go to the movies to see a movie without any expectations, the plan comes by chance. You're quiet, you sit comfortably, and less than three and a half minutes you're trapped by history happens before your eyes. Let's be specific, the onset is much more moving and exciting than we ever have imagined, the master director's obvious, the music is sublime, the actions of the main characters are perfect, or nearly so. We are not yet even half but you have already chosen which will be your favorite scenes, night beach with wind and without stars, the magic of delivery, the defeat of fear, you think in the comments that you will do your friends, the pages you will write about it, and-why not-the see how life once the movie. The joy is so much and so genuine that even timidly dare to applaud in each sequence of shots and dialogue well made, the charisma of the characters you love and you surrender to them. Comes the first time tragedy, the cursed twist of fate, the experience of evil, the collapse of faith. Look at how some people leave the room, the impact is too great for them. You stand waiting, the cliché of "love conquers all" instinctively causes you some discomfort, I never have believed, but know it can be real in this case, however absurd it may seem, and it is. The story unfolds and intertwines with others. The dynamism makes it more interesting, though at times it seems that it also gets more confusing. The minutes pass and the film has its ups and downs, like everything in life, but you keep thinking "oh, what a moment so poignant," or "wow, what a great fight," and "wow, what a kiss so passionate." For you are all victories that make it unique, unrepeatable and unreachable. "It should be life," you say aloud. However, shortly after and without you fully aware of it, the movie becomes boring even though the story expands and touches on topics forbidden thought. The pain, death, oblivion. On the other hand, who are the main characters now? No longer distinguish. True, you still happy with the start but something is collapsing, the main story holds increasingly less. The secondary characters are gaining ground, so much that lead and participate in a cascade of confessions and side pain, improbable promises and empty pledges. The director has overstretched the league, you think like everyone, but there is still tension, knots to solve, questions to answer. Then come meetings and disagreements, confusion, fog, stolen kisses, forced laughter, feigned feelings. The characters-all-flee, escape, escapes, and chaos reigns. Artistic experimentation, they call him black and white scenes, empty planes, framing unnecessary dialogues failed. Then he leaves. They spend long minutes where nothing happens, where nothing is said. The silence of the room is broken only by the sighs that you yourself produce. Inaction, immobility, inability to regain lost axis. He returns. She is there but not quite. One time, two full of renewed tension. And then silence again. The last scene is not as you had imagined. The film ends with the phrase "cynical or indifferent, that resound in your ears for weeks after you have heard: "this is love, the past is worth almost the same as shit but today I prefer the shit that happened to you." There is no end credits, no music, no greater projection. When fiction ends no tears, complaints or grievances, there is no applause, however, the opening minutes, you strive to believe, are worth all the lies and stupidity following. Sales of film. You know I threw up all night the memory of what more you names and sought solace in a nonexistent future. That night, without your knowledge to consciousness, the best of you die.
