鬼入侵第一季

20201010评：两天刷完了。感觉很复杂。这一季严格来说并没有太多惊悚部分，前面近五集都在铺垫人物的背景，七八两集又来了个大的背景介绍。如果说像第一季那样害怕与治愈并存的享受，确实没有。但是呢导演的功力仍旧在，很治愈了。尤其是第一集很多现实片段人物的光和滤镜令我反而觉得不真实，对比出另一个空间更像现实，这就让我很佩服了。再就是一如即往的复杂切换的插叙手法，这季(不知道是不是因为在英国背景)插叙插叙部分人物对话有很多类似舞台剧的风味，我觉得用的很妙效果极佳。因为没被吓到和一些小瑕疵(剧本和替身都有敷衍嫌疑)加上上季滤镜这季我打四星加，上一季的双胞胎的演技这一季明确展现了他们真的还有待提高，个人觉得表现最好的是厨师和女管家，其次是园丁，小朋友不失不过，大boss美得我眼冒红心。最后，无比期待下一副本！

20210921补评：今儿才发现原来导演并非鬼入侵导演，那么就可以理解了。还是希望第三季如果有的话麦克导演能回来。

我终于看完鬼入侵可以比对这两部的优缺点了！

鬼庄园的缺点是，前四集有点太冗长看得人很疲惫，虽然有些许疑点抛出，但两小孩包括叔叔还有管家的怪异，并不能激起我很大的兴趣。尤其小男孩的行为举止还十分不讨喜，和鬼入侵中几个可爱孩子的形象没法比。还好从第五集开始，管家被困于“美梦”中开始，剧情才变得精彩起来。

于我个人而言，鬼庄园比起鬼入侵最大的优点就是女性主义的进步，鬼庄园几乎每一个出现的女性角色都展现出勇敢，乐于助人的品质，表达出了女性互助。

鬼入侵的缺点也在于此，分明父亲全程缺席孩子们的成长，最终还是在鼓吹父爱亲情。鬼庄园就没有这样，哪怕最后叔叔冲过去拯救小女孩，亮点高光时刻也是家庭教师的。更别说家庭教师和花匠之间的女女恋情对比另一对异性恋恋情，更鲜明地展现了女性之间细腻情感与相互帮助。

讲讲庄园女性群像：

小女孩一直都很贴心懂事，也从一开始就提醒女主要小心注意夜晚不要出门，甚至最后舍身救下女主；

管家把庄园当做自己的责任自己的家，和女主人保持了良好互助的关系，意识到自己已死亡后还是鼓起勇气帮助家庭教师，中间也一度提醒上一任家教离渣男远一些，自己先前也是有相同经验，所以更能理解；

前任家庭教师是为了自己的前程选择这份工作，有野心的女性形象，很可惜被渣男害死，但也一直小心翼翼保护小女孩，并且帮助女主逃脱，最感人的，明明自己痛苦地淹死，最后看着小女孩可能也会被淹死的时候，毅然决然想要交换替女孩再经历一次痛苦；

花匠，女主的恋人，哇两人的情感其实有很多可讲的，一直对家庭教师展现出温柔包容的样子，与女主之前的恋人不同，与渣男不同，简直是完美情人，哪怕在女主离开之后想要寻死，但还是好好坚持活下来记住女主；

我们的女主，心地善良，拯救全庄园MVP；

甚至一切不幸的源泉，女鬼前生，称呼为那对姐妹吧，在那个年代，那个女人被压迫是男人的附庸的年代也是属于觉醒女性，其实后来的不幸说到底也是因为男权社会让她们不得不找一个男人，而后因那个男人决裂，很悲伤，但这个故事背景其实也是展现女性觉醒的一部分。

我很喜欢庄园中出现的各种女性角色，都很让人舒适且被鼓舞。

又看了一次cut，又哭惨了，be美学的天花板。有些情节狠狠地代入了，明知道结局的爱情，却还是很勇敢的说一天一天来，剩下的日子，我只想跟你过。她会把浴缸放满水，水池放满水，凝视着自己的倒影，她希望可以从她的倒影中再次看见她的湖底女士，她会把门留一条缝，她面对门蜷缩着入睡，她在等她的湖底女士回来，十年如一日她从未放弃过，她告诉世人爱不会被时间和死亡冲刷。她是全世界最善良的湖底女士，她害怕伤害自己的爱人选择沉睡湖底，她每天都来到熟睡的爱人身旁，却未曾现身，她不想给她无谓的希望，她默默的守护她，从此湖底女士的执念不再是漫步在布莱，而是每天回到她的爱人身旁，即使她的记忆她的面庞会被湖水冲刷，她依然记得她们的家，依然记得她的爱人，虽然她不曾见过她，但是她们的爱从未消失。 Jamie说，每天都会很煎熬而且不会变轻松，经过一段时间以后，你会发现一些生活中琐碎的时刻、片段，让你想起她，你会哭几个小时，但这些仍然是她留给你的。是啊，从此没有了她连她留下的回忆，连回忆她的时候的伤心哭泣都是珍贵的，因为是她留下的，她们将爱演绎的淋漓尽致，没有世俗没有纷争，有的只是两个深爱的人努力一起走下去，连死亡都没有将他们分开，这就是一生所爱的人吧，希望我们每个人都能遇见自己的一生所爱。

