日子

虽然说不是蔡明亮导演的老影迷，但是在蔡导的新片《日子》曝光预告之后我便开始期待。

这几年陆陆续续看完了蔡导所有的电影长片。

我永远无法忘记当初第一次看蔡导的电影，看《爱情万岁》的那个下午，曾经无数的少年时代的日子全然随着那些安静孤独的画面产生情绪倒带，当所有的镜头最后停留在一个女人的一张脸上，一张哭泣的脸上的时候，似乎除了哭泣声外全世界都安静了，只剩我的心脏和哭声虬结在一起。

从那之后，我就爱上了蔡导的电影，并且一发不可收拾想要找到他所有的影片看，然而，正规的平台上只有《爱情万岁》，《青少年哪吒》和《郊游》，仅仅这三部也全都有不少的删减。

平日里无论是对盗版文艺片还是盗版书籍和音乐有很强抵触心理的我，怎么也按耐不住对蔡导电影的热爱，一部又一部从极少的盗版片源中找到了仅有的能下载的链接，即使画质再差也一点法子没有地看完了。

当《日子》发布预告片可想而知我有多么期待和兴奋了，然而同时我也知道这种题材的电影很可能是无法在内地上映的。

于是我便只能等，等到在柏林上映之后希望能够看到片源，毕竟实在没有经济条件去柏林观看首映。

首映过后，我心心念念在豆瓣开了个讨论，自然是希望有天有人能够在讨论下面贴一个片源链接。

于是我每次上豆瓣都会点进去看看。

直到前天点进去，看到有人发出了片源，我什么也没想便迫不及待保存了下来。

在此我说明，我并不清楚那是内鬼散播的资源。

当然不管是谁散播的盗版片源都是在我开的讨论区下面传播出去的，若是我不开那个讨论或许就不会有人把链接贴到豆瓣上。

身为蔡导的影迷，我衷心道歉。

我也绝不会把手中的片源传播给下一个人。

希望蔡导能够早日找到盗版的源头，也希望未来能有更多的人尽量抵制盗版的传播，无论电影还是音乐和书籍！

2020.4.8.下午

当那天问蔡导，这种自我生活历程的回顾是不是自恋？

而他答说听不懂问题时，答案就昭然若揭了。

我理解的影片主旨：导演把两代情人召集起来，拍了一部“东宫西宫”。

我内心的刻薄和父权制的恶臭残片在安全的黑暗中获得了出口…旁边的观众开始稀稀索索地掏东西，想吃就吃吧！

还须要做一个拘谨巴巴的现代观众吗？

咬了一口的洋葱鲔鱼煎饼，散发出臭臭的香味，走出影厅，我决定好好地吃它。

跨度四年。

小康那时候真的生病了。

我心目中的最佳导演。

他用四年的时间去提炼日子，留给最纯净的片段给我们。

我可以预见，在今后的无数个听到音乐盒的瞬， 都会有一股温暖明亮的力量涌到我的心头。

不需要任何对白，语言是多么乏力的东西呀。

无关爱情 只是两个孤独的灵魂给予对方的明亮的善意（我不太同意说这是同性电影的说法）。

这是我在Berlinale观看的第12部影片。

在看电影之前,我对这部电影的关键词提取是无对白，两个孤独的男人，按摩情节。

说实话没啥兴趣，甚至觉得可能会油腻，影评都没看，来看这场完全是鬼使神差。

两个人的日子分别开始了。

雨天，小康眼神呆呆的看着窗外，雨越下越大，有鸟鸣，独自一个人住在山里。

亚侬一个人做饭，窗外是吵闹的车水马龙的声音。

从阳光穿过窗户的角度来看，他应该是住在地下室。

他慢条斯理的洗菜生火烧饭，然后一个人吃饭。

开头漫长的镜头一度让我不知道导演要表达什么。

后来我回想起来，我才知道，大概想表达他们曾经那么孤单的忍受着时间的流逝。

唯一的手持镜头是他对小康的跟拍，愈来愈近，摇晃的，不变的那个空洞的瞳孔。

小康来到国外治病，他躺在酒店的沙发上，安静的，阳光打到他的脚面上。

两个人的日子开始有了交集。

小康叫了按摩服务，他赤裸着反身平躺着，按摩师只挂了一条内裤开始按摩。

他始终闭着眼，偶尔的睁开，余下的就是他真实的喘息声。

房间昏暗，房间里没有汽笛声。

结束了背部按摩，他翻身过来，他的眼神开始关注到这个亚侬（后面我就不讲了）这里有了他第一次浅笑。

呻吟。

接吻。

然后镜头戛然而止。

他们一起洗澡，小康眼神有过躲藏，但一直没离开过。

