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The screen gradually darkened, and then dark light appeared, subtitles passed by one by one, and the entire screen seemed to be covered with a layer of gauze, dim and could not see the scene clearly.

The sharp whistle of the car broke the tranquility. At first it was the sound of the whistle in the distance. As it gradually approached, the sound of rain hitting the window also appeared slightly. Then I heard the sound of the carrier pigeons tidying up their wings under the window.

The sound of all this goes from shallow to deep, from single to diverse and mixed.

Didi.

In the darkness, the sound of the digital alarm clock seemed to cut the dim picture with a wallpaper knife.

Under the dim light of the bedside lamp, a wooden pyramid-shaped metronome is swinging back and forth in an orderly manner, da... da... da... da... according to the rhythm of the Bach cello.

The camera cuts through, and a person looks confused and tired with his face. The backlight lens is very dark, and he can only see the blurred background scene slowly clear. Rain water slides across the window facing each other, and a gray pigeon stands beside the eaves.

The legs were wrapped with worn-out leg rings, which were particularly old, with the number "13" vaguely printed.

Ken Takakura closed his eyelids slightly, the slender fingers of the dead wood covered his eyes, the sound of car whistles, raindrops, wings, and the noisy notes of the crowd gradually all noise decibels, becoming white noise, sharp and harsh... Gradually, the decibels decreased, and in the original picture, the heartbeat covered all this.

As the picture turned, a tall man stood in front of the kitchen window, with a long cotton pajamas tied with a belt, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

Through my shoulders, I saw the blood-red light in the Jiulong City. The cold air was soaring in the mist and rain.

The entire decaying city looks like a carefully crafted and withered rose withered under the red light.

The blood-shaded tube is hanging from the clothes hanging from the clothes that you didn't have time to pick up, like a rolled-up sickle

Here, there was a noisy sound in the TV in the house, the surrounding walls were empty, and the photos were closed.

Half of the books in the vertical bookcase were packed, and a dark suit, a sports suit, two dark ties, and six or seven white shirts of the same style were hung in the closet.

Turn around.

Ken Takakura held his coffee hand and hung in the air. He stood in front and back, his body facing the camera diagonally, his face was angular without expression, his eyes were empty and boring. Looking straight at the camera, he could only hear the chaotic voices around him and the sound of the cabinet rubbing.

“This is a defensive gesture.”

Below the stage, curly-haired fat man in a pair of gold-rimmed glasses whispered in a midwestern American accent.

"It's worthy of being the great film critic Roger Albert, it's really amazing... Even this can be seen, it's amazing." A thin Mediterranean man next to him said to the fat man next to him sarcastically.

Well, Fatty is the famous film critic Roger Albert in North America, and is known as the "fatty" that everyone in the film critics knows.

As for diss, he is Gene Siskel, the man Roger hates the most. The two are O'Neal and Barkley of the film industry. A program "Siskel and Ibert Movie Review" recorded in Chicago can actually make the arrogant New Yorkers and the slutty Californians pay great attention to it. This program has become the most popular movie column in the east and west. In this era, the number of viewers and subscribers reaches 8-10 million, which shows its influence.

This time the two of them came here specially by Cannes.

It can be seen that "The Seven Sins" has attracted many well-known people. Is this? This is "Location".

The light is very dark.

Ken Takakura tied his tie in front of the mirror expressionlessly, and there was still a muffled chatting sound from the salad next to him. This noise made him look obviously tired and his eyes covered with red blood.

Pause.

The lens is pushed closer.

Ken Takakura, reflected in the mirror, approached and looked at his white temples.

Shake under the camera.

On the tabletops around the metronome were items he usually put in his pockets, keychains, shabby old wallets, seriously worn police badges, switchblades inlaid with mother-of-pearl handles, pens, metal cigarette boxes, and kerosene lighters.

There is a book "Wild Grass" on the bedside table, which is a work by Lu... Zhou Shuren.

The whole picture is very clear in the voice transmission, making people as real as if the person around them picked up the jewelry on the wooden table. The audience was focused on watching the opening.

Leg shot, turn around.

I picked up the flat suit on the tidy bed and deliberately dusted the thread on the suit.

As the camera turned, outside the house, a fat real estate agent in an incompatible suit was directing the worker to move furniture. When he saw him appear, he smiled and greeted him.

"Didn't you bother, old Officer Mike?"

"Shamike" played by Ken Takakura nodded lightly and passed by.

In the deep corridor, in the distance, the real estate agent pointed at the workers. The messy sounds kept echoing through the long space, and he flew past each household.