本人非常喜欢第8集关于Viola的盘白，文学功底深厚，此文作部分摘选，仅供欣赏

She would sleep.

She would wake.

She would walk.

She would sleep.

She would wake.

She would walk.

And time went by, how much time, it was impossible to reason.

Sleeping

Walking

Walking

And in time, as we all do, she admitted all. She admitted she was dead. She admitted her husband had moved on. She admitted her daughter was growing without her. And she admitted her room was a dream, a construct, a lie preferred, to the truth of the trunk.

But there waited for her, at the end of this purgatory, a reward in the knowledge that one day, the door would open. One day, the locks would see their keys, and, one day, Isabel would open her mother’s trunk and claim her rewards. Both of their rewards.

And day after day, night after night, an ocean of time, the moment finally came. When she beheld her husband, she saw not the changes wrought of time, only his sadness. only that. And so, overwhelmed, she slept and waited.

They buried Lady Perdita, and set about forging a new life. The business was empty, the manor was lost. If not in law, in spirit.

They would move away from here, sell the manor and find a quieter life, a smaller one, made only for two of them. The two of they, and also, Viola.

At least, at least, she’d be with them both. Her husband, her daughter. No matter if she couldn’t see her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hear her. No matter. She’d be with them, and that was all that mattered.

They were leaving Bly, leaving most of what remained of their belongings. Her reward for all these years of isolation, for all the ache in her tired heart.

But Arthur had grown a superstitious man, and had seen the horror on Perdita’s lifeless face.

His superstition defied reason, but felt confident all the same. Whatever curse had claimed his second wife, he would not risk his daughter to its icy fingers. His daughter, or anyone else.

The final insult of being cast to the swampy depths, while her daughter would grow to womanhood. This absolute abandonment. It shattered Viola’s heart.

The feeling of being pulled towards some other place, some realm beyond, had faded in the years since her death, but now she rejected it outright. With every ounce of her considerable will, as when she was sick, and against all probability, Viola would not go. The eldest of Willoughby’s daughters, once lady of Lloyd of Bly, remained, some would whisper, by stubbornness alone.The pull of that next world ignored, she instead made her own gravity, gravity of will, that would change the terrain of Bly Manor forever.

And once again, she would sleep. She would wake. And she would walk. As if woken from a nightmare, she would walk back to her home, feeling each time that it is a dream. Feeling that if she walked to her bedroom, to the room she once shared with her husband, her infant daughter, that perhaps the nightmare would abate, that she could simply slip into the warmth of blankets and nestle herself to the bosom of her family, waiting for her all this time. And she’d stare at that empty bed, and Viola would remember. And the remembering itself was injury anew. Her heart would shatter anew, burning in her bosom, a searing ache that she hoped would be quenched by the cold, muddy waters of her new manor, her new home.

Thus, she would sleep, and she would forget. Having forgotten, she would wake. She would walk. How many nights, how many walks, she could no longer count.

Her attention lay only ahead, only on the bed that was her goal, and on the daughter she believed, each time she woke, would be waiting her there. She didn’t even realize that a decade had passed, not even realize, after an outbreak of plague in the village, that the empty manor had become a quarantine for the coughing death that ravaged her former community.

“Where is she?” Viola asked.

“What are you doing in here? It isn’t safe. You mustn’t be in this wing without protection.” said the plague doctor.

“Where?”

As the plague doctor died, so he was immediately forgotten, and a strange phenomenon occurred. Her gravity, it seemed, her invented gravity that held her to the grounds, that kept her in purgatory, it would hold others, too.

She would sleep, and as happens when one dreams, she would forget. And having forgotten, she would wake. She would walk.

Viola faintly noticed her own attempted exorcism. And alas, poor vicar, the second person to find himself in Viola’s path.

She would sleep, forget, and forget, and forget. And with the forgetting, an ailment altogether monstrous.

All things fade. All things. Flesh, stone, even stars themselves. Time takes all things. It is the way of the world. The past recedes, memories fade, and so, true, does the spirit. Everything yields to time, even the soul.