小康犹豫的看着正在穿衣服的亚侬，站起来给了他钱，又拉按摩师坐到床边来，递给他音乐盒。

小康左手扶在亚侬的膝盖上，音乐盒响起，他的烟还没抽完，他跟亚侬一起看着音乐盒，仿佛里面盛满了所有的阳光和美好，偶尔抬头看看天花板。

他熄灭了烟，一会看看亚侬 一会看看音乐盒。

亚侬的目光从来没有离开过音乐盒，直到音乐结束，他看着小康，开心的笑了。

无论镜头记录的是多么无奈灰暗的日子，他们之间的感情都是纯净明亮的，像音乐盒。

亚侬说谢谢。

亚侬要走了，他们拥抱。

小康追出来，他们一起吃饭。

镜头隔着马路，他们两人，我们不知道他们说了什么，但又有什么关系呢，车水马龙又有什么关系呢。

这个时候我们站在离他们很远的地方，但温暖很近。

小康离开了，他一个人走回山中，那个有鸟鸣的地方，像之前一样，他醒来，发呆。

只是现在他有了想念的人吧。

亚侬又开始一个人做饭。

一个人坐在公交站那里，好像在等公交，他打开音乐盒，在车水马龙的嘈杂声中，他继续像上次一样盯着音乐盒。

没有等来公交，他把音乐盒装回背包，独自离开。

他不会忘记吧，曾经有人给过他美好。

如果我没有记错的话，从他们相遇开始，跨度恰好是从白天到黑夜。

是浓缩的日子。

那段消音的空镜头一直让我动容，太阳升起，投映在斑驳的玻璃上，只剩下被割裂的支离破碎的阳光呀，小猫好像是从墙上走过吧，显得很渺小。

他们捡起来自己的阳光了吗？

我常常觉得自己同理心泛滥，很敏感，我看洪尚秀的新片也哭了，影片结束的时候，左边的德国阿姨说不理解这个电影，问我为什么被感动了，我说我只是我想起了我的朋友，想到了自己15年或者20年后。

无论是婚姻还是友情，我又会从哪里逃到哪里呢，我又可以逃去哪里呢。

我不是说洪尚秀不够优秀，我只是觉得逃跑的女人更让我感动的是故事是剧本。

导演卓越的功底在我看来有技巧的，可习得的，可复制可模仿的。

但要在4年里去打磨一部作品，有所取舍，是一件太难太难的事情。

日子就好像是本能一样的浑然天成。

镜头远远近近，长长短短都值得推敲。

这跟DAU的真实不一样，DAU里的主人公几乎全程铺满整个画面，没有给我任何喘息的时间去思考。

所以我更喜欢日子里的真实。

镜头大多是固定的，就好像我就这么静静的等着你出现，去表达你的日子。

有一个细节，不知道是不是我自己的过度解读。

影片结尾的时候。

小康的住处惯例是没有汽笛声的，但当他醒来，发呆想念的时候，最后出现了汽笛的声音，然后过渡到亚侬视角，是在嘈杂的汽笛声中坐在公交站牌前。

这种先入声音，后入画面，或者交融声音，后入画面的手法，跟前面直接切入第二画面的手法很不一样。

就好像，他们都日子有了交融，或者他们都在想念彼此吧。

汽笛声好像一直跟着亚侬。

但是，跟小康在一起的时间，外界的声音安静很多。

影片开始和结束都是明亮的白幕，简单的演员表。

我不知道这是不是蔡明亮其他作品的惯例。

我只是觉得小康和亚侬的日子本来充满了灰暗无奈，下不停的雨，山中的雾，还是街道上的汽笛声，都是那么无力。

影片中也没有给过任何直接的明媚的阳光，唯一明亮的就是他们给彼此那自己仅有的明亮的温暖。

这种温暖和善意我很难用一种情感去形容概括他。

我现在整个人都是飘的。

所有黑白，无言，都将跨越时代。

1、其实就XX的日子，最生活化的东西，如果XX是名人，则就是纪录片。

似水流年的日子如果变成电影，还是需要些许修饰的，因为没有修饰的日子要比电影本身无趣的多。

2、无关同性，无关青春，无关所谓的“淡淡”，蔡导要的其实就是两个不同国别、不同状态、不同诉求的人某天的遇见和碰撞，到最后擦肩而过，有那么一点触动的感觉，但其实，我还是更喜欢“一一”。

3、无处安放且霸王硬上弓的“性”终于一反常态地在生活化的状态里出现了，可惜，最美的不是享受“性”的时刻，而是两个人面对面坐在街边小摊旁“对食”的那份时光，但也没有多久，时光转瞬即逝。

