日子

#TGC 感觉影片某种程度是《河流》的续集，同样是一部以孤独和性压抑为主题的电影，同样的水和病也都出现在这部影片中，不过不同于《河流》给我的形式大于内容的感觉，本片则是让我忽略了形式和内容而更多的靠感觉…片中基本是没有对白的，固定场镜头下的生活如同阿克曼那部《让娜迪尔曼》般的压抑，整体的视听效果极佳，我理解电影仍然与社会对于性少数的包容相关。

但这部作品中感觉早期的那种“嫉妒”已经消失了，变成了比较直接的自我感受和经历。

视觉上，大量的固定机位长镜头非常强烈的呈现出角色的那种孤寂感，尤其是很多时候还伴随着俯拍和前景遮挡，让本就细琐的生活变得更加压抑，片中的第一个镜头依然是与水有关，由上半部分反射出的晃动的树影和落下的雨水构成了一副非常美丽的画作。

非常喜欢固定镜头角色走到后景的几场戏，以近景的角色占比极高到后景的角色消失呈现孤独感非常强，出现在出酒店那场戏和男配结尾消失那场戏中，非常喜欢那个拥抱，像是两个孤独的灵魂的慰藉。

听觉上，由于没有台词所以音效显得格外重要，大量的现场收音效果极佳，最喜欢的其实都并不是二人坐在床沿时音乐盒想起的音乐，而是他们各自孤独的在自己的世界中时，男主的脸上满是痛苦，他送的音乐盒却在另一个嘈杂的世界中响起来慰藉另一颗孤独的心。

QA，信息量非常巨大，李康生老师基本参与了所有蔡明亮导演的作品，这似乎算是从另一个视角来呈现蔡导的创作过程，所以也尤为宝贵，李康生老师提及了他们合作的第一部作品，蔡导对于他动作和台词缓慢的不满，但同时他也说后期的作品应该也很大程度受此影响，还提及了本片的创作背景不光跟蔡导的经历有关，还跟他当时生病有关，同时也揭开了音乐盒背后的故事（当然是从他听说而来）。

感谢小伙伴帮忙拍照

感谢李康生先生签名

4月6日 有網民在豆瓣網上求看我尚未發行的《日子》一位網名喵喵的人 隨即奉上影片下載的連結 內容正是《日子》被流出的樣帶 屬商業機密的私人財產 為何會在喵喵的手上 他又為何有權利進行輸送活動 我們已把他當時在網上的行為截圖存證了 像喵喵這種行為的人為數不少 我們能查到的都一一存檔 以備法律之需以時間來算 喵喵不是此樣片流出的元兇 但顯然他是第一個把《日子》非法傳播到豆瓣網的人 影片被盜如同被謀殺《日子》被謀殺了 喵喵就是繼兇手之後再補上一刀的其中一人 這些助紂為虐者 血淋淋的雙手和滿足的微笑 捧著別人的血汗生命 大肆招攬冷漠嗜血的群眾來看熱鬧 這樣的猴戲在世界的某處天天上演 我想知道喵喵是誰 是男是女 長得漂亮 四肢健全 受過高等教育 以上全問號喵喵 你觸法了 知道嗎 當你輕輕按下《日子》樣片輸送的按鍵 還是你並不覺得 你以為這樣是可以的 你的世界沒有法律 也沒有是非嗎我想知道喵喵是誰 是怎樣的人 他跟我有什麽不同 他三頭六臂嗎喵喵 你的人生有掉過東西嗎 或者被扒被偷 有過被侵佔過的經驗嗎 或被糟蹋的感受 在街上撿到一個錢包 你會交給警局嗎 或者你會想那丟錢的人也許有急用 你就在原地傻傻地等他 或者你就走掉了喵喵 請盡速跟我聯系蔡明亮 2020.4.11

如题，全剧终（以下都是凑字：镜头一：老0坐着看雨10分钟；镜头二：按摩鸡蹲那洗菜10分钟；镜头三：按摩鸡做饭烧开水10分钟；镜头四：老0后背熏艾灸10分钟；镜头五：按摩鸡给老0按摩背面10分钟；镜头六：按摩鸡给老0按摩正面10分钟；镜头七：按摩鸡坐公交车站牌下10分钟；没了，够140字了吧）

