This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Victor S. K. P.’s review published on Letterboxd:
This review may contain spoilers.
Youth is like Summer. Filled with color and promise. Seeds spur into large, tender plants. But with age, the ripe and the raw become strong and distant. As a thick outer layer is built to protect oneself from the cruelties of the world, the friction between man and nature in which passion lies fades.
Yet there are murmurings of a place in which one's hopes could come true. Alas, the journey there is one of irrationality. Faith and superstition rely on odd, convoluting dogmas on the journey to one's hopes and desires. That's because either don't come true or, perhaps more likely, those desires are contorted and utterly selfish.
Thus, one is left in an achromic world of despair and tragic sorrow. One lives to meet one's needs, and spends the rest of his time drifting further away from reality, into the darker puddles of the devil's drink.
However, amidst this tragedy, there is hope -- in children, for they still see the world in color. Alas, the child's Summer will soon end, as snowflakes drift by her. Winter is coming, and Summer's hope has no place in icy air. She has no legs -- the younger generation only occasionally relies on faith for support (in the form of her father). Indeed, she really has no form of support on which to stand. Yet she is mystical, and she control things from afar, in a way that's incomprephensible to us.
And the future that once was bright and warm and promising is now upon us, blending into our present. Cold, detached, silent, mysterious, and free of hope. Not because of fearsome oppression or great challenges. But because of a greater apathy that quietly drowns out our souls, as water slowly washes over old artefacts and places. We no longer walk on water. We lie beneath it.