4、形式大于内容，这个世界还是看人的世界。

原文地址：https://mubi.com/notebook/posts/trapped-bodies-tsai-ming-liang-discusses-days标题：Trapped Bodies: Tsai Ming-Liang Discusses "Days"副标题：Tsai Ming-liang and his two stars, Lee Kang-sheng and Anong Houngheuangsy, talk sickness, recovery, moviemaking, and their new film, "Days."作者：Daniel Kasman•28 FEB 2020正文One of the strongest qualities of this year’s Berlin International Film Festival is just how many small scale movies have been granted a much-deserved premiere on the biggest of screens and reddest of carpets here, in the main competition. The most personal of all these, as well as the most touching, is Days, the new film by the Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang. Stripped down even further than 2015’s stoic Stray Dogs, it iterates on both Afternoon (2015), a documentary made of a conversation between a loquacious Tsai and the taciturn star of his movies, Lee Kang-sheng, and Your Face (2018), a feature-length gallery work made up only of intensely observed close-ups, many of elderly Taiwanese. Days takes the lessons of documentary impulse, evocative spareness, extreme patience, and extended duration from those films, as well as their focus on the aging, to create a new picture of wide expanse in terms of geography and compassion, but whose story is intensely intimate, discrete, and personal.Lee returns, of course: an ageless beauty now at 50. But even if the actor is as handsome as ever, his body and movements tell another tale. Lee contracted some extreme illness over the last several years, and Days was born out of the idea of filming his living and recuperation. In it, we see the existence of two men, both unnamed: that of Lee, who descends from a mountaintop refuge (in reality, his and Tsai’s home) to find muscular therapy in various cities (Taipei, Hong Kong, and Bangkok); and that of a young man half Lee’s age (Anong Houngheuangsy), living in Bangkok. Both men live alone, the one self-isolated, attending to his recovery, and the other, suffering the big city solitude of a transplant and outsider, Anong being a Laotian working in Thailand.Opening with a entrancing long shot of Lee seated in his white-walled retreat in the clouds and amongst the trees, gazing outside at a world we only see in the reflection of the window, the majority of Days is made of quiet master shots observing these men’s routines: Lee bathing, stretching, visiting a doctor; Anong praying and preparing and cooking a beautiful fish and vegetable soup; both walking around their cities, alone, and Anong possibly cruising, or at least mournfully looking for any kind of companion. The connection, call it metaphysical, between the two strands the film pleats together could by myriad: Different versions of the same person split across time or countries, lovers bound to meet, or, most intriguing, a poetic suggestion of a father and son—or one that could have been. Tsai’s camera highlights not just the texture and space of each man’s introspective isolation, but their beautiful human bodies too, bodies in space, sensual bodies covered and revealed. In a deeply affective sequence, we watch Lee receive what looks like a precarious and painful muscular therapy involving electronic stimulation and burning embers. Here Tsai deviates from his one-scene, one-shot approach with multiple cuts and angle changes, underscoring the documentary aspect that blends the life of his actor with the composition of the film. After Lee leaves the doctor’s, the film again surprisingly shifts style, opting for aggressive handheld closeups of Lee, his neck held in a brace and that brace held tentative by his hands, as he navigates the crowded sidewalk. The scene combines the stylistic departures of two of Tsai’s most radically different films, Your Face and the handheld short Madame Bovary (2009), and this disjuncture makes Lee’s real discomfort even more palpable: the outside world is just distracting noise against the intense focus his pain consumes.It would be a spoiler, but a necessary one, to say that eventually these two men, older and younger, ill and healthy, Taiwanese and Laotian, meet. They meet at the point of an economic transaction, and thus one between two classes, as well as one that is recuperative: a massage for Lee by Anong in a hotel room. In two very extended long shots, we watch nearly the whole massage, an immersion of time and sensuality of extraordinary intimacy due not just to the profound emphasis on Lee’s oiled and rubbed torso and the prolonged touching of another, but in the effect the therapy has on Lee, whose body grunts and groans under the pressure, the pain, and the pleasure. A transaction turns into therapy, into eroticism, and perhaps more: we sense (and indeed long for) a greater connection, a human one, one of souls, that meet in this communion of flesh. At its end, the two linger together and Lee gifts the young man a music box that plays Chaplin’s theme for Limelight: a romantic gesture, but also one suggesting Chaplin’s status at that film’s time of an old man well-past his prime, of a political troublemaker, and of an exile. Lee hands it to Anong, soul to soul, generation to generation: it has the feeling at once of a memento, a curse, and a blessing.At the world premiere of their new film, director Tsai Ming-liang and his stars Lee Kang-sheng and Anong Houngheuangsy discusses the origins of the film, its documentary elements, Lee's recent illness, and cinema's love of faces and bodies.采访：NOTEBOOK: If I could start with Mr. Tsai, you’ve said somewhat recently that you wanted to first move away from films with scripts, and then move away from films with concepts. I’m wondering what is this film without a concept?TSAI MING-LIANG: That’s the film you saw! [laughs] A script is a tool. Actually, I already had a script when I was shooting the film and sometimes, if we have a script it was actually for the team, because they need to know what was going on. But for this film, Days, I didn’t need a script at all because we don’t really have a so-called “team” for shooting the film: I just had a cinematographer with me, and I don’t need a script for the outline and the plot, and so I didn’t need to explain to him what the film was about.NOTEBOOK: This film seems built from routine, how people spend their days, how people spend their life. How do you start making a film like this? TSAI: We should divide the shooting of this film into two parts. We should go back to the year 2014, because we came to Europe, we had a theatre performance, and I always had a cinematographer with us, who always recorded our daily routines during our trip. And Kang-sheng actually fell sick. He started to get sick and every day I would have to take him to see a doctor. Or, after treatment, we would have to take a walk in the park. And then, after the whole tour, I saw these images after a while and I realized that I really loved those images. Because Kang-sheng was sick and when he was ill, it was not a performance, it was actually very realistic—and these images really touched me. So, I told myself that I should film this. That’s why I talked to the photographer and that’s why we started shooting, when he was sick. So—this is still the first part—Lee Kang-sheng actually wanted to see a doctor in Hong Kong. We went there as a team: just the cinematographer, me, Lee Kang-sheng and of course my producer, Claude Wang. We had no idea we were shooting something, we had no idea what the treatment was about—and that’s the thing you saw—but we just had a vague image. We decided to film Lee Kang-sheng walking from the hotel to the clinic where the doctor is. We weren’t really sure why we were shooting those images…The second part of the shooting was that I met Anong, the actor, in Thailand. We were actually