日子

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。

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.

4月6日 有網民在豆瓣網上求看我尚未發行的《日子》一位網名喵喵的人 隨即奉上影片下載的連結 內容正是《日子》被流出的樣帶 屬商業機密的私人財產 為何會在喵喵的手上 他又為何有權利進行輸送活動 我們已把他當時在網上的行為截圖存證了 像喵喵這種行為的人為數不少 我們能查到的都一一存檔 以備法律之需以時間來算 喵喵不是此樣片流出的元兇 但顯然他是第一個把《日子》非法傳播到豆瓣網的人 影片被盜如同被謀殺《日子》被謀殺了 喵喵就是繼兇手之後再補上一刀的其中一人 這些助紂為虐者 血淋淋的雙手和滿足的微笑 捧著別人的血汗生命 大肆招攬冷漠嗜血的群眾來看熱鬧 這樣的猴戲在世界的某處天天上演 我想知道喵喵是誰 是男是女 長得漂亮 四肢健全 受過高等教育 以上全問號喵喵 你觸法了 知道嗎 當你輕輕按下《日子》樣片輸送的按鍵 還是你並不覺得 你以為這樣是可以的 你的世界沒有法律 也沒有是非嗎我想知道喵喵是誰 是怎樣的人 他跟我有什麽不同 他三頭六臂嗎喵喵 你的人生有掉過東西嗎 或者被扒被偷 有過被侵佔過的經驗嗎 或被糟蹋的感受 在街上撿到一個錢包 你會交給警局嗎 或者你會想那丟錢的人也許有急用 你就在原地傻傻地等他 或者你就走掉了喵喵 請盡速跟我聯系蔡明亮 2020.4.11

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。

之前就听说蔡导现在只是拍电影，并不想给人看，当然这是玩笑，不过我知道什么意思。

真的感受后，果然还是很特别的一次观影体验，头一次在影院观看这么长的长镜头加上没有对白以及近半小时的细腻的对于肉体接触的纪录。

刚开始由于习惯于剪辑和故事片的模式加上没有对白和本身劳累的原因感到有些困意，因为总试图凝视，但不知如何凝视，随之变得舒缓和自然，完全习惯了这样不常见的节奏。

电影回到了一个问题，如何观看一部电影？

一般的状态是，“我”看“电影”，我意识到我在看一种在我之外的影像，这是一般和稳定的观看模式，但蔡导用长镜头扭转了这样的关系，每一段镜头都有它自己的时间模式，都在它特定的时间场域中，物与人，静与动，在流动中好像都有些各自的命运，蔡导对于运动的，表情和场景的捕捉堪称卓越，每一段镜头里都就那么各自独立的流淌，从不在乎我们看或不看，我们会觉得长镜头无聊，是因为我们不习惯于这样观看的视角，以及最重要的，我们即使观看也无法真正理解和进入，长镜头中的一切与我们的观看总有一种触不可及之感，那不是银幕的隔阂，而是因为我们说到底，都各自孤独。

片中的长镜头是关于时间，生命与孤独的艺术，打开一种不常有的观影和生命经验，一切都就那么各自流淌，不要试图去观看，而应该在这种别致的时间里与之共鸣，感受自己生命中的激情的流动。

片中选取的场景感觉都很讲究用心，正好是一些人最放松最能够回归平静，感受自我的时间，门庭听雨，平躺于浴缸，做饭与吃饭，按摩，独步回家，走过人群，睡觉，突然路边的休息，早晨醒来，性。

这些都是极容易进入自我共鸣的时间，而正式对这些片段的选取，才更容易给人以梳理感和私人感，也才更需要观者放下观看的执着，忘记观看的目的与场域，去体味生活与日子里那些细碎真实的时间，毕竟，其实，我们每个人的生活，都可以被拍成这样的电影。

