《安德烈》好看吗？经典观后感锦集
《安德烈》是一部由João Dumans / Affonso Uchoa执导，Aristides de Sousa / Murilo Caliari / Renata Cabra主演的一部剧情类型的电影，特精心从网络上整理的一些观众的观后感，希望对大家能有帮助。
《安德烈》精选点评：
●仿佛一场人生旅行的《阿拉比亚》是宛如《醉乡民谣》那样主讲命运的一场配乐诗朗诵。不同的是，这篇游记从始至终都弥漫着一种悲观而伤感的宿命论调。无产阶级的困境在于他们永远在路上：不是在寻找家园的路上，就是在建设家园的路上。命运让他们记得爱情的模样，然而却无法让他们拥有。只能被回忆占据的男主角为此写下“满纸荒唐言”交予他的读者，但这些振聋发聩的“辛酸泪”又因缺少存在感而难免会令银幕外的青少年们怀疑它的真实性。因为他只记录了爱情的生与死，却没有留下真正的历史。渴望新生活而不得——这无疑是现代人最为普遍而清晰的命运。可惜影片在处理记忆与历史的关系时却显得暧昧不明，作者最终也没有将“回忆”的视角归还给当下“观看”的眼睛。本片把流变的人生拍成了一根抛物状的直线，我们在漆黑且无声的结尾没有发现任何历史的折光。
●感谢这个触手可及world cinema的时代，realism on full display. 昨天看了法国工人抗议工厂迁至第三世界，今天就见到第三世界的工人，叩问这一切有何意义。
●3.5。
●随便不要哪一段、多长都没什么不一样。中文名叫《安德烈》确实非常非常糟糕。人生中所遇到的不如意之事大概比撒哈拉沙漠里的沙子还要多。
●2.5
●看见吴老师安利立刻去看了。味道上有点像土耳其的《蛋》《奶》《蜜》系列，最后工厂那段无环境音的段落确实加分不少，相比之下其他部分用歌曲填补情绪的用法略多而平。
●旁白令观影投入感更加强烈。
●真切的生活或许便是当他人要为你的生活纪录什么时，你以为无话可说，也不确定有什么可说，你无处为家，浮萍游荡。但随后你开始思考所有你看见的东西，遇到过的人，去过的地方，所有做过的和想去做的事，和所有的故事。拍的真诗意日常，日记似的影像
●人生来就像浮萍一样，毫无根基，没有父母在身边照料，没有太多的学校教育，完全靠自己野蛮生长，长大了行走各地，有工作就去做，可能是果园摘橘子，摘了一段时间后，农场主也没钱给你结算，拿橘子走吧，卖了钱算工资，可你就是孑然一身，也没有任何运输工具啊！辗转来到了工厂，毫无保护的就接触各类粉尘，金属碎屑，你其实也不可能知道究竟有多少有毒物质，爱情算是老天爷给你的唯一甜头，可自己都无法生存，如何能够担负一个家庭的责任。人像野狗一样，听天从命。能够建立某种文明，能够给后代物质积累，好的制度做保障的都是好的人类文明。让人在某种前人积累的高度上，继续累计，为了后来人。
●我还活着，一个人
《安德烈》观后感(一)：翻译中文片名的人有没有看完电影
在学校电影院看，统共没几个人，看完还有Roman Studies的PhD的认真Q&A环节（是上学期西班牙语的一个TA）。我问电影名字为啥叫这个，答曰导演想名字也想了很久，最后决定用这个story in story的名字，也有阿拉伯一千零一夜的意思。学校电影院真是太好！另，最后的旁白让我在想，如果有一个电影完全以聋人的视角在讲，只有旁白，没有任何背景声音，应该会很有趣吧！
中文翻译片名也太错了吧！和André无关，是主角朋友讲到阿拉伯的故事的意思啊…
《安德烈》观后感(二)：救赎
关于本片：
讲述的是一个底层社会青年的故事，全片平静舒缓而有力，镜头美丽，旁白舒适。
些许致郁，依稀可以看出一些亚洲电影的影响，也有太多同类型电影，把怎么拍好这类型的片子，怎么用电影叙述这种故事示范的明明白白，却远不及亚洲类似题材电影的深入与残酷。
好在，本片毫不油腻。这很重要。
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如果以悲观的角度来看待的话，与本片相遇，让我感到自己的有限与狭隘。
这个世界的各个地方每年一定都会有很多优秀的电影在诞生。
但看似信息越来越丰富，细致，甚至出现了大数据这种听起来很唬人的东西给我听，信息简直过剩了。但这更多的与商业有关，这个世界目前还是主流的。我们过着城市生活，接受着经过过滤的信息，变得越来越相似，喝网红奶茶，去网红餐厅打卡，看爆款电影，抢爆款鞋。
被动相似。
我们看自己觉得会有兴趣的题材，寻找自己会有兴趣的内容，自以为自己小众且独特。变得越来越像自己。连网易云音乐听得歌也是早上系统根据前一天自己听的内容来推送的。简直是自己的幂次方。好不容易，接受了朋友的安利。啊，原来朋友，也是因为生活的交集，或是自己的兴趣，主动被动选择来的。
主动相似。
很偶然的遇到这个电影。很开心。以一个好奇且开放的心态迎接这个世界，多么重要。
一起来看电影的妹子提到过，因为功课的关系之前有遇到老师要他们去论证这个世界上是有上帝的。
刚巧的是，这部影片里开头的部分有个小孩。
小孩子说，这世上没有上帝但有魔鬼，坏事接二连三，可却没有奇迹。
但是我愿意相信这个世界有上帝，很多时候，他张开四肢，尽可能的挡在我们身后，为我们挡打来的石子。
有石子落在了我们身上，我们看到了这部分事实，开始哀叹，埋怨。
人真是泥做的吧，这种天然的软弱，让人类懦弱，卑怯，甚至引来罪恶。
但也正是这种软弱，也可中和冲击，也可蕴育力量。 所谓人性，人的伟大与卑劣尽在其中。 上帝静静的看着，以仁慈和悲悯看着，除了尽可能的为我们挡一些石子，他还能做什么呢？ 人类自己也需努力。
尽管电影的字幕做的并不怎么样。但就是这样粗糙的翻译，也还是让我感受到了南美人民语言的生命力。那完全是一种不同的语言，不管是葡语还是西班牙语。电影的旁白让我感到舒适。
特别喜欢的是男主在一家钢铁工厂里一段。 本片截图有限，找了一张近似的。最喜欢的镜头是男主站在巨大的金属火花？铁雨前的镜头。
这个世界有太多“高贵”的人。也有太多想要变得“高贵”的人。这种“高贵”让他们看起来有些好笑。每个城市里都有很多这样的人。
