What could, what should be done with all the time that lies ahead of us, open and unshaped, feather-light in its freedom and lead-heavy in its uncertainty? Is it a wish? Dream-like and nostalgic, to stand once again at that point in life, and be able to take a completely different direction to the one which has made us who we are?
We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place; we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there. We travel to our souls when we go to a place that we have covered a stretch of our life, no matter how brief it may have been. But by traveling to ourselves, we must confront our own loneliness. And isn't it so that everything we do is done out of fear of loneliness. Isn't that why we renounce all the things we'll regret at the end of our life?
Is it ultimately a question of self-image, the determining idea one has made for oneself of what one has to have accomplished and experienced so that one can approve of the life one has lived? If the certainty befalls us that it will never be achieved this wholeness, we suddenly don't know how to live the time that can no longer be part of the whole life.
The real director of life is accident, a director full of cruelty, compassion and bewitching charm.
The decisive moments of life, when its direction changes forever, are not always marked by loud and shrill dramatics. In truth, the dramatic moments of a life-determining experience are often unbelievable low-key. When it unfolds its revolutionary effect and make sure that life that it revealed in a brand-new light. It does that silently, and in this wonderful silence resides its special nobility.
I would not like to live in a world without cathedrals. I need their beauty and grandeur against the dirty colors of military uniforms. I love the powerful words of the Bible. I need the force of its poetry. I need it against the decay of language and the dictatorship of worthless slogans. But there is another world I do not wish to live in. A world in which independent thinking is disparaged, and the finest things we can experience denounced as sin. A world in which our love is demanded by tyrants, oppressors and assassin. And most absurdly, people are exhorted from the pulpit to forgive these creatures and even to love them. It is for this reason we cannot just put the Bible aside. We have to throw it away completely, for it speaks only of vain holier-than-thou. In his omnipresent, the Lord observes us day and night. He takes note of our acts and thoughts. But what is a man without secrets? Without thoughts and wishes that he, and he alone, knows? Does the Lord our God not consider He's stealing our soul with his unbridled curiosity, a soul that should be immortal? But who would in all seriousness want to be immortal? How boring to know that what happens today, this month, this year, does not matter? Nothing would count. No one here knows what it would be like to live eternally. And it's a blessing we never will. One thing I can assure you, it would be hell, this endless paradise of immortality. It is death and only death, that gives each moment beauty and horror. Only through death is time living thing. Why does the Lord not noticed? Why does He threaten us with a... endlessness that can only be unbearably desolate?
I would not want to live in a world without cathedrals. I need the luster of their windows, their cool stillness, their imperious silence. I need the holiness of words, the grandeur of great poetry. But just as much I need the freedom to rebel against everything that is cruel in this world. For the one is nothing without the other. And no one may force me to choose.
Imagination/Intimacy is our last sanctuary.
In youth, we live as if we were immortal. Knowledge of mortality dances around us like a brittle paper ribbon that barely touches our skin. When in life does that change? When does the ribbon tighten until finally it strangles us?
“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place; we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.” ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
瑞士，阿尔卑斯山山系北麓，莱茵河于此发源。欧洲古城伯尔尼，就位于这一片山地高原之上，莱茵河支流阿勒河从伯尔尼的南东北三面环绕而过。这里降水量极大，气候温寒，常年冷雨。拉丁文老师Raimund，一个五十七岁的离了婚独居的生活沉闷的老男人，在又一个冷雨的早上，急匆匆地走在横跨阿勒河的拱形大桥上。阿勒河仿佛切开了伯尔尼高原，深陷于两岸之间，从桥上看，深绿色的河水很低很远，宽阔湍急。雨水浇湿了一个年轻女子的长发，是那种地中海女人所特有的黑色的浓密而茂盛的长发。长发顺着雨水，粘在了她早已湿透的深红色的长风衣上。她的脸庞，如同白色大理石雕像一般，有着地中海女人所特有的那种有型，挺立，并且偏长的脸型，皮肤白皙紧致。Raimund救下了几乎要自杀的她，并无意中看到了她看的一本书，于是，”Night Train to Lisbon”的故事就开始了。
第三条线索，Amadeu是医生，也是革命者，思想者，作家。他写下了一本书《UM OURIVES DAS PALAVRAS》。“如果生命于我们已经剩下不多的话， 我们能做什么，我们应做什么，才能够发现我们生命的真谛，使我们的人生在未来的时间里，去走一条和以前完全不同的道路。”这本书里的话语，在1970年葡萄牙革命的年代，感染了抵抗运动的青年人，感染了Estefania，感染了Amadeu的妹妹Adriana；同样，在今天，也感染了伯尔尼桥边被冷雨浇透的黑发红衣女子以及在里斯本夜车night train to Lisbon里的Raimud。
