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In the warm yellow tone of the old album, group photo frames hang all over the walls. The old man smoked his pipe alone in a rocking chair, and the room was filled with lonely air. He opened the small iron door of the cellar and picked up his fishing rod and hung it down to the deep blue water that flooded the city.
The soundtrack of the sea tide, the gulls, the guitar, the flute, and Kenji Kondo blends in this opening chapter with a sad atmosphere.
On an ordinary evening, the old man ate alone and drank alone on the TV, like many lonely evenings. When I woke up in the morning, the water rose over the hut again. The old man took it for granted, adding bricks and tiles to build up his blocks. He had repeated this work more than a dozen times. The building blocks were already so high, but the people who built the blocks with him were long gone.
Carrying belongings, with years of pipe sinking to the bottom. The old man was always smooth, the old man was reluctant to buy a diving suit and go back to the old room to look for it, but inadvertently opened the door of memory.
The moment I picked up my pipe, the past opened like an electric shock.
That moment was like ice and snow melting, like flower buds blooming, like young chicks breaking their shells. Iron doors were opened, old houses were visited floor by floor, boxes of sleeping memories were revisited.
Sinking deeper and deeper into the cold seabed, the flashback greeted him with more and more real warm memories, making him not stop diving, unable to stop.
The old partner who picked up the pipe for him, the old partner who was lying sick in bed, the family portrait with his children and grandchildren, from the first meeting of the son-in-law to the wedding to the long journey of the beloved daughter who had just reached the knee to the birth of the daughter, the picture passed in a flash.
Standing at the bottom of the sea, he thought of his wife, who had built their home brick by brick with him. At the dinner table, they toasted, looked at each other and smiled, once upon a time.
I don't know how many people, as I have feared, will be immersed in memories and willing to bury themselves in the bottom of the sea. But memories also supported him to the surface.
At dinner, he took out the red wine as usual, but placed two glasses on it. In the warm light, he toasted with the reminiscences.
The guitar sounded again, and the film was abrupt.
There is less sadness in the music and more lightness. The life of the old man continues, peaceful and stable.
Whether everyone will be lonely and lonely like the old man in the film when they are left alone in the future, and whether the house that is flooded by the sea is the real memory of our hearts.
The house in the film is covered by the old man layer by layer, his heart is not covered by himself, all the memories are buried in the sea, and he lives in his own castle, supporting his own memory of a lifetime, if it is not because of the loss of the beloved pipe, how can the memory be re-revealed like a movie, so clear, even the remaining relics are so real.
Although many people think that this film is a movie about global warming, but you are wrong, you have to know that the growing sea is like our age, year after year to cover up our memories, let us forget to make us lonely, everyone is so, living in their own castle and their own hearts, people are lonely animals, afraid of loneliness but willing to be lonely.
The film won the 2009 Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film