video-chatting friends. I met him, I got his telephone number, and we started chatting online, through videos. He’s a foreign worker from Laos, working in Thailand. And this kind of identity—he’s actually a foreign worker—this kind of identity is something that really interested me. We started doing a lot of video-chatting and I realized that he was really good at cooking. And when he was cooking and his daily routine… something was there, and that would touch me. This second part, at the beginning, had nothing to do with the first part. One day, three years later, I started talking to my cinematographer about all the images that we grabbed. I just started to be very interested. We started to talk about having a connection between these two parts—and made a film. The editing process was really long, we had a lot of footage. For example, those images we grabbed when we were doing our theatre tour in Europe in 2014, a lot of them were actually in the film but in the long process of editing, they were eventually gone. This is the final result; the final cut of the film that you saw was actually the result of the long process of the work and labor. NOTEBOOK: Mr. Lee, I wonder if because this film is dealing so much with your recovery and your recuperation, if you see it crossing the line into almost a documentary about you, less than a fiction film? LEE KANG-SHENG: Those images that you saw, when I was sick: actually I was really sick. For me, that was actually documentary. At the beginning I was not willing to be an object of filming because at first, I was really sick, and I wouldn’t look good when I was sick. And of course, I’m a star and you don’t want to look bad on film when you’re a star. Because when you are sick you look sick, and that is very awkward. At the beginning of the film I was actually resisting this, but the director sort of helped... or coerced [laughs]... or started pushing me into this, and sometimes I was acting to try and look less sick for the camera.NOTEBOOK: Anong, Kang-sheng has worked with Tsai Ming-liang for many years now, and knows his kind of films and kind of filmmaking. I’m curious to know from you, as someone new to making this kind of cinema and working with Mr. Tsai, what your experience was like?ANONG HOUNGHEUANGSY: We met in Thailand when I was working making noodles and we exchanged contacts and we had been talking for two years. We would video and Skype and things. We developed this friendship-relationship kind of thing, so in the beginning it was almost like working with friends. I realized that it was a part of the movie when he asked me to make a cooking video, and, I thought, oh my gosh there’s a video camera coming, and I realized that this is some sort of movie production. It was very friendship-style. It took me a while to get into [the massage scene], because we also barely knew each other before. Kang-sheng was helping a lot to facilitate what it feels like to act, and although we could barely speak perfect English, somehow we could communicate with each other. It turned out to be very effortless. NOTEBOOK: Mr. Tsai, for the whole film you keep these two men apart, but the film climaxes, so to speak, with them sharing a moment of intense connection. How do you create an intimacy for the two actors who are not together for an entire movie and are only together for one moment? TSAI: First of all, Lee Kang-sheng is actually my actor: he’s been working with me, we have a really close relationship, and he will actually do anything that I ask him to do [laughs]. And when it comes to Anong, he actually had no idea what I was doing. He had no idea that Lee Kang-sheng was an actor, he had no idea that Tsai Ming-liang was a director. When we were shooting those images, those videos of him cooking, he realized that maybe we were shooting something. Maybe for TV, maybe for films. But he just knew that he had to be natural, because I wanted him to do a naturalistic performance. Or not a performance at all: just be natural. We didn’t really have a lot of communication. But somehow in the process we established some sort of trust, because I was always thinking, it was always cooking in my head, should these two people meet? Maybe they should meet, maybe they shouldn’t meet. I was thinking about this back and forth. Because we had to make this documentary, those documentary images connect somehow into a feature film, or some sort of a drama. But I didn’t want it to be a real drama, I wanted it to be something very close to reality. When we were shooting those intimate moments in the room, there were not so many people. We had a cinematographer and a person who was in charge of lighting, and then the two actors. And we just did everything in a very slow way. We slowly adjusted the light and atmosphere and everything. And somehow it just worked.There’s a certain prop I want to talk about from the film: the music box. Because actually the music box was a gift from my producer, Claude Wang. He visited the Eye Filmmuseum in the Netherlands, and he knew that I really liked Charlie Chaplin. It’s the music from Limelight by Chaplin. Eventually, I actually gave this music box to Anong as a gift. And so when we were shooting in this room, suddenly it hit me: woah, okay, actually Anong has that music box. I asked him to bring the box with him, so actually it was a spontaneous idea. For me, this is something very close to reality.NOTEBOOK: Your previous film, Your Face, concentrated so much on just faces that when this film started and we saw Lee Kang-sheng gazing out of a window, I thought Days was going to be this shot for two hours—and I was happy! [laughter] Did your intense study of faces change the way you wanted to make this film? TSAI: Actually, this is my feedback to films! Why are films so fascinating? For me, it’s because of faces. Film is a medium, but faces actually are the topics and themes of films. These faces in the films were the chosen ones. It’s not just random faces: they were the chosen ones.But it’s not just faces that I focus on, it’s the bodies and the figures of the actors. Days is actually about the two bodies of the two actors. Because Lee Kang-sheng is 50 years old and Anong is 20 years old—actually, you can see that Days could be something that continues what we didn’t finish in The River, in 1997, which was in Berlinale as well. Because back then, Lee Kang-sheng was only 20 years old. So now, with his sick body, his aged body, he had to meet this other body who is 20 years old, but is yet another trapped body as well. So for me this film is actually about the two figures and two bodies of these actors.NOTEBOOK: So much of this film is about recovery—recovering the body, recovering the soul, getting healthier—in different ways: doctors, massage, a human connection. For you, is making a movie also an act of recovery, of therapy? Does making movies make you feel better? TSAI: What I cannot really deal with is not soul—because soul is something I can deal with—but the body, which is actually something I cannot deal with. We cannot avoid getting sick and getting old and feeling pain. We used to possess beauty, now we cannot avoid decay. We cannot control our body, and we all need to be calmed. A lot of times we need another body to calm our bodies down. Of course, you see the whole film is the therapeutic process for Lee Kang-sheng, the [climatic] massage was not just the massage for his body, it was also the massage for his soul. And when Lee Kang-sheng got sick, it was actually a lot worse than what you saw in the film’s images. He was so sick that he couldn’t have acted, as an actor, his sickness. When he was so sick, my soul was suffering as well. We were both working for the film, so through the film, indeed, this could be a therapeutic process.

