Screenwriters: Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Nunnally Johnson
based on the novel by A.J. Cronin
Composer: Alfred Newman
Cinematographer: Arthur C. Miller
Editor: James B. Clark
Cast:
Gregory Peck
Rose Stradner
Benson Fong
Thomas Mitchel
Leonard Strongl
Edmund Gwenn
Vincent Price
Ruth Ford
Sara Allgood
Cedric Hardwicke
James Gleason
Anne Revere
Arthur Shields
Richard Loo
Ruth Nelson
Dennis Hoey
Edith Barrett
Roddy McDowall
Peggy Ann Garner
Jane Ball
Philip Ahn
Rating: 7.6/10
Title: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
Year: 1947
Genre: Comedy, Fantasy
Country: USA
Language: English
Director: Joseph L. Mankiewicz
Screenwriter: Philip Dunne
based on the novel by R.A. Dick
Composer: Bernard Herrmann
Cinematographer: Charles Lang
Editor: Dorthy Spencer
Cast:
Gene Tierney
Rex Harrison
George Sanders
Edna Best
Vanessa Brown
Anna Lee
Robert Coote
Natalie Wood
Isobel Elsom
Victoria Horne
Whitford Kane
William Stelling
Rating: 7.5/10
Dancing between the hallowed halls of faith and the ethereal embrace of the beyond, all within the confines of a 1940s celluloid dream, these two films, both orchestrated by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, one as the producer and co-scribe, and the other as the helmer, are seemingly disparate as a sermon and a séance, yet upon closer inspection, reveal an unexpected kinship. So, pull up a velvet armchair, perhaps with a stiff gin and tonic (or a cup of lukewarm tea, depending on your preferred '40s beverage), and let us embark on a whimsical, somewhat irreverent journey into their shared, albeit shadowy, heart, now with a sharper eye for the cultural landscapes they construct.
One might initially scoff at the notion of lumping a stoic missionary’s life alongside a spectral love affair. Stahl's THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM presents Peck as Father Francis Chisholm, a man whose spiritual compass points steadfastly towards a higher calling, even when the path is littered with the ungodly detritus of human foibles and frailties. He’s a missionary, but not the stained-glass-window kind, Father Francis is more the mud-on-his-boots, hands-dirty-with-real-life type. His journey, from the damp, judgmental confines of Scottish parishes to the sprawling, war-ridden landscapes of China, is less a heroic epic and more a testament to inner, persistent empathy. This is a film that asks, rather profoundly, what it truly means to serve, and in fact, the purest faith isn't found in the grand gestures, but in the humble, often thankless, acts of compassion. Peck, with that impossibly noble jawline and eyes that could hold a universe of unspoken suffering, imbues Chisholm with a gravitas that manages to be both saintly and utterly human. He wrestles with doubt, with the austerities of his church, and with the cosmic, unyielding agony of the mankind. It’s a long film, undoubtedly, a slow burn of a spiritual odyssey, but one that rewards patience with a quiet, lingering resonance.
Among the secondary characters, Stradner (Ms. Mankiewicz, in her celluloid screen swan song) brings to life the formidable figure of Reverend Mother Maria-Veronicar, who initially appears to be carved from the very granite of Catholic dogma, only to reveal, slowly, a surprising vein of humanity after she is illuminated and deeply touched by Chisholm's devotion and understands that true faith isn't always found in rigid adherence to rules, but in the compassionate heart that defies them for the greater good. She becomes, in essence, a convert herself - not to a new faith, but to a more expansive, empathetic understanding of her own. Stradner's performance beautifully conveys this thawing, allowing us to see the woman beneath the habit gradually recognizing the saint in the unconventional priest.
However, to appraise THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM without addressing its deeply ingrained Orientalism would be a fatal remiss, akin to admiring a grand painting while ignoring the glaring cracks in its canvas. While the film strives for a message of universal compassion, its portrayal of the Middle Kingdom and its people is irrefutably filtered through a colonial, "white savior" lens, a common affliction of Hollywood epics of the era. The Chinese characters, though presented with a degree of sympathy, are largely passive backdrops for Chisholm’s spiritual journey, often depicted as an inferior, faceless mass in need of Western intervention. Their rich culture, complex societal structures, and individual agency are frequently flattened into stereotypes or symbols of a "primitive" world awaiting enlightenment. The narrative positions the West as the bringer of civilization and salvation, and while Chisholm’s approach is notably more humble than some of his peers, the film rarely deviates from this power dynamic. The "suffering landscapes of China," while real in a historical context, are often framed as a stage for the white protagonist's heroism, rather than a vibrant culture with its own inherent strengths and struggles. This is an ungainly elephant in the room for almost all the exoticized Hollywood fares of that time, and Stahl's film, for all its good intentions, is far from immune.