可是，我和本片的男主是一样的。
我有些感同身受。 以至于我虽然看过之后有些片段由于现在的自己的年老健忘而忘记，但这些感同深受我还记得。
每个人都有属于自己的感受，在这个世界的各个地方活着。 可能这其中的绝大多数，没有钱，没有口，但他们有喜怒哀乐，他们的生活值得被记录，他们重要。
《安德烈》观后感(三)：Film Comment深度专访本片导演
转自Film Comment官网
本片导演在2017年纽约New Director/New Film电影展期间接受Film Comment编辑Nicholas Elliott专访
原文链接：https://www.filmcomment.com/blog/interview-joao-dumans-affonso-uchoa/
Interview: João Dumans & Affonso Uchoa
y Nicholas Elliott on March 17, 2017
razilian filmmakers João Dumans and Affonso Uchoa came to international attention with The Hidden Tiger, a 2014 feature about five young men in the hardscrabble suburbs of Contagem, in the province of Minas Gerais. Directed by Uchoa and co-written and edited by Dumans, The Hidden Tiger featured some of the tropes of the documentary-fiction hybrids that have proliferated in festivals over the last decade, notably by using non-actors performing in their own surroundings and compiling closely observed moments of everyday life. Yet the film stood out by channeling its fragments into a strong story and treating its protagonists’ lives in a non-sensational manner. With Arábia, their first movie as co-directors, the two filmmakers reunite with Aristides de Sousa, a standout in the previous film, and take a major step forward in developing a blend of lyricism and social realism focused on working-class experience.
Arábia begins by introducing the viewer to André, a teenager living near a factory in the outskirts of Ouro Preto. The film’s first 15 minutes describes André’s daily life, apparently setting the stage for a socially conscious coming-of-age tale. But when André finds a notebook belonging to the recently hospitalized factory worker Cristiano (played by de Sousa), the film takes a radical turn away from the factory town and onto the roads of rough-hewn Minas Gerais, following Cristiano from one menial job to another, from one makeshift bed to the next. Like the Townes Van Zandt song that opens the film, Arábia becomes a deeply felt ballad of the drifting life, devoid of sentimentality but long on empathy. Most importantly, the story is told through Cristiano’s words, with voiceover from the notebook providing an utterly convincing record of a young worker discovering himself through writing. While many filmmakers claim to give voice to the marginal, few have done so with the artistic and political sensitivity displayed in Arábia. I spoke to its directors by Skype before its North American premiere on March 18 and 19 at New Directors/New Films.