日子，其實簡簡單單。

起床，洗漱，吃飯，謀生，回家，睡覺，死去……周而復始，日復一日，年復一年。

孤獨，都是人生常態。

你時候最感覺孤獨？

——當你關注，孤獨這件事的時候。

人生很快，電影讓人生慢下來。

＃《日子》蔡明亮的《日子》（2020年），是一部極具實驗性質的電影，延續了導演一貫的慢節奏敘事風格，透過日常生活中的片段，探討孤獨、時間、身體感受與人際連結。

#故事概要《日子》的敘事非常簡約，幾乎沒有對話，整部電影以蔡明亮，擅長的長鏡頭和靜態畫面，展示兩位角色日常生活片段：角色背景：李康生飾演的小康，是一位飽受身體病痛折磨的人，他的生活緩慢且沉重，透過理療和日常動作，展現出身體與時間的對抗。

曾威豪飾演一位年輕的外國移工，他的生活雖然簡樸，但也透著一種孤獨。

主要情節：小康和威豪在一間旅館相遇，兩人共享了一段短暫的親密時光，透過身體接觸與交流，填補了各自孤獨的心靈空洞。

這一相遇之後，他們又各自回到了，自己的生活，彼此的日子繼續獨立運行。

#電影想要表達什麼？

《日子》並沒有傳統的，敘事結構或情節起伏，蔡明亮更多地著眼於，日常生活中的情感與時間流逝，表達了以下幾個主題：孤獨與人際連結：小康和威豪分別代表不同階層、背景與年齡的人，但兩人都活在孤獨之中。