Then we have Mankiewicz's THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR, a film that dares to ask what happens when one seeks solace not in the divine, but in the defiantly undead. Tierney’s Lucy Muir, a widow of admirable spunk, eschews the suffocating propriety of Victorian England for a seaside cottage that comes with an unexpected, spectral roommate: Captain Daniel Gregg, played with a magnificent, growling charm by Harrison. Now, a conventional film would have spun this into a horror tale, or perhaps a farce. But Mankiewicz, bless his audacious soul, decided, "No, let’s make it a romance." A romance, mind you, where the paramours can’t touch, where communication is a matter of booming spectral pronouncements and exasperated mortal retorts. It’s a love story that defies the very fabric of existence, a testament to connection that transcends the corporeal. Tierney, with her exquisite, almost ethereal beauty, brings a delightful blend of virtues and steel to Lucy, making her a character utterly deserving of a ghostly admirer who, despite his bluster, possesses an achingly tender heart.
So, where do these two seemingly disparate cinematic ships converge? It is inn the vast, often turbulent ocean of human longing, and interestingly, in their very different engagements with "otherness." Both Father Chisholm and Mrs. Muir are, at their core, seekers of profound connection and purpose in worlds that often seem indifferent or actively hostile to their desires. Chisholm seeks a genuine connection between God and his fellow man who is driven by "a true belief", often finding the institutional church a hindrance rather than a help. His faith is tested not by theological conundrums, but by the raw, visceral realities of disease and war. He yearns for a clarity of purpose that is constantly muddied by the debit side of humanity: hubris, vanity and priggishness, to just name a few. His "otherness" is the foreign land and its indigenous people, but as noted, presented through a lens that simplifies and disrespects their complexity.
Similarly, Lucy Muir seeks connection, but one on her own terms, free from the societal strictures that would bind her. She tries it with Miles Fairley (Sanders), a seemingly eligible suitor, Sanders is exactly what a cad should be – irresistible on the surface, utterly disappointing underneath, and played with such sophisticated charm that his reveal feels like a subtle, yet deeply satisfying, betrayal. Ultimately, she finds it, ironically, in a relationship that is fundamentally unconventional, one that exists in the paranormal. Her connection with Captain Gregg is forged in shared solitude, in the amusing friction of their personalities, and in a mutual understanding that transcends the tangible. Her "otherness" is the supernatural, the spectral, and it is handled with a remarkable lack of condescension. She treats the ghost as a fully formed personality, not as a curiosity to be explained or "civilized," which presents a fascinating contrast to the Orientalist gaze in THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM. Both protagonists, in their own ways, are outsiders, charting courses that deviate from the expected, guided by an internal compass that points towards a truer, deeper sense of belonging.
Furthermore, consider the underlying themes of sacrifice and unconventional love. Chisholm sacrifices worldly comforts, personal desires, and even his health for his calling, for a love of humanity guided by his faith. His love is an expansive, almost abstract force, whereas Lucy and the Captain portray a more intimate, albeit tragically limited, form of love. Theirs is a love of shared moments, of witty banter, of unspoken understanding, and ultimately, of a tacit letting go. The sacrifice in THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR is a different kind – the sacrifice of physical intimacy, of a socially acceptable relationship, for a connection that exists purely on a spiritual and emotional plane. Both films, in their own ways, champion the idea that love, whether divine or spectral, often demands a relinquishing of the ordinary.
Stylistically, they are also intriguing foils. THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM is grander in scope, sweeping across continents, its cinematography often emphasizing the vastness of the world and the smallness of man within it, rendering the "exotic" locales with a blend of awe and distant observation, rather than immersive understanding. It has a stately, almost reverential pace. THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR conversely, is more intimate and atmospheric, set largely within the confines of the cottage and the misty coastline. Its beauty lies in its sedate moments, the subtle shifts in emotion. Yet, both films possess a certain elegance, a classic Hollywood sheen that elevates their respective narratives.