原文地址：https://mubi.com/notebook/posts/trapped-bodies-tsai-ming-liang-discusses-days标题：Trapped Bodies: Tsai Ming-Liang Discusses "Days"副标题：Tsai Ming-liang and his two stars, Lee Kang-sheng and Anong Houngheuangsy, talk sickness, recovery, moviemaking, and their new film, "Days."作者：Daniel Kasman•28 FEB 2020正文One of the strongest qualities of this year’s Berlin International Film Festival is just how many small scale movies have been granted a much-deserved premiere on the biggest of screens and reddest of carpets here, in the main competition. The most personal of all these, as well as the most touching, is Days, the new film by the Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang. Stripped down even further than 2015’s stoic Stray Dogs, it iterates on both Afternoon (2015), a documentary made of a conversation between a loquacious Tsai and the taciturn star of his movies, Lee Kang-sheng, and Your Face (2018), a feature-length gallery work made up only of intensely observed close-ups, many of elderly Taiwanese. Days takes the lessons of documentary impulse, evocative spareness, extreme patience, and extended duration from those films, as well as their focus on the aging, to create a new picture of wide expanse in terms of geography and compassion, but whose story is intensely intimate, discrete, and personal.Lee returns, of course: an ageless beauty now at 50. But even if the actor is as handsome as ever, his body and movements tell another tale. Lee contracted some extreme illness over the last several years, and Days was born out of the idea of filming his living and recuperation. In it, we see the existence of two men, both unnamed: that of Lee, who descends from a mountaintop refuge (in reality, his and Tsai’s home) to find muscular therapy in various cities (Taipei, Hong Kong, and Bangkok); and that of a young man half Lee’s age (Anong Houngheuangsy), living in Bangkok. Both men live alone, the one self-isolated, attending to his recovery, and the other, suffering the big city solitude of a transplant and outsider, Anong being a Laotian working in Thailand.Opening with a entrancing long shot of Lee seated in his white-walled retreat in the clouds and amongst the trees, gazing outside at a world we only see in the reflection of the window, the majority of Days is made of quiet master shots observing these men’s routines: Lee bathing, stretching, visiting a doctor; Anong praying and preparing and cooking a beautiful fish and vegetable soup; both walking around their cities, alone, and Anong possibly cruising, or at least mournfully looking for any kind of companion. The connection, call it metaphysical, between the two strands the film pleats together could by myriad: Different versions of the same person split across time or countries, lovers bound to meet, or, most intriguing, a poetic suggestion of a father and son—or one that could have been. Tsai’s camera highlights not just the texture and space of each man’s introspective isolation, but their beautiful human bodies too, bodies in space, sensual bodies covered and revealed. In a deeply affective sequence, we watch Lee receive what looks like a precarious and painful muscular therapy involving electronic stimulation and burning embers. Here Tsai deviates from his one-scene, one-shot approach with multiple cuts and angle changes, underscoring the documentary aspect that blends the life of his actor with the composition of the film. After Lee leaves the doctor’s, the film again surprisingly shifts style, opting for aggressive handheld closeups of Lee, his neck held in a brace and that brace held tentative by his hands, as he navigates the crowded sidewalk. The scene combines the stylistic departures of two of Tsai’s most radically different films, Your Face and the handheld short Madame Bovary (2009), and this disjuncture makes Lee’s real discomfort even more palpable: the outside world is just distracting noise against the intense focus his pain consumes.It would be a spoiler, but a necessary one, to say that eventually these two men, older and younger, ill and healthy, Taiwanese and Laotian, meet. They meet at the point of an economic transaction, and thus one between two classes, as well as one that is recuperative: a massage for Lee by Anong in a hotel room. In two very extended long shots, we watch nearly the whole massage, an immersion of time and sensuality of extraordinary intimacy due not just to the profound emphasis on Lee’s oiled and rubbed torso and the prolonged touching of another, but in the effect the therapy has on Lee, whose body grunts and groans under the pressure, the pain, and the pleasure. A transaction turns into therapy, into eroticism, and perhaps more: we sense (and indeed long for) a greater connection, a human one, one of souls, that meet in this communion of flesh. At its end, the two linger together and Lee gifts the young man a music box that plays Chaplin’s theme for Limelight: a romantic gesture, but also one suggesting Chaplin’s status at that film’s time of an old man well-past his prime, of a political troublemaker, and of an exile. Lee hands it to Anong, soul to soul, generation to generation: it has the feeling at once of a memento, a curse, and a blessing.At the world premiere of their new film, director Tsai Ming-liang and his stars Lee Kang-sheng and Anong Houngheuangsy discusses the origins of the film, its documentary elements, Lee's recent illness, and cinema's love of faces and bodies.