But there is something sacred and high in the world. While watching this film, I often remembered the painting “Paris History”. The same ascetic Paris (so beloved by me), views of the outskirts of the city, only not from the balcony, but from the roof, on which the heroes sing wine for 61 years for 1800 francs, and in the air hovers the same spirit of carefree life that you can only feel when you are 20 years old. However, the outward resemblance of the hero to Louis Garrell is inverse to his resemblance to him internally. Primo is a young man whose parents live in the province and, despite obvious financial problems, pay for his school in Paris. After another quarrel in his parents’ house, Primo, having arrived in Paris, meets a girl, Gabriel, who turns his head, realizes that they are not made for each other.
It seems to be an ordinary story for three, whose background is the presidential election on May 10, 1981, the struggle between left and right and the heated atmosphere prevailing in the country on the eve of the second stage of voting. However, there is something elusive that remains in the memory in the form of a light breath of a beautiful feeling that bloomed in the hearts of the heroes.
The last scene, when the hero gets on his knees, and we understand how hard and painful he is, and not only physically, but she, who so passionately loves him, rushes to him, and together, kneeling, they, embracing crying, deeply imprinted in my memory. This scene is made so skillfully, but at the same time so natural and sincere, so fragile and trembling, that you can hear the silent delight of transparent and pure love, communicated and transmitted through invisible threads to the viewer.
Peaceful bliss is the state after this movie. The French, only they can truly feel the human soul, and penetrate into it, imbue it.
This film, though, reveals some of the long-known truths about wealth and poverty, about false and true love, about the relationship between fathers and sons. At the same time, it is also about the passionate desire to enter the world of the rich, to be in the one you love irrevocably, while to be with someone who loves you simply for what you are, who does not pay attention to your origin and status, because true love does not require either luxury or expensive wines.
But there is something sacred and lofty in the world, the union of two such beings, so imperfect and terrible. In love [you are often deceived, often unhappy, but you love, and standing on the edge of the grave, you can turn back and say: I have often suffered, and have been deceived, but I have loved and lived, and not an artificial being created by imagination and boredom.]