In the end, while one film delves into the arduous journey of earthly faith and the other into the whimsical embrace of the afterlife, both stand as fascinating testaments to the human spirit’s capacity for connection, for sacrifice, and for finding purpose in the most unexpected of places. They remind us that the greatest loves often defy easy categorization and demand a leap of faith, a willingness to look beyond the tangible, and an open heart ready for whatever extraordinary companionship life (or death) decides to send our way. Both films, in their own unique ways, unlock cinematic kingdoms all their own.
referential entries: Stahl's LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945, 7.7/10), IMITATION OF LIFE (1934, 7.3/10); Henry King's THE SONG OF BERNADETTE (1943, 8.0/10); Mankiewicz's THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA (1954, 6.9/10); David Lean's BLITHE SPIRIT (1945, 7.3/10).
很久都没有提笔写影评的冲动了，今天偶然在pad版的pplive上看到的黑白爱情老电影却拨动了心弦，电影的片名很朴实的叫The ghost and Mrs Miur，中文翻译作《幽灵与未亡人》，乍看上去象是情侣们人鬼情未了的老调调，但骨子里却是孤男寡女的柏拉图式爱情。 故事背景是20世纪初，新寡的Lucy不顾婆婆和小姑反对带着女儿离开了夫家到海边定居，偏选中了闹鬼的一间宅子，鬼魂是个船长，想把这女人吓走却不料一来二去被她的坚强和优雅吸引，在她失去了丈夫遗产心生动摇的时候主动请缨让她把自己口述的回忆录写成书出版来养家。于是两颗外冷内热的心灵就借着大海的涛声中的冒险故事 越走越近。。。 再讲多就剧透太多了（其实题目还不够剧透吗(⊙_⊙)？）只想说，好久没有重温这种古典的爱情了，什么年代的人演绎时代剧其实骨子里还是透出演戏的人所在的时代风情，即便是《简爱》放到了现在法叔和米亚的手里总觉得味道不够，而那种抵死浪漫的I love you but you'll never know的戏码大概也只有在黑白片的年代里才能被诠释得情深款款。毕竟那个年代远去了，现在的爱情片主流都变成先上床再谈情，柏拉图式爱情为人所知不过是某部日系爱情动作片的名字。但是，那种惺惺相惜的心智上的互相吸引，相依相携的度过难关，不动声色的 打情骂俏，还有为了另一个人的幸福的自我牺牲，实在是人类的爱情的闪光之处。女主有40年代端庄的美，男主一眼看上去严肃到让人害怕，却实际是默默奉献的好男人。翻了豆瓣才知道这类片子还有学名叫灵异文艺片，在吸血鬼狼人啥啥肆虐银幕的2011年，体会1947年黑白却深刻的感动吧。
這部影片拍于1947，當時Rex三十多歲，還非常年輕。額頭什麽的根本還沒有摺子，嘴邊的酒窩也還沒有拍<My Fair Lady>那麼深。
此片是黑白片，Rex演的船長，由始至終都是穿著一身黑西服。顯然他需要演成一個粗鄙的船長，但是他那種與生俱來的高貴氣質給人感覺就是個伯爵。
露西不明不白的丈夫死後，她找了所靠近海邊的房子。這個房子剛好是Rex生前所擁有的。露西明知有鬼都要搬進來，顯然讓Rex有點吃驚。他需要一個熱愛這所房子的人好好照料他生前的家。露西做到了。
船長這個幽靈一時出現，一時消失。他的陽光和堅毅給露西帶來了新的生活。不知不覺中，船長深知他們二人暗生情愫了。但是，他沒有辦法與露西在現實生活，他始終是一個幽靈。不是真的——人。
露西也知道船長所說的現實，剛好被一個冒出來的垃圾作家所欺騙。露西抱著結婚的願望與之交往，船長之前警告露西，這個男人不是好人，勸告未果，傷心離去。離去之前，把露西對於他的所有記憶都抹掉了。
露西後來找到花心作家的家，得知自己被騙后，終身生活在船長的那所大house。
露西白髮蒼蒼，坐在沙發上死掉了。船長穿著那雙黑皮鞋站在死去的露西前面，輕聲呼喚她的名字。年輕的露西的靈魂走了出來了，他們手來手終於走在了一起。
我覺得這個電影堪比《人鬼情未了》。黑白電影尤為有韻味。可惜的是，船長和露西沒有那一吻。反而露西和花心作家有兩處Kiss的情景，都被船長看見了。
我是一個鬼魂，永遠不會改變。你還是找其他男人一起生活吧。
不過電影是喜劇來的，沒有一絲絲的沉重和不快。沒有強加的所謂的深度，也沒有很深刻的苦情戲，一口氣看下來，喜歡重情重義的船長。
喜歡Rex Harrison的英式口音。
雾笛，在雾中吹笛子的人，视觉虽然模糊，但听觉依旧穿透某些未知的空气，她虽然看不见船长，船长却分明已成为了她生活的一部分。nn在列车开动之时，以迅雷不及掩耳的速度，夺走了她手上的手帕，她先是一惊，尔后眼睛向下一撇，露出难以形容的笑容，他留在原地，闻着手帕的芳香。nn对话太多了，后面可以多加几个时段的，应该学学《返老还童》。nn这片子原本可以拍得完美，女主第二次躺在椅子上，窗户不应该是关着的，应该是开着的，她把它关上，重复当年的动作。nn如果，最后窗户再次开了，倒可以造成亦真亦假的幻觉，屋内的人在特定的时期共同创造了一个角色，然而，角色存在于否，就像虚拟和现实是混淆的一样，达到那种创作元叙事，很大的启发。nn可怜我的蒂尔尼，老演这种还没好好感受年轻就老了，而且每次都得死。nn这种死后在一起的结尾，编剧真的该吃刀片了，也许，可以从幻想和现实的混淆程度，来概括好莱坞的历程。nn和爱的人在一起生活也未必就不孤独，那么反之一个人生活也未必就是孤独。nn
Dancing between the hallowed halls of faith and the ethereal embrace of the beyond, all within the confines of a 1940s celluloid dream, these two films, both orchestrated by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, one as the producer and co-scribe, and the other as the helmer, are seemingly disparate as a sermon and a séance, yet upon closer inspection, reveal an unexpected kinship. So, pull up a velvet armchair, perhaps with a stiff gin and tonic (or a cup of lukewarm tea, depending on your preferred '40s beverage), and let us embark on a whimsical, somewhat irreverent journey into their shared, albeit shadowy, heart, now with a sharper eye for the cultural landscapes they construct.