Couples quarrel, children cry, gambling, dogs barking, cats and cats.

Always keeping expressionless, just like...the walking zombie is numb, but fortunately this place is not Busan.

I thought I had walked out of the ‘noise’, but the ruthlessness of the city still came to my face.

The tires rubbed against the ground and made a harsh noise, and the sirens were heard one after another. Some people chased and slashed along the street with their knives, shouting, but everyone ignored it.

Suddenly, a homeless man who looked like a ghost snatched a pedestrian's bag, and the man rushed to catch up with him-

Ken Takakura took a "Red Chicken" taxi, but found that there was an ambulance and a police car ahead of him. The lights were flashing, which was very dazzling, and the surrounding vehicles could not move in an instant.

In the convoy, horns and curses came one after another.

The people around them were eating bloody, and their faces looked like they were interested. Some poor military uniforms were maintaining order, roughly pushing away the onlookers and dispersing these bloodthirsty spectators, just like those who were eating melons in the Internet era, they might have been cheering and shouting happily.

The driver in front poked his head out to watch the excitement.

"Green and cold!!" He smashed the horn on the steering wheel with his fist.

"Don't you care?"

Ken Takakura tightened his windbreaker and tried to capture the other person's gaze from the reversing mirror.

"As sir! Of course I care about it!" The driver sternly said: "I'm so stuck here and I've lost a lot of money!"

Ken Takakura turned his head and looked out the window again: the doctor and the nurse pulled out a victim from the car.

"grass!"

The driver hit the reverse wheel violently, punched the accelerator, and reversed the car that was rubbing ahead.

The dirty water from the puddles was rolled up by the wheels and splashed on the doctors and nurses' white coats.

The snow-white coat was splashed with dense mud spots.

The camera was pulled back and Ken Takakura closed his eyes.

"By the way, where did you say you were going?"

"Just leave here."

"What?"

"The farther away from this, the better..."

The sound of whistle, roar, and friction surged again, and the noisy sound made his heart beat more violently. The sky became gloomy, crossing his expressionless face bit by bit.

Lens transition.

On the walls of the police station, the photo walls of wanted warrants slowly moved down with the camera.

Suddenly, Liang Chaowei's face, sitting on a bench, holding two cups of coffee in his hand, appeared in the camera, and he happened to be sitting under the wanted sign photo wall.

The horizontal viewpoint will make the lens more in line with the human eye viewpoint, and will also completely expose the anxious Liang Chaowei to the screen.

"Hehe-I'll come to report to Old Mike..." He stopped a police officer and said irritably, "I've been sitting stupid for half an hour!"

"Old Mike?"

The police officer passing by looked surprised, "Did no one tell you that he had already gone to drive and rushed to the scene of the crime?"

Lens transition.

In the dim room, the camera flashed.

"Someone heard them verbally and quarrel, which lasted for at least two hours..."

The camera slowly pulled up, a dead body was lying in a pool of blood, and the blood was clearly visible on the walls of the living room. A low and impatient voice was counting the case, and there was a kid next to him holding a camera to take a photo. The technicians from the identification department were taking samples.

"I heard the gunshot and the scene was filled with blood."

"It must be an impulse crime."

"Maybe... you can tell how impulsive you are when you look at the blood stains on the wall."

"So we can close the case smoothly as long as we finish the report."

In the brass-toned picture, Ken Takakura was wearing a pair of brown leather shoes and slowly walked out from the scene. At the depth of field, a colleague's sloppy conversation came.

The floor was creaking, and a small Japanese chandelier hung in the upper right corner. The light on the character was very dim, and the camera intentionally or unintentionally highlighted a small refrigerator in front.

"The landlady said they were not a couple, but they have lived here since May 1989."

Lin Xue, with thick hair, stood in the door frame with her waist, like a 'prisoner', buzzing her voice and said sternly: "The man is a copy worker from a Locomotive Film Factory in Shatin, and the woman works as a toll collector in the Red Tunnel. She asks me, whoever sits in this job for a long time will be crazy. I bet with you that her lawyer will definitely use this reason to help her apply for a mental appraisal. How much do you bet?"

Old Mike, played by Ken Takakura, nodded absent-mindedly, but his eyes were attracted by the several watercolor paintings and coloring books on the refrigerator.

The camera aimed at the floating colored strokes, and it can be seen that the color was not very good, and the little guy was not sure that he could apply the color within the line.

He bent down, took out his glasses and put them on the bridge of his nose.

"Did the kid see it?"

“Water??”
To be continued...