采访：NOTEBOOK: If I could start with Mr. Tsai, you’ve said somewhat recently that you wanted to first move away from films with scripts, and then move away from films with concepts. I’m wondering what is this film without a concept?TSAI MING-LIANG: That’s the film you saw! [laughs] A script is a tool. Actually, I already had a script when I was shooting the film and sometimes, if we have a script it was actually for the team, because they need to know what was going on. But for this film, Days, I didn’t need a script at all because we don’t really have a so-called “team” for shooting the film: I just had a cinematographer with me, and I don’t need a script for the outline and the plot, and so I didn’t need to explain to him what the film was about.NOTEBOOK: This film seems built from routine, how people spend their days, how people spend their life. How do you start making a film like this? TSAI: We should divide the shooting of this film into two parts. We should go back to the year 2014, because we came to Europe, we had a theatre performance, and I always had a cinematographer with us, who always recorded our daily routines during our trip. And Kang-sheng actually fell sick. He started to get sick and every day I would have to take him to see a doctor. Or, after treatment, we would have to take a walk in the park. And then, after the whole tour, I saw these images after a while and I realized that I really loved those images. Because Kang-sheng was sick and when he was ill, it was not a performance, it was actually very realistic—and these images really touched me. So, I told myself that I should film this. That’s why I talked to the photographer and that’s why we started shooting, when he was sick. So—this is still the first part—Lee Kang-sheng actually wanted to see a doctor in Hong Kong. We went there as a team: just the cinematographer, me, Lee Kang-sheng and of course my producer, Claude Wang. We had no idea we were shooting something, we had no idea what the treatment was about—and that’s the thing you saw—but we just had a vague image. We decided to film Lee Kang-sheng walking from the hotel to the clinic where the doctor is. We weren’t really sure why we were shooting those images…The second part of the shooting was that I met Anong, the actor, in Thailand. We were actually video-chatting friends. I met him, I got his telephone number, and we started chatting online, through videos. He’s a foreign worker from Laos, working in Thailand. And this kind of identity—he’s actually a foreign worker—this kind of identity is something that really interested me. We started doing a lot of video-chatting and I realized that he was really good at cooking. And when he was cooking and his daily routine… something was there, and that would touch me. This second part, at the beginning, had nothing to do with the first part. One day, three years later, I started talking to my cinematographer about all the images that we grabbed. I just started to be very interested. We started to talk about having a connection between these two parts—and made a film. The editing process was really long, we had a lot of footage. For example, those images we grabbed when we were doing our theatre tour in Europe in 2014, a lot of them were actually in the film but in the long process of editing, they were eventually gone. This is the final result; the final cut of the film that you saw was actually the result of the long process of the work and labor. NOTEBOOK: Mr. Lee, I wonder if because this film is dealing so much with your recovery and your recuperation, if you see it crossing the line into almost a documentary about you, less than a fiction film? LEE KANG-SHENG: Those images that you saw, when I was sick: actually I was really sick. For me, that was actually documentary. At the beginning I was not willing to be an object of filming because at first, I was really sick, and I wouldn’t look good when I was sick. And of course, I’m a star and you don’t want to look bad on film when you’re a star. Because when you are sick you look sick, and that is very awkward. At the beginning of the film I was actually resisting this, but the director sort of helped... or coerced [laughs]... or started pushing me into this, and sometimes I was acting to try and look less sick for the camera.NOTEBOOK: Anong, Kang-sheng has worked with Tsai Ming-liang for many years now, and knows his kind of films and kind of filmmaking. I’m curious to know from you, as someone new to making this kind of cinema and working with Mr. Tsai, what your experience was like?ANONG HOUNGHEUANGSY: We met in Thailand when I was working making noodles and we exchanged contacts and we had been talking for two years. We would video and Skype and things. We developed this friendship-relationship kind of thing, so in the beginning it was almost like working with friends. I realized that it was a part of the movie when he asked me