One might initially scoff at the notion of lumping a stoic missionary’s life alongside a spectral love affair. Stahl's THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM presents Peck as Father Francis Chisholm, a man whose spiritual compass points steadfastly towards a higher calling, even when the path is littered with the ungodly detritus of human foibles and frailties. He’s a missionary, but not the stained-glass-window kind, Father Francis is more the mud-on-his-boots, hands-dirty-with-real-life type. His journey, from the damp, judgmental confines of Scottish parishes to the sprawling, war-ridden landscapes of China, is less a heroic epic and more a testament to inner, persistent empathy. This is a film that asks, rather profoundly, what it truly means to serve, and in fact, the purest faith isn't found in the grand gestures, but in the humble, often thankless, acts of compassion. Peck, with that impossibly noble jawline and eyes that could hold a universe of unspoken suffering, imbues Chisholm with a gravitas that manages to be both saintly and utterly human. He wrestles with doubt, with the austerities of his church, and with the cosmic, unyielding agony of the mankind. It’s a long film, undoubtedly, a slow burn of a spiritual odyssey, but one that rewards patience with a quiet, lingering resonance.
Among the secondary characters, Stradner (Ms. Mankiewicz, in her celluloid screen swan song) brings to life the formidable figure of Reverend Mother Maria-Veronicar, who initially appears to be carved from the very granite of Catholic dogma, only to reveal, slowly, a surprising vein of humanity after she is illuminated and deeply touched by Chisholm's devotion and understands that true faith isn't always found in rigid adherence to rules, but in the compassionate heart that defies them for the greater good. She becomes, in essence, a convert herself - not to a new faith, but to a more expansive, empathetic understanding of her own. Stradner's performance beautifully conveys this thawing, allowing us to see the woman beneath the habit gradually recognizing the saint in the unconventional priest.
However, to appraise THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM without addressing its deeply ingrained Orientalism would be a fatal remiss, akin to admiring a grand painting while ignoring the glaring cracks in its canvas. While the film strives for a message of universal compassion, its portrayal of the Middle Kingdom and its people is irrefutably filtered through a colonial, "white savior" lens, a common affliction of Hollywood epics of the era. The Chinese characters, though presented with a degree of sympathy, are largely passive backdrops for Chisholm’s spiritual journey, often depicted as an inferior, faceless mass in need of Western intervention. Their rich culture, complex societal structures, and individual agency are frequently flattened into stereotypes or symbols of a "primitive" world awaiting enlightenment. The narrative positions the West as the bringer of civilization and salvation, and while Chisholm’s approach is notably more humble than some of his peers, the film rarely deviates from this power dynamic. The "suffering landscapes of China," while real in a historical context, are often framed as a stage for the white protagonist's heroism, rather than a vibrant culture with its own inherent strengths and struggles. This is an ungainly elephant in the room for almost all the exoticized Hollywood fares of that time, and Stahl's film, for all its good intentions, is far from immune.