蔡明亮最爱讲孤独，这次从青春一路狂奔到了衰老，少了些少年不识愁滋味的莽撞，多了些欲说还休的无奈与惆怅。

节奏很慢，慢到我数出来这两个多小时的电影只有大概47个镜头，平均一个镜头将近三分钟。

这给了我大量的时间去观察和思考，和小康一起听窗外雨淅淅沥沥，也和阿农一起生火洗菜做鱼汤。

最喜欢的部分是小康去做针灸，被火烫到的瞬间全影院的人都不厚道地笑了。

Q&A时才知道，李康生是真的病了，蔡明亮拿着dv带他去看病，于是《日子》也算半部纪录片。

而阿农是蔡明亮在泰国街头遇到的老挝打工仔，两人相聊甚欢。

后来在视频通话中阿农在做饭，蔡明亮觉得很有意思，就在电影中设计了这样的情节。

感谢蔡导，我好喜欢看亚洲人洗菜煮鱼吃饭，尤其喜欢看阿农削青木瓜娴熟的样子，这就是在过日子。

于是《日子》的非虚构成分在这时大过虚构了。

这部电影也由此变得完整：两个孤独的城市人，一个被身体与疾病所困，一个被陌生的城市和环境所困，语言不通之时，寂寞让他们的心灵相近相通。

“老挝并不是一个富裕的国家，所以很多人去泰国就业。

一些并不喜欢男生，逼不得已从事这种擦边按摩行业，使得业内良莠不齐，有客人甚至会被殴打和抢劫。

” 李康生讲到这，我才懂得为什么他在阿农来前会把钱锁到保险箱里。

看着小康慢慢走路，慢慢藏钱，慢慢洗澡，慢慢和阿农一起听音乐盒，慢慢睡去又慢慢来醒来，他的节奏总是那么慢，直接影响到了蔡明亮每一部电影的节奏，慢慢就变成了《日子》的一个镜头三分钟。

观众问小康需要为这个角色做怎样的准备，他说自己基本每晚都是一个人度过，这种孤独感根本不用准备。

感慨之余，想到对于小康这样的演员来说，个人现实与出演作品高度重合之时，也许才真的做到了戏如人生。

片中的小康走过了很多地方，曼谷、香港和台湾乡村，但室内都没有什么很高的辨识度。

这也许是在诉说现代人和空间的关系。

相似的场景换了又换，在出行成本如此低廉的今天，地理环境早已不再重要，因为没人避免得了那熟悉的孤独感的侵扰。

从某种程度上来讲，小康的脸就是蔡明亮的电影，不同年纪的小康是蔡导电影的不同面相。

蔡明亮有说过想要拍摄小康60岁的样子，这么说来下一部长片可能是五年后？

伦敦 Garden Cinema 10/09/24

卓別林逝世43年了《日子》使用了他在《舞台春秋》寫的音樂 叫「永恆」我們找到卓別林在美國的著作代理 只是從一支音樂盒流瀉出來的旋律 他們開了高價 不給殺 幸好台灣公共電視投入部份資金 讓我買到版權 我愛卓別林 更愛這音樂 抱定了主意 再貴 也要取得版權《日子》拍了4年 有一點錢 找機會就拍 一點一點拍 跟我永遠不超過5人的團隊 拍到一個程度 剪接起來覺得有點意思 向外求一些支持 再拍 再剪 後期的製作花了更多的心力 追求成一個作品我的電影走到現在 已不再是商品的生產 沒有巿場調查 沒有預定檔期 也沒估量可以賣多少版權 賺多少錢 只想作品面巿之後 能按照自己的想法 被好好看待 喵喵 當我看到《日子》樣帶被你連結傳播 你可以想像我的心有多痛嗎 就像看見了自己被殺掉的孩子 屍首繼續被千刀萬剮 眾人還異口同聲替你辯護 喵喵只是個普通人 其實喵喵不只一位 喵喵只是熱情影迷的分享 蔡導你太小器 沒有喵喵們 沒有我們這群觀眾 你的電影根本什麼都不是你們普通人隨隨便便都幹得出這犯法的勾當 告訴我 誰不無法無天 至於蔡明亮是什麽 不是什麽 不甘你事 但 別劫我盜我 蔡導小器 因為被劫的不是你 再說一遍 被劫的不是你 被殺的 被糟蹋的不是你的小孩喵喵 為時不多 快點聯系我的微博或王製片 望你自重 蔡明亮 2020.4.12

原文出自：《电影手册》792期-2022年11月刊原文标题：Le plaisir et les jours原文作者：Hugues Perrot译文首发：公众号“远洋孤岛”

译文如下：在电影史上有很多演员/导演的组合，但只有一个将演员/导演的模式推到了极致，那就是《日子》所勾勒出的：蔡明亮和李康生。

李康生出演了蔡明亮的所有电影，从他的电视作品（例如1989年的《海角天涯》和1991年的《小孩》）一直到最新的电影。

这种组合之所以独特，是因为无论其广度还是深度在其他任何地方都不曾看到。

因为在蔡明亮每部电影中，李康生不仅是蔡明亮的另一个自我，还是让他能拍摄自己青春与衰老的虚构身体；这个身体在他眼前逐渐老去，让他意识到自己的年龄并接受它。

蔡明亮在李康生眼中寻找的是对时间的放逐和可能的克服。

两年前在柏林主竞赛上首映，并且同年9月在Arte上播出，现在《日子》终于上映，它只讲了一件事：一个身体被时间的长河所笼罩，那是导演对演员的凝视，一个人深入另一个人的内心，来寻找对抗时间流逝的良药。

