Dear Mr. Menzel, I remember that on the afternoon of September 7, brother DY, although not tall enough, his high appreciation of literature and cinema has always made me look up to him. It was this Beijing media person who loved your films, loved Czech literature, and loved your entire Central and Eastern European culture, who suddenly sent me a black-and-white photo in a WeChat private message, writing only one sentence: Another one has gone.
"Closely Monitored Train" czechoslovakia poster. Hrabar original, screenwriter, and director menzel.
"I Once Served the King of England" Chile released poster, Hrabar original, screenwriter, menzel director.
"Golden Memories" Polish release poster, Hrabar original, screenwriter, menzel director.
"My Sweet Home" is written by Zdannek Svilak and directed by Menzel.
Menzel was with the famous Czech writer Hlabar.
Stills from "The Closely Watched Train"
In this picture, two characters sit at a table, feeling like they're about to start or have already finished a work meeting, and they're listening to who's talking outside the frame. The gentleman on the right, whom I know all too well, is your top Czech writer Hlabar. You look at a cigarette swirling in his two hands, and notice his already sagging lips, he is already in a hurry to express, and he is about to open his mouth at any moment. You know, once the right to speak falls to Hrabar, if you come back to a few big beers, time will stop, and you will all laugh and cry. Judging from the face of Lao He in this photo and the color of the remaining hair of the baldness, it is not difficult to judge that it was taken in the early 1970s. However, Lao He's appearance belongs to that type of premature maturity, and I would venture to say that his image is not much different between thirty and sixty, like a walnut, peeling the skin, no matter how long it is stored, it is still the walnut. In my experience, a mature man looks too young and milky, too beautiful, or too handsome, and is generally not easy to make reliable friends, even mild-mannered friends of the opposite sex, as the saying goes, no one is popular. As for me, when I was young, I was considered a "handsome guy", which inevitably lowered my intelligence and hindered my thinking. Fortunately, I portray myself realistically in a novel, I am hunchbacked Garro circled legs, looking positively, I am a letter "O", sideways, I am an Arabic numeral "3", these two characteristics for me almost as if I had been redeemed by God, they gave me confidence and courage, and thus felt the friendship of several close friends and the favor of women of different ages. This is very important that what is good is good and what is not good, and that flaws often lay the foundation for truth, Hrabar once quoted Goethe, and even the sun inevitably has spots. Especially in the face of children, no matter how tall I am, I always have a crooked plant in their eyes, and I am like a jellyfish, and the perspective of a child is easy to accept an adult like me, and tall and firm will never be possessed by me.
Back to the point, Mr. Menzel, when I saw this picture, I immediately thought of only one question: Who is this man on the left? However, I immediately reacted that he could only be you, only you Mr. Menzel. The camera looks down slightly, and you're a bit sideways on this photo, so people look shady and thin, so I can't recognize you at a glance from the photo, but use my brain to deduce you. I immediately replied to brothers DY: Menzel. And, I've added an icon with a surprised expression to the back of your name. DY Reply:
The Master died on September 5.
Time has passed for a while, I am very strange about my WeChat circle of friends, so many writers, critics, artists, filmmakers, media people, the news about your death is announced and forwarded very little. From this, I also understand that seven or eight years ago, when you went to Shanghai to attend the International Film Festival, you did not receive the courtesy of a "big person". How many people know who you menzel is. As a result, I understand more phenomena and content in today's culture. The world is full of hustle and bustle, and all loneliness is worth cherishing, regardless of how this loneliness is expressed. For example, our appreciation of Hrabar, so that we appreciate the domestic writer Wang Xiaobo, the appreciation of the late works of the writer Zhang Xianliang, the appreciation of the novels of the latest translation of your actor, director, and writer Svilak, as well as the appreciation of Shen Congwen and Wang Zengqi, plus a Japanese writer Abe Zhiji. In short, the above list, our popular artistic aesthetic, has always lagged behind, or even remained blind to this day, which is really enough. At best, we are popular with the insignificant concept of fur theory in university education, the cold disassembly and assembly, the repetitive mechanical action like a magic trick. Art is not machinery. Art is also science, but the ultimate pursuit of this science is vagueness, that is, indistinct. Science, "knowing is knowing". Art, "not knowing is not knowing". This is the famous saying of our ancient writers, and I break this passage in half, half to science and half to art. In your film, fragmented "useless" details flash out, and it is from your fragmentation that I am eagerly learning from your fragmentation, from your "nothingness". I always have the illusion that our Lao Tzu and Zhuangzi have been inherited by your Czech literature and art, and that the freedom of the body and the freedom of thought make me very jealous. Moreover, the primary or total value of any work of art lies in whether it is true, sincere, accurate and interesting, and whether it can touch people's hearts. Is there anything else that can be parsed? Truth is the patent of philosophers. But the philosophers of mankind are twinkling, too many, too many, they are crowded, and we must break free from them, back to the flat earth, back to the water, back to the secular fireworks of the people and the human heart.