Then we have Mankiewicz's THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR, a film that dares to ask what happens when one seeks solace not in the divine, but in the defiantly undead. Tierney’s Lucy Muir, a widow of admirable spunk, eschews the suffocating propriety of Victorian England for a seaside cottage that comes with an unexpected, spectral roommate: Captain Daniel Gregg, played with a magnificent, growling charm by Harrison. Now, a conventional film would have spun this into a horror tale, or perhaps a farce. But Mankiewicz, bless his audacious soul, decided, "No, let’s make it a romance." A romance, mind you, where the paramours can’t touch, where communication is a matter of booming spectral pronouncements and exasperated mortal retorts. It’s a love story that defies the very fabric of existence, a testament to connection that transcends the corporeal. Tierney, with her exquisite, almost ethereal beauty, brings a delightful blend of virtues and steel to Lucy, making her a character utterly deserving of a ghostly admirer who, despite his bluster, possesses an achingly tender heart.
So, where do these two seemingly disparate cinematic ships converge? It is inn the vast, often turbulent ocean of human longing, and interestingly, in their very different engagements with "otherness." Both Father Chisholm and Mrs. Muir are, at their core, seekers of profound connection and purpose in worlds that often seem indifferent or actively hostile to their desires. Chisholm seeks a genuine connection between God and his fellow man who is driven by "a true belief", often finding the institutional church a hindrance rather than a help. His faith is tested not by theological conundrums, but by the raw, visceral realities of disease and war. He yearns for a clarity of purpose that is constantly muddied by the debit side of humanity: hubris, vanity and priggishness, to just name a few. His "otherness" is the foreign land and its indigenous people, but as noted, presented through a lens that simplifies and disrespects their complexity.
Similarly, Lucy Muir seeks connection, but one on her own terms, free from the societal strictures that would bind her. She tries it with Miles Fairley (Sanders), a seemingly eligible suitor, Sanders is exactly what a cad should be – irresistible on the surface, utterly disappointing underneath, and played with such sophisticated charm that his reveal feels like a subtle, yet deeply satisfying, betrayal. Ultimately, she finds it, ironically, in a relationship that is fundamentally unconventional, one that exists in the paranormal. Her connection with Captain Gregg is forged in shared solitude, in the amusing friction of their personalities, and in a mutual understanding that transcends the tangible. Her "otherness" is the supernatural, the spectral, and it is handled with a remarkable lack of condescension. She treats the ghost as a fully formed personality, not as a curiosity to be explained or "civilized," which presents a fascinating contrast to the Orientalist gaze in THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM. Both protagonists, in their own ways, are outsiders, charting courses that deviate from the expected, guided by an internal compass that points towards a truer, deeper sense of belonging.
Furthermore, consider the underlying themes of sacrifice and unconventional love. Chisholm sacrifices worldly comforts, personal desires, and even his health for his calling, for a love of humanity guided by his faith. His love is an expansive, almost abstract force, whereas Lucy and the Captain portray a more intimate, albeit tragically limited, form of love. Theirs is a love of shared moments, of witty banter, of unspoken understanding, and ultimately, of a tacit letting go. The sacrifice in THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR is a different kind – the sacrifice of physical intimacy, of a socially acceptable relationship, for a connection that exists purely on a spiritual and emotional plane. Both films, in their own ways, champion the idea that love, whether divine or spectral, often demands a relinquishing of the ordinary.
Stylistically, they are also intriguing foils. THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM is grander in scope, sweeping across continents, its cinematography often emphasizing the vastness of the world and the smallness of man within it, rendering the "exotic" locales with a blend of awe and distant observation, rather than immersive understanding. It has a stately, almost reverential pace. THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR conversely, is more intimate and atmospheric, set largely within the confines of the cottage and the misty coastline. Its beauty lies in its sedate moments, the subtle shifts in emotion. Yet, both films possess a certain elegance, a classic Hollywood sheen that elevates their respective narratives.