电影开头，康（即李康生）站在玻璃窗另一侧望着窗外被雨水打湿的景象。

从一开始，他就被置于世界之外的一片寂静之中，沦为一个忧郁的观察者，在蔡明亮每部电影中都是如此。

而他对世界的凝视与导演对他的凝视交织在一起：透过看着你观察世界，试图从你脸上捕捉期望和失望，我能看得更清楚吗？

《日子》的剧情是一个沉默和痛苦的身体走向一个充满音乐和生机的身体。

影片跟随了康的一天，从他的针灸治疗到他漫长的午觉，以及一个稍后揭示是按摩师的年轻人Non，他也过着平淡无奇的日常生活。

《日子》将电影引向这两个孤立源头相聚的过程，当它们相互交汇时，就如同两条小溪汇聚成一条大河。

这是电影接近尾声的一个按摩场景，将作为这一汇聚的交点。

在美丽而催眠的停滞中，我们看到年轻按摩师热情地为李康生的身体涂抹药膏。

场景很长且是固定镜头，空旷的酒店房发出咝咝声与油涂抹在皮肤上的声音，在画面中心散发出奇怪的紧张感。

按摩师起初是专业的手势，但慢慢地变成了快感的手势，就像扔到床边那条简单的内裤所暗示的那样。

按摩师最终让康达到了高潮【masturber Kang】，康脸上表现出愉悦与痛苦交织的表情。

一会后，两个人坐在床边，肩并肩听着康送给按摩师的音乐盒中传出的小调。

这一场景不仅代表着蔡明亮电影中特有的隐晦情欲主题，更是凝结了《日子》和导演所有电影的核心：重新聚合那些曾分离之物。

最后，我们明白这次拥抱只是短暂的，不会有任何具体结果，两个男人再次分开继续各自的生活。

然而，电影结束后留下的感觉却是身体的愈合，通过超越痛苦和孤独来同自己重聚。

它告诉我们，即使是生命中最短暂的瞬间也足以填满我们的内心。

这是一部关于“同性恋”题材的电影，这种类型的片子经典的不在少数《春光乍泄》、《蓝宇》、《断背山》等等都是津津乐道的佳作，但是这一部应该会是一部在业内会引起争议的影片，并不是不好而是个人态度过分大于对于商业的考量，但肯定也会有一部分观者能从这部看似有些拖沓且平淡的剧情里感受到那份暗涌的热情，那份似火且奔放的情感。

其实“蔡明亮”导演一直以来就是一位个人主义及个人色彩绝对浓烈的导演，就好像上帝在创造他的时候标注“文艺”的那瓶配料因为一个尿颤而多放了好多，以至于生成的产物在自我认知的文艺氛围里“横行霸道”，以至于输出的作品特色是那么“蛮不讲理”，当然这两个打引号的成语并不是本身的意思，只要你看过他的作品就知道其中的含义，每一个画面的拍摄不管是构图还是时长都是“自我感觉良好”的安排，每段镜头即使就一种状态也必须呈现到“自以为是”的那么久才能够完全表达内心的态度，并且有一个声音一直贯穿始终“你要是能看懂，你肯定觉得我牛；你要是因为看不懂而骂我，那肯定是你傻，啥都不是！

”虽然这样不顾及市场的创作态度略显自私，但是电影这个光影艺术的世界里还真的很需要这样的人物，或许那是不被理解的才华，或许那是一致公认的疯魔，但不管怎么评价，他做了，而且做得东西通过时间的锤炼确实是一种贡献，你可以选择不喜欢，但是你绝对没有权利去毁灭。

就像这部电影的片名与情节，“日子”就是如此寡淡到乏味的平凡，激情这种东西永远是难以取舍的点缀，不过就算无为一生处之无过得之无果，所有的遭遇也是值得怀念的经历，所有的一切都是值得推敲且专属于个人的宝藏，无一例外！

当然，那些将酸甜苦辣揉碎后调制出的痛也是每个人必须品尝且久食的因果，无一幸免！

QJ

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。