With a helicopter circling over two abandoned boats in the ocean, the floating corpses at the beginning bring about a total recall of the migrant/refugee crisis in the 2010s. Also coming by boat and ending their lives in the ocean, the Asian refugees disappeared into the void zone amidst the world of boundaries. In the Suspended Step of the Stork, Angelopoulos gives the most poetic depiction of the most powerful socio-political force since the twentieth century: the border. The “stork” is a metaphor for human beings, the very moving agents, and the “suspended step” shows none but the modern plight of human beings in the face of their own creation – “One more step, one will be somewhere else. Or die.” Hence the title of the film, in its most frightening and saddest meaning.

The film revolves around two central characters, a former Greek politician who now lives in despair and incognito and a documentary director who wishes to capture the condition of refugees. Their storylines intersect in a town near the border that separates Albania from Greece, named by its locals as “The Waiting Room” as thousands of illegal emigrants wait here until the Greek government allows them to leave. Although the name of the town suggests its temporary nature, it is indeed the temporary home, if not a permanent one, to the refugees. Here, the uncertainty about how long these illegal temporary residents would actually stay in “The Waiting Room” hints at the ambiguous distinction between “home” and “elsewhere”. Although they have successfully crossed the borders, they are still left in a self-contained “elsewhere” made by borders. How many borders do they need to cross before they reach “home”? It is with this ambiguity that Angelopoulos is able to raise his central question in the words of the documentary director. “When does one decide to leave? How? And where to?”

Among those stories in “The Waiting Room”, the most impressive comes from the wedding between a Greek bride and an Albanian groom, taking place on both sides of the river which divides not only the two countries but also thousands of families. The wedding is gently shot with a silent long-take yet with an extremely powerful tension. It shows a figurative dimension of the separation created by the borders, for they are not only dividing people physically (by setting geographical boundaries crossing which one will die) and politically (by providing new meanings and aspects of one’s identity) but also separating one’s present from his or her past. The bride says on the eve of her wedding that, “My husband and I grew up in the same village. One night he’ll cross the river and come take me.” This is largely a shared story among those thousands of refugees in the town. By leaving their “home” and crossing the border, they also leave their past behind. Here, the border is both a deadly frontier that divides wives from husbands and a ruthless boundary drawn within one’s personal experiences. With this assumed dimension, the audience sees how the means of life are made possible in an extreme condition where the ends of life no longer exist.

It is only in light of this dimension can one fully understand the other half of the film, the Greek politician’s disappearing by crossing the border. While all the majority keep their steps suspended in the air, waiting to be accepted to stay or be allowed to leave, he takes a step forward to the “home” at the cost of his past and identity. A believer of the universal ideal of brotherhood, he presents a more despairing yet hopeful interpretation of the “Storks” by embracing the collective dream and taking actions accordingly. And this action, risky and idealized as it is, might also be the answer that Angelopoulos will offer to his earlier question(s), and with this assumed attitude, one may find Suspended Step a work with stirring idealism, intense seriousness, and great courage.

开头是不错的，简单交代周始的拳王经历，曾经十分辉煌，出狱后的情况不容乐观，中段的琐碎小事实在太复杂，对于推动剧情的帮助太小，周始的困难全甩给了送外卖这份职业，以及女儿外婆的考验，依然带女儿在拳馆工作生活，突然来的白血病虽然很老套，还是比较感人，剧情上只是加深周始生活的负担和压力，但是站上拳台的理由不够充分，只是想给女儿鼓励所以做了榜样，弱化了非打擂台不可的理由，结尾中规中矩，毕竟是个正能量的电影，这个结尾不出大众所料，但是也合情合理。总体上来说，为煽情而制造的困难太多，而且都留下了解决的办法，没有给观众感受到绝望，和只有一条路可走的无奈。武术指导方面，打斗的观赏性和技术性不高（参考激战）甚至比较业余，有点减分。看出了韩庚的努力，为这部电影付出的辛苦，给了2星，谢谢。

事先声明，我是看到朋友圈有人在刷这个片的预告过来的，电影好不好看暂时不评论，但有很多话想吐一下；

文化“危机” ：

不知道有多少人和我一样，对于自己家乡的潮剧真的可以说是一无所知，唯一有印象就是小时候，只要一到“伯公生”，就有潮剧演出，而这，是小时候晚上可以出去溜达玩的机会。

谁小的时候爱听潮剧，第一是听不懂，第二是比不过在夜晚的市场里捉迷藏来得刺激。

但不知道从什么时候开始，我出去玩变得越来越容易，潮剧在我心目中的地位也随之越来越低，甚至我一度认为它已经消失了，因为小十年没看到过了。

有一次陪我妈去“拜伯公”，恰好看到门口搭了一个小舞台，上面站了两位演员唱着潮剧，出于好奇（无聊）就凑近在台下看了看。两边的LED灯显示着台词，演员明显也是最口型的，但至少动作看着不会别扭，身后一群大妈嘻嘻哈哈，就我一个人愣在那里看，给他们硬是添了几分尴尬。

这是我第一次知道他们口中的台词，在说着一件什么样的事情。突然觉得好可怜，不是台上那两位外地演员，也不是身后的大妈，是一句句潮剧的唱词。

“你们潮汕都有啥”，“吃的，好多吃的，好多好吃的”。大学期间对所有问我潮汕有啥的统一回答，现在想起来都觉得惭愧。

这么大的潮汕，怎么可能只有吃的，但是我真想不起来潮剧；如果说潮剧，别人一追问那有啥知名曲目，估计会更尴尬。

曾经的市场，我们负责摆脱父母的看管在里头玩耍，但门口是真的聚集了一批又一批喜欢听潮剧的大人，他们期待着这样的时候，一张张小凳子，跟着节奏拍着大腿，这就是证据。

如今这一批人有过热爱的人，却刚好是被互联网淘汰的那一代人，他们没有办法帮我们去给外地人介绍，介绍这个属于潮汕人骄傲的曲艺文化。

我们吃了大亏。

广府话现在总是能看到有人在为其推广做努力，那潮汕话呢？我们的话更古老，蕴含更多历史印记，但又有谁知道呢？

不要说学习，我们连认识自己文化的那种最基本的意愿都没有，那谁还会来好奇我们的存在。

其实故意说是文化“危机”，说到底，这还有谁在意呢。至于这个电影好不好看吧，我也并不在意，但票钱我还是会给，到时候也会在动态晒一下票根，别等下被“攻击”。

为自己的文化买单，不丢人。恨不得每天都有一堆潮汕相关的影视作品上线，管它质量怎么样，尊重历史就行，肯定会有好的作品被人发现。