to make a cooking video, and, I thought, oh my gosh there’s a video camera coming, and I realized that this is some sort of movie production. It was very friendship-style. It took me a while to get into [the massage scene], because we also barely knew each other before. Kang-sheng was helping a lot to facilitate what it feels like to act, and although we could barely speak perfect English, somehow we could communicate with each other. It turned out to be very effortless. NOTEBOOK: Mr. Tsai, for the whole film you keep these two men apart, but the film climaxes, so to speak, with them sharing a moment of intense connection. How do you create an intimacy for the two actors who are not together for an entire movie and are only together for one moment? TSAI: First of all, Lee Kang-sheng is actually my actor: he’s been working with me, we have a really close relationship, and he will actually do anything that I ask him to do [laughs]. And when it comes to Anong, he actually had no idea what I was doing. He had no idea that Lee Kang-sheng was an actor, he had no idea that Tsai Ming-liang was a director. When we were shooting those images, those videos of him cooking, he realized that maybe we were shooting something. Maybe for TV, maybe for films. But he just knew that he had to be natural, because I wanted him to do a naturalistic performance. Or not a performance at all: just be natural. We didn’t really have a lot of communication. But somehow in the process we established some sort of trust, because I was always thinking, it was always cooking in my head, should these two people meet? Maybe they should meet, maybe they shouldn’t meet. I was thinking about this back and forth. Because we had to make this documentary, those documentary images connect somehow into a feature film, or some sort of a drama. But I didn’t want it to be a real drama, I wanted it to be something very close to reality. When we were shooting those intimate moments in the room, there were not so many people. We had a cinematographer and a person who was in charge of lighting, and then the two actors. And we just did everything in a very slow way. We slowly adjusted the light and atmosphere and everything. And somehow it just worked.There’s a certain prop I want to talk about from the film: the music box. Because actually the music box was a gift from my producer, Claude Wang. He visited the Eye Filmmuseum in the Netherlands, and he knew that I really liked Charlie Chaplin. It’s the music from Limelight by Chaplin. Eventually, I actually gave this music box to Anong as a gift. And so when we were shooting in this room, suddenly it hit me: woah, okay, actually Anong has that music box. I asked him to bring the box with him, so actually it was a spontaneous idea. For me, this is something very close to reality.NOTEBOOK: Your previous film, Your Face, concentrated so much on just faces that when this film started and we saw Lee Kang-sheng gazing out of a window, I thought Days was going to be this shot for two hours—and I was happy! [laughter] Did your intense study of faces change the way you wanted to make this film? TSAI: Actually, this is my feedback to films! Why are films so fascinating? For me, it’s because of faces. Film is a medium, but faces actually are the topics and themes of films. These faces in the films were the chosen ones. It’s not just random faces: they were the chosen ones.But it’s not just faces that I focus on, it’s the bodies and the figures of the actors. Days is actually about the two bodies of the two actors. Because Lee Kang-sheng is 50 years old and Anong is 20 years old—actually, you can see that Days could be something that continues what we didn’t finish in The River, in 1997, which was in Berlinale as well. Because back then, Lee Kang-sheng was only 20 years old. So now, with his sick body, his aged body, he had to meet this other body who is 20 years old, but is yet another trapped body as well. So for me this film is actually about the two figures and two bodies of these actors.NOTEBOOK: So much of this film is about recovery—recovering the body, recovering the soul, getting healthier—in different ways: doctors, massage, a human connection. For you, is making a movie also an act of recovery, of therapy? Does making movies make you feel better? TSAI: What I cannot really deal with is not soul—because soul is something I can deal with—but the body, which is actually something I cannot deal with. We cannot avoid getting sick and getting old and feeling pain. We used to possess beauty, now we cannot avoid decay. We cannot control our body, and we all need to be calmed. A lot of times we need another body to calm our bodies down. Of course, you see the whole film is the therapeutic process for Lee Kang-sheng, the [climatic] massage was not just the massage for his body, it was also the massage for his soul. And when Lee Kang-sheng got sick, it was actually a lot worse than what you saw in the film’s images. He was so sick that he couldn’t have acted, as an actor, his sickness. When he was so sick, my soul was suffering as well. We were both working for the film, so through the film, indeed, this could be a therapeutic process.