Dear Mr. Menzel, in the autumn of 2011 from the beginning of October to November, with the enthusiastic recommendation of the Czech sinologist and translator Ms. Li Su, I was given the convenience of traveling to Prague again, writing in an old house of the seventeenth century deep in the alleys near the Charles Bridge on the Vltava River. My deadline was one and a half months to live, but before I could reach the end of my stay, I rushed back to China. I thought I had obtained the true scriptures of a writer, but I became a Laoshan Daoist monk, and when I came back, I ran into a wall and hit my head and bled. Back in Prague, I was involved in a literary project, presumably in SUPPORT OF UNESCO for EU dramatists to "live alone". I'm an Asian and I've never worked in theater, so it's a huge opportunity to get that. This is a postscript. A few years later, I copied this solo writer's experience completely onto a well-known literary project in China, that is, the "October Writers' Residence", and the first project of the residence was established in your city of Prague, which is my selfish tribute to the writer Hrabar that I admire, and it is also my ideal means of transforming the blind arrogance, superiority and detachment of the mainstream writers in China today.
That time, I lived alone in Prague, and Ms. Li Su worked tirelessly to help me communicate, often accompanied me, and volunteered to act as an interpreter. We visited the writer Mr. Klima, the famous Tibetan scholar Mr. Gomass, and met and talked with many Czech writers, publishers, painters and musicians in the taverns of Prague. I wrote about all this in the Czech edition of a Chinese writer you may have seen, "To Hrabar" ("Drink, Hrabar"). Yes, I am Long Dong, the author of "To Hrabar". Boom, boom, boom, No way, the world is never at peace, let's try to be like Mr. Hrabar, slow everything down, let time freeze in a picture frame, and enjoy our loneliness in the hustle and bustle.
Here, I would like to write a note of the Czech Tibetologist Mr. Komas. Maybe I'm far away, Mr. Menzel, don't you mind? Accompanied by Li Su, I went to see Mr. Gomass. We have to be punctual. All our visits arrived early, and then stood on the street or in the nearby park silently handing out cigarettes and whispering, like a pair of men and women with the crime of stepping on the point of the River and ocean thieves. There were also moments when the lady crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, staring blankly at her feet, and the man stared at the treetops overhead, like a couple about to part ways. Finally, we stood downstairs to Mr. Gao on time like a rocket launch. I don't remember exactly, but a window on the second or third floor of the upper floor was open, as if a small wooden door had suddenly opened from the chime of the bell, and a cuckoo that looked like a cangyang Gyatso song in the Southern Luo Domain protruded its furry head "grunt, grunt". Accompanied by Mr. Gomas's welcome speech from the sky, a slender rope slowly hung down, and a key was tied to the end of the rope, and Mr. Gao asked us to open the door ourselves. Walking upstairs, the door was open, and Li Su returned Mr. Gao's door key, so I heard an exaggerated and kind Tibetan Lhasa greeting: "Long Dongla, Tashi Delek!" Then, in front of Li Su, we all gave a brief greeting in the Lhasa dialect, which was not the mother tongue of both sides. Mr. Gao was very excited that day, and we drank no less than three kinds of wine at his house, White Hailovka, Pear Wine, Peach Wine, ah, and whiskey and brandy. Mr. Gao studied Tibetan at the Central Institute for Nationalities in Beijing in the 1950s. He was very talkative, and sometimes seemed to want to compete with me, for example, he provocatively asked me, from Wangfujing, how do you take the bus to the Central People's Yuan? I said I didn't make it very clear. Mr. Gao held his breath as if he had some contempt for the wine glass he was holding in his hand, wished me good health, and then took it up and drank it all. Then he asked me if I believed I could