三十年后：Joao的双手已经不能拿起咖啡杯，他说，当里斯本秘密警察的木锤砸下的时候，砸断了他的手，也砸死了他的精神，因为，他的手，是弹莫扎特钢琴的手；Adrina总是一袭黑衣，保留着哥哥Amadeu时候的屋子的陈设和全部的书，她把哥哥写的话语集合起来，编成了这本《UM OURIVES DAS PALAVRAS》；Jorge无法再谈起这段历史，他说，我们只有埋葬了历史，才能继续前进；Estefania眼神依旧迷人，风姿绰约，独居，在西班牙的小城Salamanca做一名历史老师。她后来带着一颗猩红的康乃馨参加了Amadeu的葬礼。她说，她记下的秘密名单里的那些军人，后来发动了康乃馨革命，而Amadeu也在革命的这一天故去。
尾声：
“当我们离开一个地方的时候，也离开了当初的我们。只有当我们再回到这里的时候，我们才会发现，这里，我们曾经来过。” ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
看完《去里斯本的夜车》，和片中的铁叔一样对《文字炼金师》中的描写段落着迷，跟着铁叔极具磁性的嗓音，边听边看就像去远方神游了一番，完成了一趟电影旅途后又回到现实之中。其中有太多精妙优美的句子和我自己对生活的感悟不谋而合，大有被写出心中共鸣之感，于是挑了自己觉得最值得欣赏品味的语段，摘录于下，和友人们分享：
（图文：http://www.douban.com/note/325383183/）
What could, what should be done with all the time that lies ahead of us, open and unshaped, feather-light in its freedom and lead-heavy in its uncertainty?
Is it a wish? Dream-like and nostalgic, to stand once again at that point in life, and be able to take a completely different direction to the one which has made us who we are?
We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place; we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there. We travel to our souls when we go to a place that we have covered a stretch of our life, no matter how brief it may have been.
But by traveling to ourselves, we must confront our own loneliness. And isn't it so that everything we do is done out of fear of loneliness. Isn't that why we renounce all the things we'll regret at the end of our life?
Is it ultimately a question of self-image, the determining idea one has made for oneself of what one has to have accomplished and experienced so that one can approve of the life one has lived?
If the certainty befalls us that it will never be achieved this wholeness, we suddenly don't know how to live the time that can no longer be part of the whole life.
The real director of life is accident, a director full of cruelty, compassion and bewitching charm.
The decisive moments of life, when its direction changes forever, are not always marked by loud and shrill dramatics. In truth, the dramatic moments of a life-determining experience are often unbelievable low-key. When it unfolds its revolutionary effect and make sure that life that it revealed in a brand-new light. It does that silently, and in this wonderful silence resides its special nobility.
I would not like to live in a world without cathedrals. I need their beauty
and grandeur against the dirty colors of military uniforms. I love the powerful words of the Bible. I need the force of its poetry. I need it against the decay of language and the dictatorship of worthless slogans.
But there is another world I do not wish to live in. A world in which independent thinking is disparaged, and the finest things we can
experience denounced as sin. A world in which our love is demanded by tyrants, oppressors and assassin. And most absurdly, people are exhorted from the pulpit to forgive these creatures and even to love them.
It is for this reason we cannot just put the Bible aside. We have to throw it away completely, for it speaks only of vain holier-than-thou. In his omnipresent, the Lord observes us day and night. He takes note of our acts and thoughts. But what is a man without secrets? Without thoughts and wishes that he, and he alone, knows? Does the Lord our God
not consider He's stealing our soul with his unbridled curiosity, a soul that should be immortal?
But who would in all seriousness want to be immortal? How boring to know that what happens today, this month, this year, does not matter?
Nothing would count.
No one here knows what it would be like to live eternally. And it's a blessing we never will. One thing I can assure you, it would be hell,
this endless paradise of immortality. It is death and only death, that gives each moment beauty and horror. Only through death is time living thing. Why does the Lord not noticed? Why does He threaten us
with a... endlessness that can only be unbearably desolate?
I would not want to live in a world without cathedrals. I need the luster
of their windows, their cool stillness, their imperious silence. I need the holiness of words, the grandeur of great poetry. But just as much I need the freedom to rebel against everything that is cruel in this world. For the one is nothing without the other. And no one may force me to choose.
Imagination/Intimacy is our last sanctuary.
In youth, we live as if we were immortal. Knowledge of mortality dances around us like a brittle paper ribbon that barely touches our skin. When in life does that change? When does the ribbon tighten until finally it strangles us?