原文出自：《电影手册》792期-2022年11月刊原文标题：Le plaisir et les jours原文作者：Hugues Perrot译文首发：公众号“远洋孤岛”

译文如下：在电影史上有很多演员/导演的组合，但只有一个将演员/导演的模式推到了极致，那就是《日子》所勾勒出的：蔡明亮和李康生。

李康生出演了蔡明亮的所有电影，从他的电视作品（例如1989年的《海角天涯》和1991年的《小孩》）一直到最新的电影。

这种组合之所以独特，是因为无论其广度还是深度在其他任何地方都不曾看到。

因为在蔡明亮每部电影中，李康生不仅是蔡明亮的另一个自我，还是让他能拍摄自己青春与衰老的虚构身体；这个身体在他眼前逐渐老去，让他意识到自己的年龄并接受它。

蔡明亮在李康生眼中寻找的是对时间的放逐和可能的克服。

两年前在柏林主竞赛上首映，并且同年9月在Arte上播出，现在《日子》终于上映，它只讲了一件事：一个身体被时间的长河所笼罩，那是导演对演员的凝视，一个人深入另一个人的内心，来寻找对抗时间流逝的良药。

电影开头，康（即李康生）站在玻璃窗另一侧望着窗外被雨水打湿的景象。

从一开始，他就被置于世界之外的一片寂静之中，沦为一个忧郁的观察者，在蔡明亮每部电影中都是如此。

而他对世界的凝视与导演对他的凝视交织在一起：透过看着你观察世界，试图从你脸上捕捉期望和失望，我能看得更清楚吗？

《日子》的剧情是一个沉默和痛苦的身体走向一个充满音乐和生机的身体。

影片跟随了康的一天，从他的针灸治疗到他漫长的午觉，以及一个稍后揭示是按摩师的年轻人Non，他也过着平淡无奇的日常生活。

《日子》将电影引向这两个孤立源头相聚的过程，当它们相互交汇时，就如同两条小溪汇聚成一条大河。

这是电影接近尾声的一个按摩场景，将作为这一汇聚的交点。

在美丽而催眠的停滞中，我们看到年轻按摩师热情地为李康生的身体涂抹药膏。

场景很长且是固定镜头，空旷的酒店房发出咝咝声与油涂抹在皮肤上的声音，在画面中心散发出奇怪的紧张感。

按摩师起初是专业的手势，但慢慢地变成了快感的手势，就像扔到床边那条简单的内裤所暗示的那样。

按摩师最终让康达到了高潮【masturber Kang】，康脸上表现出愉悦与痛苦交织的表情。

一会后，两个人坐在床边，肩并肩听着康送给按摩师的音乐盒中传出的小调。

这一场景不仅代表着蔡明亮电影中特有的隐晦情欲主题，更是凝结了《日子》和导演所有电影的核心：重新聚合那些曾分离之物。

最后，我们明白这次拥抱只是短暂的，不会有任何具体结果，两个男人再次分开继续各自的生活。

然而，电影结束后留下的感觉却是身体的愈合，通过超越痛苦和孤独来同自己重聚。

它告诉我们，即使是生命中最短暂的瞬间也足以填满我们的内心。

这是一部关于“同性恋”题材的电影，这种类型的片子经典的不在少数《春光乍泄》、《蓝宇》、《断背山》等等都是津津乐道的佳作，但是这一部应该会是一部在业内会引起争议的影片，并不是不好而是个人态度过分大于对于商业的考量，但肯定也会有一部分观者能从这部看似有些拖沓且平淡的剧情里感受到那份暗涌的热情，那份似火且奔放的情感。

其实“蔡明亮”导演一直以来就是一位个人主义及个人色彩绝对浓烈的导演，就好像上帝在创造他的时候标注“文艺”的那瓶配料因为一个尿颤而多放了好多，以至于生成的产物在自我认知的文艺氛围里“横行霸道”，以至于输出的作品特色是那么“蛮不讲理”，当然这两个打引号的成语并不是本身的意思，只要你看过他的作品就知道其中的含义，每一个画面的拍摄不管是构图还是时长都是“自我感觉良好”的安排，每段镜头即使就一种状态也必须呈现到“自以为是”的那么久才能够完全表达内心的态度，并且有一个声音一直贯穿始终“你要是能看懂，你肯定觉得我牛；你要是因为看不懂而骂我，那肯定是你傻，啥都不是！

”虽然这样不顾及市场的创作态度略显自私，但是电影这个光影艺术的世界里还真的很需要这样的人物，或许那是不被理解的才华，或许那是一致公认的疯魔，但不管怎么评价，他做了，而且做得东西通过时间的锤炼确实是一种贡献，你可以选择不喜欢，但是你绝对没有权利去毁灭。

就像这部电影的片名与情节，“日子”就是如此寡淡到乏味的平凡，激情这种东西永远是难以取舍的点缀，不过就算无为一生处之无过得之无果，所有的遭遇也是值得怀念的经历，所有的一切都是值得推敲且专属于个人的宝藏，无一例外！

当然，那些将酸甜苦辣揉碎后调制出的痛也是每个人必须品尝且久食的因果，无一幸免！

QJ

卓別林逝世43年了《日子》使用了他在《舞台春秋》寫的音樂 叫「永恆」我們找到卓別林在美國的著作代理 只是從一支音樂盒流瀉出來的旋律 他們開了高價 不給殺 幸好台灣公共電視投入部份資金 讓我買到版權 我愛卓別林 更愛這音樂 抱定了主意 再貴 也要取得版權《日子》拍了4年 有一點錢 找機會就拍 一點一點拍 跟我永遠不超過5人的團隊 拍到一個程度 剪接起來覺得有點意思 向外求一些支持 再拍 再剪 後期的製作花了更多的心力 追求成一個作品我的電影走到現在 已不再是商品的生產 沒有巿場調查 沒有預定檔期 也沒估量可以賣多少版權 賺多少錢 只想作品面巿之後 能按照自己的想法 被好好看待 喵喵 當我看到《日子》樣帶被你連結傳播 你可以想像我的心有多痛嗎 就像看見了自己被殺掉的孩子 屍首繼續被千刀萬剮 眾人還異口同聲替你辯護 喵喵只是個普通人 其實喵喵不只一位 喵喵只是熱情影迷的分享 蔡導你太小器 沒有喵喵們 沒有我們這群觀眾 你的電影根本什麼都不是你們普通人隨隨便便都幹得出這犯法的勾當 告訴我 誰不無法無天 至於蔡明亮是什麽 不是什麽 不甘你事 但 別劫我盜我 蔡導小器 因為被劫的不是你 再說一遍 被劫的不是你 被殺的 被糟蹋的不是你的小孩喵喵 為時不多 快點聯系我的微博或王製片 望你自重 蔡明亮 2020.4.12