Arábia seems to be a culmination of your previous work in that you’re still focusing on people who could be referred to as marginal and paying attention to apparently insignificant moments in day-to-day life, but your approach seems to have shifted, with the addition of a distinctive fictional construction. What is the film’s background？
João Dumans: We first submitted the project for financing from the government in 2012. At the time, we were still filming The Hidden Tiger. We finished that film in 2014 and came back to the 2012 project, but we had been completely transformed. The process of doing The Hidden Tiger changed our way of thinking about what we wanted to do and the possibilities of our cinema. After we finished The Hidden Tiger, we thought we could do more with the things we had been working on. We came back to the first project and changed it a lot. We really wanted to work with Aristides de Sousa again, but this time we wanted to write something for him. We wanted to see him act. We were doing a lot of research, reading Brazilian authors who deal with the workers’ reality, and visiting places in Ouro Preto, which was a major colonial city and has a very touristic historical city center. The initial project was conceived for Ouro Preto, that’s the only thing we kept. The desire to do a film in Ouro Preto, a city that has a past of slavery and oppression, came together with our idea to write a fictional role for Aristides. We decided to set the film not in the city center but in a nearby factory area, and the factory brought us a lot of ideas. I like to say that Arábia is a film that has lots of different origins, because the process was very long. Lots of things came together during the process and the film was built from these different origins. We wrote the film for Aristides by imagining a life that he could have lived, but didn’t. What you said about fiction is important: in fact, it was important for us to do something related to literature and not to see this life with the documentary feel. We wanted to see his life as the life of a character in a Joseph Conrad or John Dos Passos novel, to project his life in another dimension.
The act of writing is important in your films. In The Hidden Tiger, the two young men make up their own words to pop songs, while in Arábia much of the story is told through a voiceover memoir written by the protagonist. Is it important for you to let people speak for themselves？
Affonso Uchoa: Yes, this is a statement on our part. It’s a political statement: in our movies the people that are usually invisible can leave their trace on the image. And we don’t do that out of some kind of generosity but because we believe in the greatness and strength of the ordinary people. While they’re usually in a dark corner of real life, it’s cinema’s duty to record some memory of them. But of course, it’s necessary to find the right way to portray them, and our goal is to avoid being paternalistic. We don’t want to represent the poor and marginal people as if their lives were only determined by violence or social conditions. We truly believe that these people can create something and think about more than mere survival. Of course reality can be shitty. We live in a world that make things difficult for poor people, but I believe that as filmmakers, we can sometimes reinvent reality and discover other possibilities. Is it impossible for a worker to write？ I don’t think so. If it doesn’t happens much in reality it’s a problem of the world, which reserves some things to the privileged. Are the creativity and messages of the poor as visible as they could be？ No, theses lives are covered by the fog of invisibility from birth. What can a movie do in that situation？ Forgive me for being poetic: movies can dream of other realities, of a fairer reality, for example. That’s what we wanted in Arábia when we decided to portray this worker as a writer: to conceive of a world in which people like Cristiano could write about themselves, and imagine what would happen if that came true.
art of how you succeed in doing that is through the film’s unusual construction. The first 20 minutes of Arábia are devoted to the teenager Andre, who eventually discovers Cristiano’s manuｓｃｒｉｐｔ, at which point the film shifts to tell his story. What led to that structural decision？
JD: Both The Hidden Tiger and Arábia have unusual structures. When we did The Hidden Tiger, Affonso talked a lot about Dos Passos. In his work, different stories have different weight: an important hero of the left will have one page and the story of the common man will have three chapters. So in The Hidden Tiger it was already important to have this idea that you can see one life for one minute and another for a whole hour and understand that they have something in common. That’s also a statement, as Affonso said. We encounter these lives in our daily routine, but don’t stop to think how deep they are, how many stories they have behind them, we just deal with them in a very mechanical way. Arábia was similar: usually, you would see this worker for five minutes and then your life would go on. But here, by some chance, you fall into this life and when you go deep inside it, you see it is bottomless. All these people we see in our daily lives, they seem very unimportant or common, but if you go inside, a whole world opens. We wanted the viewer to think Cristiano was no one, but then when Andre goes into the life of this no one, a whole world opens before him.
With Andre and Cristiano, it’s also a way of putting people from two classes together. We didn’t want to do something like Andre meets Cristiano and is transformed by his diary. That would be weak. They almost meet, but they don’t actually meet. Maybe something comes from that. That’s also important, the abyss between the classes.