题记：
“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place; we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.” ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
瑞士，阿尔卑斯山山系北麓，莱茵河于此发源。欧洲古城伯尔尼，就位于这一片山地高原之上，莱茵河支流阿勒河从伯尔尼的南东北三面环绕而过。这里降水量极大，气候温寒，常年冷雨。拉丁文老师Raimund，一个五十七岁的离了婚独居的生活沉闷的老男人，在又一个冷雨的早上，急匆匆地走在横跨阿勒河的拱形大桥上。阿勒河仿佛切开了伯尔尼高原，深陷于两岸之间，从桥上看，深绿色的河水很低很远，宽阔湍急。雨水浇湿了一个年轻女子的长发，是那种地中海女人所特有的黑色的浓密而茂盛的长发。长发顺着雨水，粘在了她早已湿透的深红色的长风衣上。她的脸庞，如同白色大理石雕像一般，有着地中海女人所特有的那种有型，挺立，并且偏长的脸型，皮肤白皙紧致。Raimund救下了几乎要自杀的她，并无意中看到了她看的一本书，于是，”Night Train to Lisbon”的故事就开始了。
这部电影，有四条线索，讲述了一段几乎被人们遗忘的历史，当然，这段历史的亲历者和创造者，无论他们是否还在这个世界上，也同时被遗忘了。然而也正是因为这种遗忘，人们才得以继续着各自的人生。当Raimud读着伯尔尼大桥上女子留下的那本书，乘着夜晚的欧洲火车，从贝尔尼，穿越法国，西班牙，到了葡萄牙的里斯本时，也就把这四条线索，把被遗忘的那个时代和鲜活的人生捡了起来。
第一条线索，1970年代前期的葡萄牙，“康乃馨”前夜，极右的萨拉查政权几乎已经法西斯化，长期的海外殖民战争引起了葡萄牙国内的社会危机，越来越多的民众和中下层军人对这种社会状况产生不满，抵抗运动在里斯本的青年人和知识分子中暗潮涌动，萨拉查政权的秘密警察对抵抗运动的盯梢和镇压也越来越紧。
第二条线索，就是爱情。抵抗运动分子Jorge爱着Estefania。电影中的Estefania，有着高卢女人的深褐色的头发，瘦削而紧致的脸庞，眼睛沉静而又神采。当Jorge的好友，同为抵抗运动积极分子的Amadeu来找Jorge参加秘密会议的时候，Estefania拨开了Jorge放在她肩上的手，出神地凝视着Amadeu，伸出手，轻轻地抚摸着Amadeu的脸庞。
第三条线索，Amadeu是医生，也是革命者，思想者，作家。他写下了一本书《UM OURIVES DAS PALAVRAS》。“如果生命于我们已经剩下不多的话， 我们能做什么，我们应做什么，才能够发现我们生命的真谛，使我们的人生在未来的时间里，去走一条和以前完全不同的道路。”这本书里的话语，在1970年葡萄牙革命的年代，感染了抵抗运动的青年人，感染了Estefania，感染了Amadeu的妹妹Adriana；同样，在今天，也感染了伯尔尼桥边被冷雨浇透的黑发红衣女子以及在里斯本夜车night train to Lisbon里的Raimud。
第四条线索，Raimud在里斯本遇到了女眼科医生Mariana。Mariana脸型稍稍丰满，略有笑意。在为Raimud配镜时，身体端坐，两腿倾斜并拢在一起，她的腿是中年女人的腿，不似年轻女子的腿瘦削生硬，Mariana的腿有些丰腴，白皙，使人觉得温存与亲和。在乘船经过里斯本宽阔的河流时，地中海明亮的阳光洒落，刚刚认识的Mariana和Raimud坐在一起，那么的自然和轻松，内心的愉悦随同明亮的阳光在Mariana的脸上微微闪烁。Mariana的双腿依然倾斜而并拢在一起，阳光下，丰腴而有活力，是一种生命中曾失去的，却又重新渐渐的燃烧起来的活力。这种活力，就在Mariana的双腿上，在Mariana带着盈盈笑意的眼神里，在Mariana带着欣赏的微笑对Raimud说：“你不boring时。”
这四条线索贯穿下来，就是这部的全部情节了，我们不去细说了吧。用这部电影的宣传简介来讲，就是1970年前期在“康乃馨革命”这一历史背景下，几个年轻人的关于友谊与家庭，爱情和妒嫉，忠诚与背叛，镇压与革命的故事。