身后的越南小哥用越南语叫住了尹森，他刚买烟的时候，忘记拿零钱了。

这儿的雨季慢慢开始了，这种潮湿发霉的气候会时常让他想起老家干燥的时候，多么鲜明的对比。

街对面，有一家新开的五星级酒店，尹森刚来这里的时候，这里还是一片郊区的荒地，然而现在已然成了中国新中产的🍃度假胜地。

一个看上去四十岁左右的中年男人在酒店大堂办理完入住手续，行李安放好之后，他正准备出去和老婆女儿吃点东西。

他给了luggage boy一点点小费，之后，便打算去门口抽支烟，在打火机被打着的一瞬间，他似乎看到了一个似曾相识的人的身影。

此时此刻，尹森正靠在距离五星级酒店一百米处的公园栏杆抽着万宝龙720号薄荷味香烟。

男人不断向叶准这的方向看来，直觉告诉他，没错，这就是尹森，想不到吧，命运很会跟人开玩笑，缘分这种东西，躲也躲不过。

这条街上的人大多是从越南乡下来打工的，皮肤黝黑有着中国清朝末年黄包车师傅身上那种朴实的色彩。

尹森白皙的皮肤在这群人中间很难不被注意到。

况且，他又是那么骚。

男人一直尾随着尹森穿过这座城市的大街小巷，一个又一个街角，中间男人的妻子打过一次电话叫他过去吃饭，都被男人以身体不适在房间休息为由拒绝了。

他们穿过街角的方式让他想起许多年以前两个人在北京的老胡同里面，穿过熙熙攘攘的人群。

多年以后，他依旧无法忘记，在昌平的海友旅馆里，叶准问他，“你能干多久”。

他回答：很久。

“很久，是多久”。

此时两个人都微醺，相依着对方躺下。

那雪白的床单上泛着肉色的欲望，以及对于青春无悔的向往。

从那时起，到现在，差不多应该有十年了吧。

他回忆着过去的那些时光，走到了现在。

尹森在上楼前回头，不小心与他的目光交织，他看着尹森，尹森头也不回的上了楼。

显然尹森并没有认出他。

其实， 他应该有五十岁了，只是看上去年轻一些。

回到酒店之后，他以出去散步为由搪塞给妻子，妻子也没有再过问。

这一夜，他似乎辗转反侧，彻夜难眠，那些属于记忆里的往事仿佛一瞬间就被打开了。

夜里，他起身上厕所，女儿主宰者外屋的房间，他抚摸了一下女儿的额头，又回到妻子身边，月光皎洁，但愿此夜给他一个好梦吧。

粉红色的光照进这充满了中世纪阴郁气质的房间。

越南的雨季似乎也为这忧郁的房间增加了一丝别样的美感。

床上躺着的，是尹森现在的伴侣。

看着旁边熟睡的“臭猪”，他想起来一件事情，大概是在昨天晚上，他似乎看到了一个老朋友的身影。

想到这里，他起身做早餐，然后让自己的爱人继续睡著。

他想了一下自己和那位老朋友重逢时候的台词，大概是：这些年，你过得好么。

或许，你过得不好么。

然后，这都不重要。

说这话的人和当时听这话的人都已经变了，变了岁月里，最真挚的那种东西。

因为生活还要继续，日子总的来说还是需要过下去的。

电影里面蓝宇的死让另外一位男主人公舍弃了自己虚假的内心，而现实是，谁离开谁照样可以活的下去。

最近，马来西亚著名导演蔡明亮发文讨伐将自己最新作品《日子》的盗版资源公然放到网上的做法。

这部在今年柏林电影节上获得泰迪熊奖的作品讲述两位分别来自台湾和越南的边缘人物的故事，全程无对白，对于演员和观众都是一种考验。

越来越狭窄的独立创作空间，盗版，市场的局限性，对于像胡波（《大象席地而坐》）这样的独立影像创作者来说无疑是毁灭性的打击。

好在，我们有蔡导演这样的人勇于站出来。

对于蔡明亮，内地观众看过最多的应是他在第五十届金马奖上的表现，电影《郊游》同时获得最佳男主角和最佳导演奖，2019年的北京影展，我有幸见到蔡明亮导演和李康生先生本人，两位在九十年代早已蜚声欧洲影坛的电影人对于普通观众提出来的问题所表现出来的谦逊和耐心让许多影迷深受感动。

喵喵看來是不露臉了 像鴕鳥那樣把頭埋在沙裡 然後 有一群人圍向我 叫我別找喵喵麻煩了 他不過就是普通人 跟我們這的所有人都一樣 如果有犯錯 也不過是普通的錯 不痛不癢的 更有人說 我們都是喵喵 你抓吧 好像在演電影一樣 人們保護了好人喵喵 逃過了壞人蔡明亮的魔爪如果今天又有一個叫汪汪的 在豆瓣或百度 對我幹了同喵喵一樣的事 也就是公開輸送我尚未發行的電影樣帶 不巧也讓我逮個正著 我要求汪汪露個臉 起碼跟我道個歉什麽的 又一群人圍著我 別找汪汪 他也都跟我們一樣 不過就是普通人 不然 我們都是汪汪有人警告我 別點名喵喵 如果有汪汪的話 也別點 傳一條私訊 要求對方刪除連結就算了 否則你會得罪很多人 你的影迷也都會跑掉 我說不 任何一條非法的連結 又衍生出多少連結 永遠都清不完了 一部還沒發行的電影 有著樣片的印記 就這樣在網路上被賤踏了 我不止要找出元兇 也要找出輸送者 他們一個個也都是幫兇 起碼要讓他們知道 他們造成別人多大的損失 犯了罪 就該負法律的責任不解的是 我追兇擒賊 為何會得罪一群人呢 總算讓我搞懂了 原來 喵喵不止是一個人 而是很多很多 都叫喵喵睡前 同事傳了黑梦骑士在豆瓣的留言給我 我難得認真仔細看了兩遍 讀到了哀傷與誠懇 我想回應這位朋友《日子》此刻所受的遭遇真的令我傷心 打擊很大 幾乎令我失望透了 很不想再拍了 如果你真喜歡我的作品 你對我還有尊重 勿看盜版請耐心等待 有那麽一天 在某個戲院看《日子》那才是真的看了 記住 是我的影迷 就別讓人瞧不起 謝謝你要我原諒你 我原諒了 蔡明亮 2020.4.14