AU: The decision to have the protagonist’s story told through his notebook was a determining factor on the film’s structure. For us, people like Cristiano—and of course Aristides de Souza, the actor—are just like the heroes of the literature of the past: their lives are simply amazing in their greatness and strength. We wanted to see Cristiano’s story with this literary quality, but at the same time the notebook seemed to be a more plausible, “non-noble” type of writing: it’s not a book, it’s not a novel, it’s a kind of private journal. It’s the work of a regular guy, not a scholar. When we started writing the ｓｃｒｉｐｔ, we talked about the title of the Jem Cohen film Lost Book Found. It was important to us that Cristiano’s notebook be like a lost book found, something that was taken out from invisibility. André is just like us—or the viewer watching the movie—in that sense: he has the opportunity to find something really special, the life of Cristiano. For us, this discovery is a truly significant moment.
From a practical point of view, how do you figure out how to tell the workers’ stories？ Are they your friends？ Do you do research like documentarians？
JD: There are different sources. We like to do a lot of research. For example, Aristides is one of these guys. He knew things, his body knows the work. So when we were writing, if we said something to him, he could say: “You’re wrong, I don’t do it that way.” The research Affonso did for The Hidden Tiger was also important in getting to know this world. He filmed more than 200 hours, which was like four years of research on people working. We also read a lot of books in which workers talk about themselves. Brazilian authors who made the effort to write in the voice of the worker were a great inspiration: João Antônio, Oswaldo França Júnior, João Guimarães Rosa, and Graciliano Ramos. Brazilian literature wrestles with how to approach the reality of the common people, the poor and the workers, in a way that shows desire, imagination, love, and not only work. It’s a major issue we face in our art.
Most importantly, we asked Aristides to write a notebook about his own life. We didn’t use his stories, but we tried to understand how he tells them—his accent, his voice, how he describes his experiences and his loves. It helped us to know we were talking about reality, about things that exist, because we had this central point of Aristides and his own life. Then we invented stories. It’s not a single type of research, but a process that we are living, and that we started living with The Hidden Tiger.
AU: I should also mention that we are open to let the places that we film dictate how things will be. We frequently write the ｓｃｒｉｐｔ during the shoot. Sometimes we write something but we don’t know the locations. Once we get there, we see how the people are working, how things are going, and we change the ｓｃｒｉｐｔ on the day of the shoot. We’re open to changing the ｓｃｒｉｐｔ every time we shoot, whether it’s because of the people, the place, or the world.
Tell me more about Minas Gerais, the state where the film takes place. Is there an active cinema scene there？
JD: There are two answers to your question. The one that concerns us most is that Minas Gerais, which is very close to Rio and São Paulo, is historically the state where colonization by the Portuguese for minerals was most intense. Nowadays, it’s still very hard: companies are destroying everything. Two years ago we had an enormous environmental disaster when a mining company broke a dam and mineral waste covered an entire river and city. That’s something very strong here and everywhere we go. It’s important to say that about Minas Gerais because our story is closely tied to the land and the work. It’s the background for the film.
Regarding filmmaking here, we mostly have a history of video art and experimental film. The capital Belo Horizonte has been known for that since the ’80s and ’90s. Unlike Rio and São Paulo, people in Minas were experimenting with video and essays. But for the last 10 years people have been trying to tell their own stories in film: there’s more financing now, so people are taking chances, trying to write stories, but it’s not very organized, institutionalized, or professional. In a sense that’s good because it allows people to try different methods of filming and forms of conceiving narratives. This year there will be about six or seven features from Belo Horizonte and they’re completely different from each other. The financing that started with Lula and the left-wing government in the last decade enabled people who aren’t professionals and aren’t known in the market to do their own films. When we originally submitted this project for financing, Affonso had made a feature and I had made absolutely nothing, but we could do it anyway.
AU: An important thing for us here in Minas Gerais in these last years is that it isn’t only the people who usually get to make things that have been making films. People from working-class backgrounds are also getting the chance to be in cinema and tell their own stories. João is a teacher in a private school here in Belo Horizonte. Some of our friends have studied there. Twenty years ago, many people our age didn’t have the money to pay for schools. Thanks to governmental programs, many people were able to go to school and had the chance to make their first short films. Many of these people are poor, and come from distant places, for example from my city, Contagem.
Another important thing about our province is that it’s very Catholic. Hard work and sacrifice are important to the idea of living life in a correct way here. It’s different from Rio, which has a culture of pleasure and enjoying life. In Minas Gerais, we have a culture of sacrifice and doing things the hard way. I think you can feel this in the film. The story of Cristiano can be interpreted as a sacrifice.
Tell me about the role of music in the film. I’m curious in particular about your choice of the Townes Van Zandt song “I’ll Be There in the Morning,” which we hear twice.