name all the bus stops from Zhongguancun to Weigongcun to Peking University. I said I didn't believe it. Mr. Gao's eyes bulged, his tongue was a little larger, and he said a long list of place names in Haidian District that I was familiar with. I think Mr. Komass's spoken Chinese is far stronger than his spoken Tibetan. That same day, I saw a Czech version of the Tibetan classic translated by Mr. Gao about life and death, but I did not read the familiar Tibetan name on the spot. The corners of Mr. Gao's mouth smiled slightly, which made me particularly embarrassed. After leaving his house, I pushed off a liquor store, ran back to my accommodation in a daze to look through the Tibetan dictionary I was carrying, and then with an "ah-ah" sound, I blushed and was so hot that I almost exploded. At Mr. Gao's house, my biggest gain was to see the Lhasa woodcut "Cangyang Gyatso Hymn" from the late Qing Dynasty, perhaps earlier. The title of this ancient book confirms my understanding and Chinese translation of Cangyang Gyatso's poetry, which is neither a love song nor a religious admonition song, but an expression of personal life experience and emotions in the form of a folk song. Of course, looking at it now, there is no shortage of compilations of folk literature by the poet Saint Lord at that time. Mr. Gomas said that he was preparing to go to Lhasa in 1959, and for some reason he turned back halfway, and that he had received this engraving of an ancient book at an old book stall in Gansu. A Czech version of Cangyang Gyatso's poems, also a translation by Mr. Komass. You see, Mr. Menzel, I remember the above, are some of the places a bit of your movie? Looking back on this now, I can't control my sentimentality, inexplicably weeping, the "Tibet" of Prague is so far away, it seems that I am still immersed in the slight drunkenness of that afternoon. Of course, I occasionally feel the amusing of some details, and even laugh out loud.
Mr. Menzel, I didn't see you in Prague that year. You certainly won't know that I have included visiting you among my two or three most important activities in the Czech Republic. Originally, I didn't think it was a great suspense to meet you, and I was even a little panicked that I was about to meet you, because I hadn't seen two or three of your works at that time, and even if I had seen them, there were no Chinese subtitles. However, I have been conquered by your work, and I am constantly rising from the bottom of my feet in front of your work, or weakness, which is a complete physiological reaction, especially when the music is playing in the background of the clear and sweet and vibrant picture, when the characters in those films are loosely standing in a forest overlooking the distant horizon or walking by a beautiful woman, I am like being hit by a stray bullet. At this time, I held my breath, then let out a breath, my head involuntarily gently rocking from side to side a few times, my eyes completely wet, and then I smiled again. In front of your work, I am always aware of my own existence, and I have always been able to grasp my own pulse. I am an uncompromising bystander, and under the guidance of your lens vocabulary, even the path of unkindness can be repaired, and the world will eventually usher in light. That was the only money I wanted to meet you nine years ago. Of course, when I meet you, I still want to hear from you about your interaction with the writer Hrabar, and hear about your friendship and artistic cooperation. At the time, I had no idea about the old Sverak, the well-known writer who had been a screenwriter and actor all his life, and who had only begun to write novels until he retired. Now that Svilak's novels have all been translated and published in China, I see Sverak's excellent performance in your films, and I see you in Sverak's films written and directed by his son Jan Sverak. But nine years ago, why didn't I meet you? This is a real pity for me. I also regret that I have never met two other writers in this life, one is your Lustig and the other is our Zhang Xianliang.