译文首发于《幕味儿》作者：Jonathan Romney （Jonathan Romney是《电影评论》的特约编辑，每周电影栏目的作者，他是伦敦影评人协会会员）翻译：黑白原文链接：https://www.filmcomment.com/blog/film-of-the-week-days/李康生的面孔和身体构成了电影中最伟大的时刻之一。

所有长期从事演艺事业的演员都有自己的特点和体格，随着时间的推移，一些人变化得比他者更甚，一些人却尽他们最大的努力——有时是悲剧性地，有时是荒唐地——去抵制变化。

但是自从李康生1989年第一次出演蔡明亮的作品《海角天涯》以来，他的身体就一直被描绘，实质上，这已经成为了蔡明亮电影的主旨，他说，如果没有李康生出现在银幕上，他将很难制作电影。

对于蔡明亮电影的影迷来说，从早期的电影像《青少年哪吒》（1992）中的青涩幼稚，到2013年的《郊游》中疲惫、饱经风霜的人，观看时光在李康生作品上留下的痕迹是一种非凡的经历，就像时间、辛劳、欲望、倾泻的暴雨和坏掉的水管所造成的磨损，在李康生本人身上留下了不可磨灭的痕迹，这使得蔡明亮对于他的电影研究异常重要。

李康生在《郊游》中经历了极其艰苦恶劣的雨天，在包括2015年的《无无眠》在内的一系列“慢走长征电影”中被要求遵循严格的禅宗戒律。

在本周柏林电影节上映的新电影《日子》中，蔡明亮似乎给了李康生一些可喜的喘息机会。

蔡明亮的电影总是让人忍不住说，他把极简主义推向了新的极限。

但这并不完全正确，因为《行者》（李康生在其中扮演和尚）是那方面最好的表现，除非你算上2015年的《那日下午》，蔡明亮和李康生坐在一个房间里，导演在说话，他的缪斯无声地倾听（或者可能根本没有听）。

但是在蔡明亮的叙事风格中，《日子》无疑是最罕见的——如果严格的说这算是一种叙事的话。

这实际上是一系列镜头，组成了一个包括两个男人的简短的片段，他们最终在缓慢的、无声的邂逅中走到了一起。

如果愿意的话，一些小细节可以帮我们推断出一个叙事框架：某个时刻我们意识到，李康生扮演的角色从乡下的家来到了城市（显然是曼谷）里，旅馆房间中行李箱的大小意味着他会长期逗留。

除此之外，我们不需要太多的思考。

就像片头字幕提醒我们的那样，除了一些几乎听不清的喃喃细语（包括用英文说的“谢谢”）外，影片中没有对话，也没有字幕。

蔡明亮的影迷们可能会担心他不会再拍我们习惯想的那样的蔡明亮式的电影了。

最近的作品《光》、《你的脸》和《秋日》使他对于建筑和除了李康生之外的人的身体存在着迷，但没有他最好的作品的那种纯粹的令人沉思的魔力，而VR实验电影《家在兰若寺》，由李康生，一个鬼魂和一条鱼主演，令人着迷，然而它对3D空间的笨拙模拟感觉像是对于神秘画面的一个干扰。

然而，《日子》中并没有任何干扰因素。

电影的开场很长（我估计有7分钟，但也可能是10分钟），完全是李康生坐在扶手椅上，透过窗户凝视大雨的静止镜头。

随着拍摄的进行，光线逐渐变暗，李康生凝视着前方，似乎很少眨眼。

除了李康生、他周围的光以及优雅的构图（外面阳台的反射形成了一条通过李康生的头部横穿银幕的光线）之外，画面中几乎没有什么可看的。

在另一个较短的镜头中，李康生同样一动不动，这次他躺在浴缸里，向上凝视。

在一幅壮丽的风景之后——蓝天下的参天大树，云彩密布的乡村峡谷——我们看到了城市中的一个房间和一个穿粉色拳击手短裤的年轻人（他被称作Non，由Anong Houngheuangsy饰演）。