In the end, while one film delves into the arduous journey of earthly faith and the other into the whimsical embrace of the afterlife, both stand as fascinating testaments to the human spirit’s capacity for connection, for sacrifice, and for finding purpose in the most unexpected of places. They remind us that the greatest loves often defy easy categorization and demand a leap of faith, a willingness to look beyond the tangible, and an open heart ready for whatever extraordinary companionship life (or death) decides to send our way. Both films, in their own unique ways, unlock cinematic kingdoms all their own.
referential entries: Stahl's LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945, 7.7/10), IMITATION OF LIFE (1934, 7.3/10); Henry King's THE SONG OF BERNADETTE (1943, 8.0/10); Mankiewicz's THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA (1954, 6.9/10); David Lean's BLITHE SPIRIT (1945, 7.3/10).
很久都没有提笔写影评的冲动了，今天偶然在pad版的pplive上看到的黑白爱情老电影却拨动了心弦，电影的片名很朴实的叫The ghost and Mrs Miur，中文翻译作《幽灵与未亡人》，乍看上去象是情侣们人鬼情未了的老调调，但骨子里却是孤男寡女的柏拉图式爱情。
故事背景是20世纪初，新寡的Lucy不顾婆婆和小姑反对带着女儿离开了夫家到海边定居，偏选中了闹鬼的一间宅子，鬼魂是个船长，想把这女人吓走却不料一来二去被她的坚强和优雅吸引，在她失去了丈夫遗产心生动摇的时候主动请缨让她把自己口述的回忆录写成书出版来养家。于是两颗外冷内热的心灵就借着大海的涛声中的冒险故事
越走越近。。。
再讲多就剧透太多了（其实题目还不够剧透吗(⊙_⊙)？）只想说，好久没有重温这种古典的爱情了，什么年代的人演绎时代剧其实骨子里还是透出演戏的人所在的时代风情，即便是《简爱》放到了现在法叔和米亚的手里总觉得味道不够，而那种抵死浪漫的I love you but you'll never know的戏码大概也只有在黑白片的年代里才能被诠释得情深款款。毕竟那个年代远去了，现在的爱情片主流都变成先上床再谈情，柏拉图式爱情为人所知不过是某部日系爱情动作片的名字。但是，那种惺惺相惜的心智上的互相吸引，相依相携的度过难关，不动声色的
打情骂俏，还有为了另一个人的幸福的自我牺牲，实在是人类的爱情的闪光之处。女主有40年代端庄的美，男主一眼看上去严肃到让人害怕，却实际是默默奉献的好男人。翻了豆瓣才知道这类片子还有学名叫灵异文艺片，在吸血鬼狼人啥啥肆虐银幕的2011年，体会1947年黑白却深刻的感动吧。
#BFI #21722 以47年看这部电影还是很偏向女性主义表达的，其中的鬼魂有明显的时代痕迹，这不禁让我想起之前看的《贼博士》中的表达，如那老太太般不死的时代烙印。
角色设定上我甚至可以感受到男主这个角色的虚构性，而且从某些层面看虚构似乎也很合理，以画像来说，与此对照的女主的画像也是“虚构”的，象征着与男配那虚幻的爱情。两幅画放到一起也显得格外合拍。整部电影的喜剧部分呈现还是蛮有意思的，但要是把男主这个角色剔除作为虚构就能感受到一个母亲在那样的环境拉扯一个孩子的不容易了。女主年轻的时候演的还是很不错，坚持，倔强和被爱情冲昏头的样子都很不错，不过两次利用那个木桩展现时间流逝后的另一个年龄段的表演不尽人意，妆发效果很好，但是身体语言呈现出的效果还是有些差的。男主这气泡音也是没谁了，可能是我见过最骚的男性角色之一了。
视觉上，镜头，构图和光影呈现出的效果非常好，大量室内运镜，尤其是长镜头的效果非常好。光影则是格外的细腻，海边阳光和别墅内的幽暗很有对比性，其中的反差也很有趣，黑暗中的恬静和日光下的虚幻。印象比较深的是室内的黑暗环境中的呈现并没有那种恐怖感，整体打光还是非常匀称，没有特别的突出，而从男配家出来的时候却是接近过曝的阳光明媚，呈现出的缺失女主内心的苦涩。印象较深的还有火车过隧道的那场戏的黑暗。
听觉上，有一种非常熟悉的感觉，很像是这个时期的现场配乐，情绪都能通过配乐展现，做的最好的依然是别墅中的配乐，神秘却不恐怖，甚至有些温情。
整部电影的结尾处其实是不太喜欢的，回归到超现实始终是太现实了些，再有就是有几处剪辑还是有些突兀。