, can't two people take a shower in peace?"
• Carol wanted to know everything she had done, how the roads were, and whether she had on the yellow pajamas or the blue ones. "I'll have a hard time getting to sleep tonight without you."
"Yes." Immediately, out of nowhere, Therese felt tears pressing behind her eyes.
"Can't you say anything but yes?"
"I love you.
• "Carol does?" Dutch said, turning to her as he polished a lass.
Then a strange resentment rose in Therese because he had said her name, and she made a resolution not to speak of Carol again at all, not to anyone in the city.
• She wrote to Carol late that night.
The news is wonderful. I celebrated with a single daiquiri at the Warrior. Not that I am conservative, but did you know that one drink has the kick of three when you are alone?... I love this town because it all reminds me of you. I know you don't like it any more than any other town, but that isn't the point. I mean you are here as much as I can bear you to be, not being here...
• In the library, she looked at books with photographs of Europe in
them, marble fountains in Sicily, ruins of Greece in sunlight, and she wondered if she and Carol would really ever go there. There was still so much they had not done. There was the first voyage across the Atlantic. There were simply the mornings, mornings anywhere, when she could lift her head from a pillow and see Carol's face, and know that the day was theirs and that nothing would separate them.
• They were happy weeks—you knew it more than I did. Though all we have known is only a beginning. I meant to try to tell you in this letter that you don't even know the rest and perhaps you never will and are not supposed to—meaning destined to. We never fought, never came back knowing there was nothing else we wanted in heaven or hell but to be together. Did you ever care for me that much, I don't know. But that is all part of it and all we have known is only a beginning. And it has been such a short time.
• You say you love me however I am and when I curse. I say I love you always, the person you are and the person you will become. I would say it in a court if it would mean anything to those people or possibly change anything, because those are not the words I am afraid of.
• And she remembered Carol saying, I like to see you walking. When I see you from a distance, I feel you're walking on the palm of my hand and you're about five inches high. She could hear Carol's soft voice under the babble of the wind, and she grew tense, with bitterness and fear. She walked faster, ran a few steps, as if she could run out of that morass of love and hate and resentment in which her mind suddenly floundered.
• Something Carol had said once came suddenly to her mind: every adult has secrets. Said as casually as Carol said everything, stamped as indelibly in her brain as the address she had written on the sales slip in Frankenberg's. She had an impulse to tell Dannie the rest, about the picture in the library, the picture in
the school. And about the Carol who was not a picture, but a woman with a child and a husband, with freckles on her hands and a habit of cursing, of growing melancholy at unexpected moments, with a bad habit of indulging her will. A woman who had endured much more in New York than she had in South Dakota. She looked at Dannie's eyes, at his chin with the faint cleft. She knew that up to now she had been under a spell that prevented her from seeing anyone in the world but Carol.
• Once that had been impossible, and had been what she wanted most in the world. To live with her and share everything with her, summer and winter, to walk and read together, to travel together. And she remembered the days of resenting Carol, when she had imagined Carol asking her this, and herself answering no.
"Would you?" Carol looked at her.
Therese felt she balanced on a thin edge. The resentment was gone now.
Nothing but the decision remained now, a thin line suspended in the air, with nothing on either side to push her or pull her. But on the one side, Carol, and on the other an empty question mark. On the one side, Carol, and it would be different now, because they were both different. It would be a world as unknown as the world just past had been when she first entered it. Only now, there were no obstacles. Therese thought of Carol's perfume that today meant nothing. A blank to be filled in, Carol would say.
• The lights were not bright, and she did not see her at first, half hidden in the shadow against the far wall, facing her. Nor did Carol see her. A man sat opposite her, Therese did not know who. Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now, because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was still Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell. Therese waited. Then as she was
about to go to her Carol saw her, seemed to stare at her incredulously a moment while Therese watched the slow smile growing, before her arm lifted suddenly, her hand waved a quick, eager greeting that Therese had never seen before. Therese walked toward her.