JD: I think we’re also saying something about the United States. Here in Brazil we hear and see a lot of things from the United States. John Ford, John Dos Passos, Bob Dylan, and Woody Guthrie were all important to us, along with other artists with whom we feel we have something in common. We thought these artists were also talking about our characters, people who we also have in our reality. American culture is a huge influence with its hobos and wanderers and people who are traveling from city to city. We think the film is universal in a lot of ways, but perhaps the relationship is even closer with the United States, in the sense that we were inspired by things that Americans wrote and filmed. But we wanted to do it in our own way. We also thought of the music as something that would bring a little bit of happiness and some lyricism and poetry to these lives.
AU: We heard these songs we love: Townes Van Zandt, folk music. The music fits, it has something to do with our world, with Aristides and our friends. As far as Brazilian music, we wanted to find songs that would translate the lives of those who work on the roads and in the factories in a profound way. Music that expressed the spirit of those who are working. A key moment was when we found the Renato Teixeira song, the one that says “Dawn is a lesson from the universe, it tells us that we must be reborn.” Teixeira is a very significant Brazilian songwriter who tells us about what happens in this part of Brazil, in the middle of the country. It’s not a beach area, it’s a hard-work culture. We wanted to find songs that gave the feeling of being here. We also wanted to give these people—and especially Aristides—the chance to tell us which songs were important to tell their lives. For the scene in which Aristides and his friend Renan play songs, we only suggested the first song; Aristides chose the second one himself. It was perfect: they were two songs that tell the same story, but in very different ways.
That’s one way we worked with music. The other, like João said, is that we wanted to find the universal content and propose strange relations between our reality, the reality of the film, and other parts of the world. The Anouar Brahem song that plays when Aristides runs over a guy on the road is like Townes Van Zandt. We tried to build a relationship between our universe and other parts of the world. Music is like a very special weapon for us to say that our story is universal, too. What we are describing can happen in Argentina, Colombia, or the United States.
I know the word “Arábia” is mentioned in a joke in the film, but is the title also an invitation for the viewer to think beyond Brazil？
JD: The joke is a coincidence, actually. Arábia comes from the title of James Joyce’s short story “Araby” in Dubliners. The film was originally going to be a short film adapted from the story. It turned into what it is now, but we kept the title because we liked it.
AU: We shot the film over three years: two weeks in 2014, seven or eight weeks in 2015, and another week in 2016. When we started shooting in 2014, we thought we were making a short, but once we started, we realized we were making a feature. And originally the film was supposed to be a free adaptation of Joyce’s Araby set in Ouro Preto! When we were shooting and especially editing, we discovered other ways the title fit the film. We liked that it reminded us of The Thousand and One Nights, because the film is like a story that goes into another story, a story that produces other stories. In the editing room, we also noticed that somehow we had kept the structure of James Joyce’s story: for us, the final sequence is like an epiphany for the character.
JD: The film doesn’t tell the same story as Araby, but it has the spirit of Dubliners, in that it is about regular people, people from poor neighborhoods, people who don’t succeed, but who in the end have this brief enlightenment of something that they foresee. It’s very brief, it doesn’t become an action or a transformation, but it’s something that they realize about their own world or lives. The title was resonating in so many different ways that we couldn’t suppress, so we kept it.
Where will Arábia show in Minas Gerais？
AU: That’s a hard thing for us, because movies like Arábia and The Hidden Tiger have a very small audience in Brazil. They are considered a success if 10,000 people go to see them. The audience for independent cinema is very small. A lot of people go to the movies, but only to see big American productions. We’re waiting to figure out with the festivals where the Brazilian premiere will happen, and after that it will screen in Minas Gerais. But we don’t have a lot of options here.
JD: Yet every time we screened The Hidden Tiger for audiences from poor neighborhoods, it was a huge success. You have this chasm here between people who have the power to show films, the people in TV and radio, and our kind of cinema. The Hidden Tiger is on TV, but it’s cable. If it was on regular TV or showing in theaters outside of bourgeois neighborhoods, I’m sure it would be a huge hit. But in cinemas it sold two- or three-thousand tickets. It’s frustrating to know that with some films you really could do much more if you had more possibilities to show them to people. The distribution problems in Brazil are enormous.
AU: A friend told us that it was important to show Arábia to workers and regular people who go to the cinema. We can’t overcome the chasm João was talking about alone, but if we had an opportunity to bring the film to these people, to real workers, it would be a pleasure. I know that the film is slow, but I think that people would identify with the protagonist.
icholas Elliott is the New York correspondent for Cahiers du Cinéma and a contributing editor for film at BOMB. He recently joined the board of directors of the Flaherty Seminar.