Non花了几个场景为自己准备鱼和沙拉：准备烧煤做饭，清洗食材，切黄瓜。

电影的这一部分像是蔡明亮对香特尔·阿克曼（Chantal Akerman）的《让娜·迪尔曼》（Jeanne Dielman）中长时间削土豆的致敬，这是一天的烹饪工作的单独写照，在这里被营造成禅宗的缓慢意味，但总是被Chang Jhong Yuan精心设计（Non的厨房从两个角度被拍摄，一个非常低，使他赤裸的身体更具动感的色情）。

与李康生所扮演的角色（电影中叫做康）所居住的空白的、几乎毫无特色的现代住所相比，我们深入地了解了Non的居住环境的破旧的细节：用木板拼接成的门，上面有一些颜色鲜艳的产品标志碎片；粉色的塑料盘子靠在墙上；2015年五十铃日记中两个裸体女人的双重形象。

事实上，后来这成为了一个美丽的视觉押韵：Non在他的床垫上睡着，枕着英国国旗和星条旗枕头，他的身体与墙上被遮住的女性身体完美对齐。

每个人的生活都有一些特别的事情。

Non站在高速公路边等公共汽车：一个简单的镜头——一排雨滴挂在屋顶或是窗框的边缘，沿着银幕最上侧滑下来（其他的图像则由于通过隔栅或是金属条之间的拍摄而获得了额外的空间维度，尽管我们可能不会立即注意到它）——构成了一种微妙的绘画般的效果。

然后，我们在夜市看见了Non，显然他在那里工作，尽管他似乎正出于不确定的意图徘徊。

接下来的一系列镜头从不同角度展示了李康生的身体，他正在接受颈部疾病的治疗。

我们从下方的特写镜头中看到他的脸，他的头被一个支架支撑着，然后又从后方看到了他的身体，他的背后满是针灸针，金属板，连着一些用电装置的电线以及燃烧起来像烤棉花糖一样的大颗粒。

（李康生现实生活中的颈部问题一直是蔡明亮作品永恒的主题，在《家在兰若寺》中他用类似的令人印象深刻的小装置为自己治疗）。

后来，我们看到李康生在一个起来很舒适的酒店房间里（从城市的黄绿相间的出租车以及后面的一个路牌来看，我们猜测这里是曼谷）。

他从床上脱下衣服，在一个特写镜头中赤裸着趴下；有人开始用油按摩他的身体，先是脚，然后向上移动到腿、臀部和后背。

不久后，Non进入镜头中，他只穿着ck内裤，一个模糊地聚焦在黑暗的床后，表现随意被扔在一旁的ck内裤的固定镜头，证实了这个场景的情色维度正如我们怀疑的那样蓬勃发展。

这时，李康生仰面躺着，他的面孔——众所周知，这是所有电影中最冷漠的面孔——开始表现出一种温柔的、近乎感激的狂喜。

这一幕以寥寥数语结束，包括Non的那句小声的“谢谢”，然后康从一个棕色大信封中拿出了一件令人难以置信的礼物。

这是一个小小的八音盒，它以缓慢、机械的叮当声演奏查理·卓别林《舞台春秋》的主题曲。

我们在电影中听到过两次，两次都是奇妙的，因为在世俗的环境中，产生了如此珍贵，近乎媚俗与幼稚的东西无疑是荒谬的，但又绝对是坦率的。

它演奏的乐曲代替了两人之间的话语，成为他们身体与情感联系的延伸。

这次的柏林电影节有时充斥着冗长的话语（杜拉·裘德杰出的《大写印刷体》的官僚主义记述，克里斯提·普优的《马尔姆克罗格庄园》中折磨人的神学-哲学分歧），或者充斥着泛滥的情绪化场面（伊利亚·赫尔扎诺夫斯基的《列夫·朗道：娜塔莎》，莎莉·波特的无意义又矫揉造作的心理电影《未曾走过的路》）。

在这样的背景下，《日子》让人感到了静谧、近乎沉默的深刻以及情感的雄辩：在这部电影中，你可以久坐在那里，惊叹夜间乡村小路的弯曲。

《日子》中的一幅画面也许是蔡明亮凝固一个瞬间的能力的终极升华：一个简单的延伸镜头，拍摄了一个建筑物的表面，它的窗户十分破旧，反光涂层明显剥落，反射出微弱的（夜晚的？

）太阳。

按照常规来说几乎没有什么可看的——直到，你开始看它，注意到反射的树梢在风中摇曳，以及猫或其他动物奔跑的剪影。

《日子》并不单纯是让你沉浸在影像中的乐趣。

同蔡明亮往常一样，它也是一个关于工作、饥饿、金钱、身体问题、城市生活磨难的故事。

但它也关系到爱与温柔，至少是给予与接受的快乐的可能性。

然而，从沉思的、绘画的层面来看，尽管这是一种优雅暧昧的、含糊不清的变化，它仍关乎纯粹的狂喜。

从一个层面来说，《日子》有其明确的社会现实主义维度，但从另一个层面来说，将这部电影看作是对于灵魂的按摩，也绝对不是曲解。