The End
-----已读完-------
这是一篇迟到了3个多月的观后感。即使那时所能看到的还只是枪版渣画质,《卡罗尔》一样轻松从第一个跟拍的长镜头就击中我。当它描绘了爱,就有爱。接下来的三个月,等着蓝光版的同时一遍遍循环原声,看完了原著小说。
它是会被一直放在心里惦记着的电影,是一小块柔软。就好像一月初的时候有天一个人走在热带午后的阳光下,《Opening》的提琴声又响起,瞬间清凉静默,揪心感堪比《Summer Palace》里的《Solo Por Tu Amor》,都是面对时屏息凝气的河流。听着它,只想要弯腰蹲下。
若说它是部缠绵悱恻的电影,不如说无疑更近乎艺术上的灵感。它伸出温柔的手揪住你的心,用嘴唇碰着耳垂低语,它与你无条件的亲密。
这是一个旁若无人的故事,其他角色都被淡去(即使在原著小说中有着完整的表述),只有两个人的深深凝视。看了几遍,始终觉得存在着一个 什么 ,却没法说出。直到想起村上春树的《斯普特尼克恋人》才明白。
在《卡罗尔》里,作为观众的我一直为“自己“的缺失而稍觉遗憾。这段感情太完美,细节和角色都丰富到不再有可补充的想象空间,甚至容不下观众自然而然的代入感。应该存在一个第三人的视角,亲密又观望这两人的视角,让由眼神和温度组成的密度爱情有梯可攀,成为固体的现实效用。
斯普特尼克,村上君说它在俄语里是 traveling companion 的意思——‘旅伴’。孤独的炽烈的卫星旅伴。同样讲年轻女孩对年长女人的爱恋,暮色中摇曳着及膝白裙走下石阶的敏,与目光如炬优雅魅惑的卡罗尔。苦于写不出作品的写作者堇与不会拍人像的摄影师特芮丝。相同的旅行经历与相似的错失。村上的清爽与托德·海因斯的粘稠,长茎植物与阴雨天气。
《斯普特尼克恋人》中第一人称的“我”,正是这样的存在。对堇怀有深深的爱恋,确认因为她而扩展了所属世界的外沿,被她所信赖,却不对作为男性的“我”怀有兴趣。“我”是堇与敏感情的唯一知情者,甚至比两人还要知晓其中含蕴。(当然也是小说心理描述的主要依托者)。因为有“我”这一完整的形象,《斯普特尼克恋人》得以从另一较为冷静视角叙事,“我”是读者进入作品时的栖身之所,也是所能到达的最近距离。于是那时看完小说我说:“觉得自己偶尔是堇,更多时候是’我’,但从来不是敏。”
也是因为有了《斯普特尼克恋人》文字的准确描写,才可以将《卡罗尔》中的情感成字成句。甚至,这样的对比较电影改编与原著小说的对比更加有趣。因为它不仅仅是情节对照,更多是情绪共鸣。
初次约会吃饭,特芮丝要服务生照着卡罗尔点的餐给自己也上一份。堇也是如此,学敏的样子拿起酒杯小心翼翼啜一口葡萄酒。
卡罗尔对特芮丝说:“What a strange girl you are, flung out of space. ”堇对敏说:“这以前,我一次也没考虑过要成为自己以外的什么人。但现在有时很想成为你那样的人。”
《斯普特尼克恋人》里讲“我”质疑堇对敏的感情:
我开口道:“你在敏身上感觉到的是性欲这点不会有错?” “百分之百没错。”堇说,“一到她面前,耳朵里的骨头就咔咔作响,像用薄贝壳做的风铃。而且有一股想被她紧紧搂抱的欲望,想把一切都交付给她。如果说这不是性欲的话, 我血管里流淌的就是番茄汁。”
以此再看特芮丝的从不拒绝和抿着嘴的坚定神情,便总在幻想她此时耳朵里的声音。
还有一处,原著里写到特芮丝意识到自己的变化。变胖了一些,但是脸庞越来越小,,她感到高兴,为自己越来越成熟。村上的写法是:
“最近的你,一次见面一个样,越来越难认了。”我说。
“正赶上那种时期。”她用吸管吸着果汁,像说与己无关的事。
女王自不必说,每一个细节都性感得让人动弹不得(尤其是对妹子们来说),鲁妮·玛拉的表演也有着文学性的优美。在副驾偷偷打量卡罗尔时眼中的惊喜,对坐要给卡罗尔拍照时边撒娇边不自觉的一跃,卡罗尔走后下车奔向路边呕吐。还有每一个痴迷的眼神。
不得不说到两个人的床戏,看时全部的观感都是感动。唯如此,这段感情才是完整的。村上这样写堇与敏:
敏不知如何回答,正犹豫着,堇已伸出手,握住她的手。手心也有汗感。手暖融融软乎乎的。随后,堇双手拢住敏的背,乳房贴在敏腹部偏上一点儿的位置,脸颊放在敏双乳之间。两人长时间以如此姿势躺着。这工夫,堇的身体开始微微颤抖。敏以为堇要哭,但似乎哭不出。她把手绕到堇肩上,搂近一些。还是孩子,敏心想,又孤单又害怕,渴望别人的温存,像紧紧趴在松树枝上的小猫一样。