他們的相遇，成為一次短暫，而真實的人際連結，展示了人在孤獨中，渴望理解與陪伴的本能。

身體感受與療癒：小康的身體病痛，與威豪的按摩相輔相成，身體接觸成為療癒的一種方式。

這也象徵著人類的，脆弱與渴望被呵護的需求。

時間流逝與當下存在：長時間的鏡頭捕捉，平凡的日常動作，如看窗外的雨、洗菜、準備飯菜，讓觀眾進入角色的內心世界，體驗時間的緩慢流逝，與生命的即時存在感。

無國界人性共通性：雖然來自不同背景與文化，兩個角色的孤獨與渴望相通，強調了人性的普遍性。

這也對現代社會中的疏離感，進行了深刻反思。

#藝術風格與特點長鏡頭與靜態構圖：蔡明亮以長時間靜止的鏡頭，讓觀眾直視日常中的細節，挑戰傳統電影敘事模式，讓人反思生活中的微小瞬間。

真實與抽象並存：《日子》保留了現實生活的質感（如角色的真實病痛），但同時也具備抽象與詩意的層次，讓觀眾自行解讀情感與象徵。

無字幕與非線性敘事：電影不提供字幕，讓觀眾完全依靠畫面，與角色的肢體語言感受情節，進一步強化視覺與情感的體驗。

#總結《日子》是一部，極為個人化的作品，它不追求娛樂性，而是邀請觀眾在電影中慢下腳步，感受生活的細微之處。

蔡明亮以獨特的電影語言，深刻地描繪了現代人，心靈的孤寂與渴望，提醒人們珍視當下，每一個瞬間的情感與連結。

日子 (2020)6.62020 / 中国台湾 / 剧情 同性 / 蔡明亮 / 李康生 亚侬弘尚希

内源性吗啡电影中小康所接受的按摩服务，是一种私人的上门服务，泰式按摩。

小康明显已经与按摩师产生了信任感，从动作的配合度来看，这也与时间积累有关，是试探性消费到成熟消费心理的质变。

内源性是由人体自身内部产生的与外源性相对的物质，内源性吗啡一般常见的在于长期的按摩与洗脚。

在服务业发达的社会里，按摩与洗脚上瘾的问题已经慢慢成为一种社会病。

小康所接受的私人泰式按摩是传统的精油按摩，先将衣物去除，赤裸向下平躺。

按摩师将携带的精油滴于手心，摩擦发热。

两掌舒展按压至全身。

但也不是从任意部位开始，一般按从下到上的步骤操作。

和电影一样，Non从康的足部开端按摩，紧接着腰部到背部，手臂到手掌最后到颈部，有需求的头部也可以接受按摩。

电影里是私人预约型的男士spa，就会有臀部与乳头或者性器官的按摩项目。

这类按摩很难局限于同性或者异性，但预约此项服务的大部分是同性居多。

康与Non在服务的结尾关系就变的暧昧不清，接吻与洗澡，还有配有卓别林配乐的八音盒礼物。

康在即将送别Non之际犹豫的跟上去，一起吃了顿路边摊。

但往后彼此也没有过多的来往，养鱼或者烧炭，吃吃睡睡。

在清晨醒来后的恍惚，在午夜公交椅上的呆滞，都是服务业物质性社会所产生的孤独感。

除了生理需求外，我们很难将心理的苦衷解释与他人，此时无声胜有声，肉体与肉体的摩擦更能抚慰物质横行的浮躁心。

在按摩过程康的呻吟与Non的按摩替代了言语的安慰，几十分钟的关系如梦境一般，虽然不得不给上早已准备好的小费。

温馨提示：患颈肩疼者，睡觉时，一般将枕头放置于颈部，而非后脑勺。

经历过颈肩周炎的患者能够理解只有这样，才能使脖子肌肉相对放松。

电影中李康生的睡觉姿势是颈腰疼者的正确睡眠方式，腰痛患者一般呈虾状，也就是侧卧。

当然电影不单聚焦于小康的病痛，Non的睡眠姿势也呈虾状，但Non没有受病痛的折磨，想表达的或许是个体与个体的孤独叠加。

郊游 (2013)7.22013 / 中国台湾 法国 / 剧情 家庭 / 蔡明亮 / 李康生 陆弈静如果没有看过蔡导《郊游》类似的电影，可能很难接受固定长镜头所带来的漫长感，但我觉得《日子》比《郊游》长时间站在墙边的映像更加轻盈且生活化，如果耐心与平静点更能够接受此形式所带来的共情感，而非单纯的产生前列腺液，现在还有多少《那年夏天，宁静的海》了。

第二部蔡明亮。

喜欢的人应该很喜欢，不喜欢的人应该觉得很无聊吧。

整部电影除了三个追身的运镜之外，全部都是定格镜头。

没有对白，故事线非常弱。

全部都是情绪的宣泄。

孤独。

每个镜头持续的时间足够长，长到电影结束的时候，我可以回忆出绝大部分的镜头都拍了什么。

观众与其说观众是观众，不如说是观察者。

站在摇滚区，近距离观察康跟Non的生活。

Non洗菜的时候，也不觉得无聊，反倒觉得有趣。

康跟Non一直是一个人，一个人做菜、一个人艾灸、一个人吃饭。

城市的喧嚣把孤独感无限的放大。

两个人都面无表情，默默的做着自己该做的事情。

情欲的宣泄也无法化解孤独。

直到康拿出了卓别林《舞台春秋》的八音盒。

音乐太美妙了，两个人都静静的坐着，享受着片刻的安详、宁静与欢乐。

无论来往车辆多么的吵闹，看着他们在一起吃饭，就觉得安宁。

然后回到原来的生活：一个人做饭、一个人走路、一个人睡觉。

回归空旷的孤独。

结尾很美，城市再喧嚣，也有点点温暖。

我看这部片子是在大概一年多以前，当时我只留下了一句短评——“很好，但不属于现在的我”影片里的生活大概就是我一直以来想要追求的，只可惜一年多以前，当我的生活完全处在一种不确定的状态下，我无法开始，花费我的精力来实践这样的生活。

