Bitten nose, torn throat and the power of catechism See, I'm here voluntarily. Not by force. I don't have to stay here. I can go home whenever I want.
- Can you go home whenever you want?
- In fact, very few people are forced here. This is Mr Bromden, Mr Taber. Some of them are chronic.
- Chezwick? You volunteer? Scanlon? Billy, for Christ's sake, you're forced, aren't you?
- N-no.
- But you're a young guy! What are you doing here? You should follow the chicks ... with a folding top, and beat the washcloth. For God's sake, what are you doing here? What's so funny? Oh my God, you’re not doing anything here, just complaining about how hard it is for you... and you don’t have the courage to just walk away? For God's sake, who do you think you are? Jesus Christ, I can't believe it.
Flight over the Cuckoo's Nest, 1975, M. Forman
A thought in your head creates a picture. And so the viewing time was not without benefit. So there is rationality in the spectacle. The author's string is affected.
Monastery for sisters-obedient turn of drama and horror at the same time. But the horror, the horror, is not the obsession of one of the unfortunate demons, but the voluntary imprisonment of the unfortunate “sheep” in the dogmatic walls of religious scholasticism. Yes, yes, exactly. They should live and rejoice, while they are black clutches on themselves, dull eyes on the floor and fasts with prayers with daily repetition. Escape from desire. From the flesh, salvation. In other words, from natural nature. Aren't they stupid? As it is! What's on this ground? What could ripen? Elementary tantrum. Hysteria! You need a man, you want a boy, and you will "save" without stopping - save and preserve, save and have mercy, save and forgive me.
Every age has its own toys. What is required at twenty is worth numbing the pride of seventy years? Youth, energy, enthusiasm, desires, intemperance even - these are all attributes of the stages of knowledge. Knowledge of your own body, the world in diversity. Each of us goes through an excessive amount of libation. Whether it’s alcohol, sex, courage, the vastness of night and day. Shouldn't we wave to the gypsies? Shouldn't we go to a restaurant? And on a boat, and with a backpack, and for the thirty-nine lands "fool" is not to go... Beautiful. With a young girl. With a bunch of crazy heads. And the guitar. And a fire. And meat. Laugh. In a hurry. In exchange of energies, male and female give each other. And more and more. Over and over again. And again and again... And then, to repeat the laughter of strength in immeasurability, I can. Same thing. Or not quite either. Oh, how good life is, though! How good...
And until when is that? And until when, at the end? How much fun is there? Everyone's different. It depends on the phlegm in the blood. Only the bell of the first warning will ring - and is it worth it, the thought in my head... Consider it time has changed. You're not the same. Different. You go. You're falling. Falling off the bowl... Every year you will creak and tire more and more, more and more clearly and clearly. Bruss? No doubt about it. And even in the field of any "faith" you can jump in your impatience - to teach, instruct, preach, denounce.
An alarming call to the diocese - we need to be saved. Mother Superior asks for an exorcist. Evil power is wobbling in the walls of the monastery! Right? At first glance, exactly. And the male enters the female womb. And talk now, talk now, and thoughts-thoughts of sin... Everyone. Almost. What's the real deal? Girls are young. I want to like it. I want to show. I want to sit down and impress... What about vows? What about faith?
Scenes of exorcism of the devil are mixed here with the personal. And where is nature, and where is mockery of this very nature, let each answer independently. The personality at the peak of the drama arrives. It was necessary at one time to consult a psychologist, at least to a psychiatrist for an appointment to get, but the Church in catching the soul was more prompt. So it sucked... Repent! Repent! Repent! Like a bell, from morning till late at night. You can get crazy from the pumps.
How can you not remember Randle Patrick McMurphy, "Flight over the Cuckoo's Nest" - for God's sake, who do you think you are? Jesus Christ, I can't believe it.
And then what is a bitten nose? The director's mockery of the mountain pastor? Satire, after all, begins to appear at the very beginning of the picture - on the tremors of the leaders. Among the severed heads. Among the stuffed bravados removed ...
6 out of 10