Wake, walk, forget even more. Her name, forgotten. Her sister’s name, forgotten. As her memories left her, so, too, her face.

So little did she remember, that one night, she found a child in her daughter’s old bed, and could not remember who she had been hoping to see. She had only the faint notion that she’d walked this far hoping to find a child, and here was a child. It must be the child whom she’d sought. It must.

She would sleep, and fade, and fade. And others, too. Those souls held in her orbit, those unfortunates trapped in the gravity well she had made of Bly Manor. They were fading as well.

The eldest of Willoughby’s daughters, once Lady Lloyd of Bly, now just a thought, just a feeling, not a women at all, not a person at all, nor a name or face. Just need, need, and loneliness, and rage.

Her fate was a nightmare. A fate that befell all trapped at Bly. A fate that befell Viola’s once sister, now forgotten in the attic. Unaware that she’d ever had a sister at all, to murder, or be murdered by. A fate that befell anyone unfortunate enough to step into her habitual path. A fate that befell a poor valet, so many years later. A fate that befell even those who died of other causes at Bly, who found themselves in the grips of Viola’s gravity, even if never in the grip of her icy hands.No hope for anyone with the sad misfortune to die on the grounds of Bly. No hope for the victims of Bly, be the victims of fate, of vice, or disease, or of each other.

我是个很宽容的鬼片观众，基本上，只要一部鬼片里头出现了鬼，我就可。 但是这个片子，真的不可。 因为“人”真的太多了。 故事中的每个人都好似背后有着诸多隐情，他们的每个举动都像是另有目的，太多纷繁复杂没头没脑的线索，太多莫名其妙环环相扣的细节，太多模棱两可似有深意的对话，将你的好奇心煽动至最高点。 但它们最终都指向一个无意义的结局，让所有精巧的设计都沦为笑话，让前面认真观看记录细节试图推敲故事真相的你显得无比愚蠢。 并且，因为这种故弄玄虚，人物对话变得异常复杂和意识流，几乎没有什么日常性的话语，每个人说话都要迂回婉转，节律起伏如同朗诵诗句，其中押韵隐喻一个不缺，从还是个孩子的小女孩到灰头土脸的园丁，从黑人女管家到来自新大陆的女教师，每个人都像莎士比亚附身一样，张口就是十四行诗，所有日常生活的话语都以诗性的语言和韵律娓娓道来，尤其是黑人女管家，简直是把优雅刻在了骨子里，一举一动极其神秘和富有魅力。 但是她事实上只是个高级女仆，在整个故事里基本什么作用也不起，甚至最后说她早就死了，我都感觉莫名其妙，硬是看不出她是死是活有什么区别——这甚至没耽误她点蜡烛和擦地！ 那之前她那么多的戏份和台词，到底有什么用？ 而且这个疑问几乎可以用在每个角色身上，折腾一大圈，你还是几乎搞不清楚所有人都在这个故事里起到了什么作用，那样长篇大论讲述的关于他们的背景故事，和这个鬼庄园有什么关系，那些感情，那些痛苦，对鬼，对庄园，对他们相互之间有什么影响——好像它们根本就互不相干，毫无影响。 然后他们居然还在互相打哑谜，进一步加深观众一头雾水的感觉，你看着他们用复杂的词汇和长句进行难以理解的对话，既不能理解他们对话的意思，也不能明白他们对话的目的，更不知道为什么要拍出这种东西，最大的疑惑是，自己到底为啥要看它？ 等看到结局，直接怀疑人生，感觉这里的人随时随地都会发情，根本预料不到他们的感情线，也预料不到故事的发展，一切毫无逻辑，稀里糊涂就结束了。 就好像孔雀开屏，正面看花团锦簇，看到最后就是个屁股。

维奥拉怎么看都是烂人一个

哪怕一直心里默念这是个悲剧人物，是悲剧人物，悲剧，悲

西巴，到底怎么想的写出这么个东西？伽椰子至少有悲惨的死亡，她纯自作自受，几年的照顾视作理所应当，想扇耳光就扇耳光，扇完又让妹妹扶她回去，让扶不让碰。这不是固执，是偏执。看见丈夫把箱子沉底我可太痛快了，还没怎么舒坦就看见她开始杀人，你女儿离开庄园又不是死了你他妈直接杀小孩，看得我拳头梆硬

彼得和丽贝卡那条线也他妈地离谱，你管这叫爱情？用的词句再美再诗意也掩盖不了这段关系的本质，是谋杀啊！丽贝卡你长点儿心吧，拿着精英女性的人设演着恋爱脑的戏。