而现在，我觉得是时候了。

所以说到底是什么样的生活呢，我当时印象最深刻的，是那段做饭的戏。

我确实差点哭出来，羡慕，渴望抑或是嫉妒？

他怎么能那样不急不躁的准备饭菜？

任时间静静流过，没有喜，也没有悲。

要知道当时的我，连走路都无法放慢脚步，无论做什么事，我都提醒自己要快。

舍不得停下任何一秒钟看看风景，就连娱乐都变得急功近利。

实在是太过可悲了，但没办法，年轻人要在社会中生存，是要经历这一步的吧，至少我，逃不掉。

再有就是按摩那场戏，不知道当时现场有几个人能真正体会呢？

那是一种真正纯粹的性愉悦，和情与爱解耦的性愉悦。

人们喜欢把这三者紧密结合，但我偏偏希望将它们分开，让每一种愉悦保持独立的同时，也允许它们产生联络。

爱一个人，是基于其品质的，真诚和善良的人会让我着迷。

我不允许我自己以期待任何回报为目的去爱或者只是去说爱一个人，包括性愉悦和人们所谓情绪价值。

感情对我来说大概就是人有见面之情，是在一次次相互接触中建立起来的关心也好，思念也罢。

我这个人是真不爱网聊，我记得我在豆瓣上第一次发当时还叫豆油是吧，就是直接约见面，后来我们相处的还不错。

想来有趣，这么多年来在社交媒体上我还是会直接约人见面，怎么说呢，被当成过神经病，也交到了值得信赖的朋友。

最后聊聊性，虽然也许谈性色变的年代已经过去了，但我个人的观点更加开放一些。

放映结束，当时蔡明亮导演谈这段按摩的戏的时候，他说他把性看作一种疗愈。

对，就是疗愈，身体和心灵上都是。

拥抱，抚摸，把身体的每一块肌肉激发起来，解除疲劳，唤醒灵魂。

不过我这个观点的形成，来自于更早的时候，当我观看杜尚•马卡维耶夫的《有机体的秘密》时，精神学派最激进的人物——威廉•赖希，一直坚持用性高潮治愈疾病。

其实纯粹的性享受可能并不易获得，太多畸形的东西参与其中了。

比较典的就是有些人喜欢到处分享，使他愉悦的不是性本身，而是需要被人夸奖。

最后一幕，我记得是阿廖在车站拿着小康送的礼物似乎是在想念。

为什么而想念呢？

其实不重要，重要的是有人勾起了我们的想念。

总之，对我来说，这部电影包含了很多我憧憬的生活的样子。

而我现在要做的是把我一团糟的生活，过到像这部电影那样。

有些演员和固定导演、特定电影风格捆绑已久，如果出现在其他作品里会觉得违和，甚至不太能接受。

李康生在《馗降：粽邪2》的法师、《楼下的房客》里的同性恋租客，其实很容易让人出戏，像是让一个枪法精准的狙击手打掉天上的云朵，古怪的大材小用。

李康生只有在蔡明亮的电影里才是李康生。

从《爱情万岁》（1994），《天边一朵云》（2005），《郊游》（2013）到这部暌违已久的《日子》（2020），蔡明亮最喜欢拍的是“孤独和寂寞”。

王家卫也喜欢拍“孤独和寂寞”，两个人的寂寞是截然不同的。

蔡明亮是静态的，王家卫是动态的，蔡明亮是灰暗的，王家卫是缤纷的，蔡明亮是痛苦的，王家卫是轻松的，蔡明亮是失望的，王家卫是满怀期待的，蔡明亮不苟言笑，王家卫絮语闲言，蔡明亮的孤独因为压抑的情欲而肿胀而蓬勃而疲乏，王家卫用繁华的霓虹和思绪使孤独对象化审美化，成为自珍自恋甚至享悦其中的艺术。