堇把身体往上蹭了蹭,鼻尖触在敏脖颈上。两人乳房相碰。敏咽下口腔里的唾液。堇的手在她背部摸来摸去。
“喜欢你。”堇小声细气地说。
“我也喜欢你的。”敏说。此外她不晓得怎么说好,而且这也是实话。
与卡罗尔所说的“My angel, flung out of space. ”功效完全一致。
村上容易写情感的退潮或者说是冷静,每当这时,故事就退居到迫切想同自己的汹涌欲望单独相守的“我”。在对琐事的不厌其烦的细致描写中完成自我建设。即使有时结论仍是“我是多么的需要堇。”这在《卡罗尔》里面被表现得很淡。托德·海因斯的情感退潮,是隔着玻璃、镜头、人群、画外等介质,脱离空间存在感的疏离。此时的特芮丝更像经过了一场高烧后的清醒。
不管是在新的一天起身归拢这颗以孤独为养料运转的行星的残片,还是特芮丝脚步踉跄的穿过人群走向卡罗尔。就算哪里也抵达不了,凝视也可以终身陪伴。
就没人同情她老公么?此男痴汉一个。爱的不比二位女主浅,却成了这场胜却人间无数颜值的恋情的炮灰。我们只是看见了当时的自己而已。
凯特女王的I-wanna-fuck-you eyes 和鲁尼的fuck-me eyes 让这部霸总爱情故事各种赏心悦目,平地升仙。
只因心中有对方,黑夜无需再漫长。总有一天,你会在宇宙洪荒和滚滚红尘中驻足凝眸,转身看见你的天使。她眉眼弯弯,言笑晏晏,似乎看穿了命运和羁绊,只为了这一刹那的相逢。唯有星辰不负夜,愿你遇见,你生命中的温柔。
戛纳主竞赛单元目前最好看的一部。Todd Haynes这种奔着Sirk路子拍的Melodrma都挺棒的,反倒特别反感他的那些摇滚题材。Cate Blanchett太厉害了,感觉只要光听她的声音,直的弯的全世界都会被她收走。PS,补看了一遍,发觉其实上次每个场景都没落下,就是脑子一片苍茫,太他妈可怕了。
面对爱情面对自我时作出勇敢抉择的两个女人,如化骨绵掌般温柔克制而坚定有力,这部电影亦如此。最后那段情感力量喷薄而出,完全没有抵抗力直接飙泪。
不用再加“同性”的限定语,这就是今年最美的爱情电影。托德·海因斯的镜头从头到尾都是两位女性,只是两位女性,其他一切仿佛都不重要了。这是最轻小的格局,也是最汹涌的情欲,光对视就能让人落泪,因为你知道这世界上有两人为了对方,此身愿作万矢的。
直男恋爱教学篇 送相机请附带胶卷好嘛
已经闻到拿奖的气息了
请一定去看这部电影。它满足了我对御姐的所有幻想。我跪着出了电影院。
NYFF现场,有天朝迷妹提问道Cate你知不知道全中国的妹子都为你弯了,全场哄笑。当然啦这个提问meant to be a joke,出乎我意料的是Cate居然依旧认真的回答了下去。她认为,导演以一个局外人的角度完美描绘了一个fall in love的故事才让Carol这个角色给观众带来爱情的感觉。
结尾的时候我窒息了。凯特的表演令我略有失望,可鲁尼·玛拉...凡是深深暗恋过一次的人,都能在她的表演中得到共鸣。克制,复古,充满感情。我被感动和幸福久久地包围。
其实就是个很普通的爱情故事。很美,但美不代表好,凯特角色的缺乏脆弱性让她有些失真,鲁妮玛拉传情传神。演员,氛围,摄影,音乐,美术是加分项,但绝不是决定因素。它们只是定义了影片的基调。
最后那段凝视,鲁妮的眼神和表情变化所展现出来的演技已经完全够资格拿奥斯卡了,更别说在整部电影里的精湛发挥。她的表演润物细无声,完全不着痕迹 。就像高手出招,看似轻巧,但其实招招毙命,没有一拳是打歪的。她真是棒的匪夷所思
讲一个女人向另一个女人学习如何驾驭女性美,女性魅力、穿着品味和言行举止都不是与生俱来的,而卡罗尔开启了一个懵懂少女的这扇门,少女爱上的就像理想中的自己。眼神流转,拍的情绪上张力十足,两人的感情关系里充满着不确定感,前后两人的视角上也有一个微妙的转换,并没有被震撼到。★★★★
比《断背山》差了五个《阿黛尔的生活》,就酱紫
鲁尼玛拉是个被低估的演员,她拥有如此美的样貌,不需要这样好的演技,有这样好的演技,不需要拥有如此美的容颜。
“我离婚了,孩子归对方,在麦迪逊大道有个大房间,你想来住吗”隔五秒“我爱你” #什么妹子把不到
重看依然感动,并发现了更多细节。当结尾,特芮丝终于决定走向卡罗尔的时候,真是美好又激动哇
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Carol是渣攻,这眼神我见识过。一旦爱上这人你就没整没治没救了,这事我经历过。