三十年后：Joao的双手已经不能拿起咖啡杯，他说，当里斯本秘密警察的木锤砸下的时候，砸断了他的手，也砸死了他的精神，因为，他的手，是弹莫扎特钢琴的手；Adrina总是一袭黑衣，保留着哥哥Amadeu时候的屋子的陈设和全部的书，她把哥哥写的话语集合起来，编成了这本《UM OURIVES DAS PALAVRAS》；Jorge无法再谈起这段历史，他说，我们只有埋葬了历史，才能继续前进；Estefania眼神依旧迷人，风姿绰约，独居，在西班牙的小城Salamanca做一名历史老师。她后来带着一颗猩红的康乃馨参加了Amadeu的葬礼。她说，她记下的秘密名单里的那些军人，后来发动了康乃馨革命，而Amadeu也在革命的这一天故去。
尾声：
“当我们离开一个地方的时候，也离开了当初的我们。只有当我们再回到这里的时候，我们才会发现，这里，我们曾经来过。” ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
喜欢这部电影，喜欢欧洲电影惯有的人文气质。没读过这本书，但喜欢留有余地，异于原著的结尾。一个老朽的英语老师，因一场意外，搭上了去往里斯本的列车，探究了一本书作者轰轰烈烈的短暂生命。之后，他枯燥呆板的生命，似乎在黄昏前，有了新的转变契机。影片结束在女配镜师的问句中:“你为什么不留下呢？”洒满绿色希望的留白。只是，抑制不住地想到了《廊桥遗梦》。
看似不相干的两部电影实则都试图阐述关于选择的命题。爱情或者革命都只是外衣。当摄影师近乎祈求地要和她远走高飞，她拒绝了。于是，只剩遗梦。爱情或者自我都在那个雨天随泪水消失。同样的情形似乎出现在了格列戈里斯的面前。考证了那本书作者的传奇人生，格列戈里斯应该给死气沉沉的生活一些起色。值得一提的是，作为一个克己本分的英语教师，他不顾一切地出行，滞留在里斯本，无视学监的电话就已经是在尝试其他的轨迹了。
为什么不让“如果”成真呢？！毕竟，人生没有彩排，别的活法也一直存在。
角色之间也有相似。Amadeu似米盖尔般博学、冷静、正直；Estefania像努丽亚一样美丽并纠葛于一对挚友之间，只是她爱的是书写者胡利安，所以Amadeu更像他们的重合。而Amadeu的挚友三人中的另一者Jorge，却又像傅梅洛那样卑微的爱着佩内洛普，不过后来的傅梅洛则是Mendez。
不同于《风之影》中故事由一个充满好奇的男孩开启，该片中不顾一切的去回溯他人生活的却是一个白发皤然的语言学教授。这本书的作者到底有多大魅力，能让一个稳重的成年人抛去理性走向大陆的最南端？
还没看过书，不知书中的这些人物又是怎样一番情态，单就电影所演，这个故事实在太无聊。诚然Amadeu是出色的天之骄子，他厌恶虚伪，反抗专制，又有医者的圣人之心，近乎完美的他难怪令教授不堪审视自身。
但问题是所有关于他的一切都太容易就被揭开了，他应该更难以捉摸更神秘，才能衬托他的不凡。可是教授每天拿着一本旅行地图，一天拜访一个旧人，轻轻松松就还原了Amadeu的人生。
几乎所有故事都少不了爱情元素在后半段开始，情节之无趣更是令整个故事与Amadeu都黯然失色，不过它的结果却颇为亮眼。Estefania对Amadeu一见钟情，可是在他们终于越过雷池可以私奔的时候，她却醒悟，他不适合自己。
行为固然是彻头彻尾的碧池，爱上男友的朋友，到了人家终于背叛朋友选择和你远走高飞你却过河拆桥。但Estefania的理智值得钦佩，由此也可以看出她仅仅是因为外貌而迷恋Amadeu。她不曾了解过他，只想要肉体的靠近，等她明白了他的灵魂是自己所不能承受的重量时，她懂得及时抽身。
也许是最近中姐弟毒太深，我觉得真正爱Amadeu的是Adriana。她拒绝接受弟弟离去的事实，终身守在他们共同成长生活的房子中，在他最爱的房间喝着他最爱的茶，好像每一寸空气都还有他的存在。
PS：很喜欢开头在伯尔尼的那些场景氛围，来到里斯本南欧的阳光实在太明媚，连故事都显得轻泛了。
PPS：教授这个角色我不是很喜欢，深深觉得他高攀了铁叔。眼科医生倒是很惊喜，看《隐墙》时女主角从头到尾都是一副茫然若失的怨妇相，这里却特别光彩照人，一颦一笑都很迷人，和铁叔很般配嗷。
一直不觉得梅拉尼长得美，只是有些时候颇有灵气。个人觉得同为法国的女演员诺拉·阿娜泽德尔更适合Estefania。