《日子》是蔡明亮“寂寞”的主题再一次探索，是深化，也是简化，放弃叙事，传达情绪。

《日子》片长127分钟，只有两位主要演员，影片结构是完整的一天，从早到晚再到清晨。

开场就是李康生看着窗外的风雨，满脸疲态，持续了5分钟。

接着是李康生和亚侬各自的生活，洗澡，洗菜，烧火，做饭，逛街，购物，全程基本一言不发。

中间甚至有一段真实的李康生治疗肩背病痛的片段，还因为电击疗法发生意外烧到头发，正在拍摄的导演急切地介入帮忙清理，这段已经是实实在在的纪录片，跳出了虚构和故事。

之后是长达20分钟的酒店按摩戏，观众在大银幕前面对李康生的身体，欣赏完一整套泰式按摩，极为考验耐性。

按摩结束，李康生送了亚侬一个八音盒，亚侬打开音乐盒，流泻出卓别林《舞台春秋》（1952）的主题曲《永恒》。

两个人静静地听着音乐，然后告别。

李康生沉默片刻，又追上了上去。

镜头在远处注视着两人在小店吃饭，聊天。

李康生回去，继续劳作，散步，睡觉。

亚侬回家，烧饭，睡觉李康生第二天早晨醒来，睁开眼，迷茫的眼神，若有所思。

亚侬来到公交车站，仿佛在等什么，缓缓拿出八音盒，听着八音盒的音乐，看着繁华的车水马龙。

他们聊了什么，他在想什么，另一个他在想什么，没人知道。

蔡明亮现在喜欢随机地经常性地保留一些影像素材，没有任何目的，只是单纯地记录。

这部电影的素材是从2014年开始拍，拍到2019年，背景人物的淡化和模糊，让素材也失去辨识的可能，四年多的影像片段结合到一起，观众很难区分出他们是在台北、香港还是曼谷。

在曼谷，蔡明亮决定制作这部电影，拍摄了中后段的按摩戏和片尾的公交车站戏份。

之前零碎的片段在这里突然有了联系。

两个人有了交集就有了事件，两个人分开就有了故事。

八音盒让画面出现了情绪的碎片，一旦有了情绪就有了意义，就可以感受，就可以解读。

蔡明亮依然是对人间有眷恋，即使彻骨的孤独，也不愿放弃。

除了高度纪录片风格的内容、大量固定长镜头，蔡明亮在这部电影里最突出的形式突破是接近于零的电影台词。

除了治病一段李康生和医师有些简短交流，两位主演之间基本都是靠眼神和表情“对话”。

蔡明亮电影台词的简化是近年作品的趋势，在这部电影的开头干脆打出了“本片无对白字幕”。

导演认为“语言是危险的。

”在表达情感的时候，语言不仅是危险的，有时候也是多余的。

李康生坐在窗前发呆，两人按摩完之后的对视，两人一起坐在床边听八音盒音乐，李康生早晨醒来后空洞的眼神，亚侬在公交车站落寞的身影，这些时刻无法用语言表达，那些微妙的流动的变幻莫测的难以捉摸的感受多到复杂到简单到语言无法承载。

不说话的时候表达的比说话时更多。

就像那场漫长的按摩戏，肉香弥漫，情欲淤积，虽然一言不发，但是欲望蓬勃。

它承载了两个人的寂寞，又延续了甚至放大了寂寞。

是开始也是结束。

是可能性。

《深焦》记者采访时问导演，是否“性”在这里很重要。

蔡明亮说：当然很重要。

人与人相处，最后留下一些什么东西，是什么？

这不是一个故事片，我们不用说得很明白。

正因为它不是故事片，它说的不是很明白，所以它很真实，思念很真实，寂寞也很真实，不一定要完成。

生活普遍就是这样，没有事情被完成，完成都是编剧在完成，或者电影在完成。

我不觉得需要完成，所以我现在最感兴趣就是拍没头没脑的电影。

我们长期都被电影的完整性……所“洗脑”，洗到我们习惯、束缚了，看不到更多东西，看到的可能都是假的东西。

我觉得通常真实的都是没有完成的，来不及完成的，或者不会完成的，所以人生才会有感触。

两个男人的一次约会在这部电影里具有了某种象征意义，吃喝拉撒，生老病死，买与卖，爱与被爱，寂寞与等待，这就是生活，这就是“日子”，《日子》就是在讲人如何活下来。

电影的主演之一亚侬，是蔡明亮在曼谷街头偶然认识的打工仔，老挝人，当时是厨师，导演吃了他煮的面，他刚好休息一下，就跟他聊了起来，留了联系方式，有了一些交往。

想拍这部片子的时候，就拉着他一起了。

蔡明亮曾对《明报》记者说起电影的创作：“我的电影和我的生活有很多重叠，哪怕是一个道具，我不会坐在家里写剧本想一个桥段出来，它一定是有原因跑出来的。

《日子》里的音乐盒，是云霖2019年初送我，我们当时去阿姆斯特丹，他帮我在电影博物馆买了一个音乐盒。

后来我去泰国，就送给亚侬。

《日子》里原本没有想到用音乐盒的。

我去了泰国，小康也要来了，然后我就一直在焦虑他和亚侬要不要相遇，相遇是一部电影，不相遇也是一部电影。

后来我决定要相遇，相遇一定有这个情欲戏，那么有什么东西可以超越这种金钱交易的按摩？

我忽然想到音乐盒，就请亚侬把音乐盒拿过来，变成一个道具。

”《日子》就是蔡明亮和李康生的一段日子。

电影在蔡导这里仿佛回归到了最原始的境地，用自己的眼睛，记录生活，感受生活。

影像不再高高在上，它和生活同时进行，不知何时起，不知何时止，永远流淌。