Zhang Xianliang's last set of essays was planned and edited and published by me. I once drove back to Beijing from Lhasa, Tibet, passing through Yinchuan, Ningxia, where Mr. Zhang had just undergone surgery and was still recovering from hardships and was unable to meet guests. Shortly after I returned to Beijing, he died. Your Lustig, his excellent work "Birch Forest" was first introduced to the Czech Republic in 2008, the Chinese translator is a young lady, we have worked together for more than a year, because the translator's physical and mental condition is not good, and our cooperation process is extremely difficult. Lustig is going to visit China to attend the World Expo in Shanghai. But I was almost expecting him to come, and as a result, he was unable to make the trip because of his old age. So, I stopped waiting for him and ran around Tibet. A few days later, a call from a media friend came to Lhasa, and Mr. Lustig was drinking beer in the Shanghai World Expo Park. Earlier, the Czech Embassy had already informed the translator to relay to me that everything was arranged by the Czech side, and we would all meet with Rustig in Shanghai. But I never got the translator's notice, and I knew that the translator did not attend the meeting in Shanghai for medical reasons. Mr. Lustiger died shortly after returning to the Czech Republic. Lustig's Chinese translator, the young lady who had struggled with the disease for several years, had also decided to leave this world. Mr. Menzel, man, how important it is to be physical and healthy. In your works, what I see and feel is, first of all, the human body, human health and human vitality, no matter how miserable and miserable the world is, your works never lose their brightness, even if it is a faint light, even if the light is thin, faint, and soft. The sunlight reflected by the broken lens in your film is the signal that conveys love, joy and hope through the cracks of the mountains of scrap iron.
Also, you've been to Shanghai, where the film director who interviewed you and talked to you, Peng Xiaolian, is also a writer. She passed away last year and you will see her again soon. My acquaintance with Peng Xiaolian is entirely because we love Hrabar together. She took the initiative to contact me because my work was prominent in the copyright introduction of Hrabar's works and in organizing translations, editing and publication. Xiaolian didn't see her until she died. However, her straightforward personality made me feel that she was an old friend to be trusted. She had bluntly criticized my writing laziness and my forgetting about my crappy historical claims. Xiaolian, she likes you very, very much, and this may be stronger than what you feel in person. From the questions she gave you, I touched her sensitivity to fatherly love and subtly felt her understanding of the role of the family in a person's growth. Obviously, she wants to get some of your empathy from you, the inner comfort she needs. I think that's the highest trust between people.
"Lonely on the Edge of the Forest" set work photos (front row right is Menzel), written by Svilak, directed by Menzel.
Czech playwright, actor and writer Svák
Mr. Menzel, over the years, there have been too many people around me, there are relatives, there are close friends, so many that I can't bear to think of them anymore. Without you, without Hrabar, I wouldn't have imagined myself surviving until now. Now, your old man is gone. But I haven't told you how we missed the last time in Prague.
At that time, you simply declined my visit. The reason is that your wife fell, lost her ankle, and had to stay in bed. And you? Must take good care of your wife and have no time to meet guests. In my imagination, your wife is leaning against the bed, you go out on the street to buy, go home to cook, and help your wife move slowly around the room.
Mr. Menzel, I learned only that because of your death that year, when your wife was in her early thirties. And you're nearly seventy years old. Looking back now, if your wife had been injured and had no mobility, if this scene had been seen by your old partner, Mr. Hrabar, he would have congratulated you and the couple, and he would have dragged you aside and whispered, asking if you had deliberately let your wife lose her foot? Because in this way, the young lady will sit quietly in the house, often tasting the warmth of the affection between the two people with your help. Of course, Hrabar will also say aloud to your lady, Look, our Menzel, he is rejuvenated by your injury! Ah, youth, vibrant years...
I have nothing more to say, Mr. Menzel, and I'm going to watch your Sweet Home again. I'm going to watch Wingless Sparrow again. I think for the next few days I'll be watching "The Train Under Watch," "Memories of The Golden Yellow," "The Edelweiss Festival," "The Capricious Summer, and I've Been Waiting for the King of England," which I've been addicted to.
Our modern poet Ai Qing's vitality is also incomparably strong and indomitable, and he has a poem of "Reef", which I copied to you:
A wave, a wave
Endlessly pounce on it
Every wave is at its feet
Beaten into pieces, scattered...
It's on the face and on the body
Like a knife cut
But it still stands there
Smiling, looking at the ocean...
At this moment, in heaven and on earth, we are smiling together with sorrow, with a sad smile. I seem to see that after your hearse starts, the exhaust emissions are malfunctioning, and the ping-pong ping-pong explosion is a few times, and I resolutely decide to continue to move forward. But before long, one of the hearse's tires rolled up a stone on the road, and the stone was ejected like a stray bullet, over the heads of the people, over the Vltava River, over the Ethno Palace, over the Jewish cemetery, over the Old Town Square, and finally flew to Wenceslas Street, just hitting the shiny bourgeoisie on the huge commercial billboard on the side of the street.
Source: Beijing Evening News
Process Editor: u019
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