住货车的女士

Title: Murder by DeathYear: 1976Genre: Comedy, MysteryCountry: USALanguage: EnglishDirector: Robert MooreScreenwriter: Neil SimonMusic: Dave Grusin Cinematography: David M. WalshEditor: John F. BurnettCast:Peter FalkPeter SellersDavid NivenJames CocoElsa LanchesterAlec GuinnessEileen BrennanMaggie SmithEstelle WinwoodJames CromwellRichard NaritaTruman CapoteNancy WalkerRating: 6.2/10

Title: The Lonely Passion of Judith HearneYear: 1987Genre: Drama, RomanceCountry: UKLanguage: EnglishDirector: Jack ClaytonScreenwriter: Peter Nelsonbased on the novel by Brian MooreMusic: Georges DelerueCinematography: Peter HannanEditor: Terry RawlingsCast:Maggie SmithBob HoskinsWendy HillerMarie KeanIan McNeiceRudi DaviesPrunella ScalesÁine Ní MhuiríAlan DevlinSheila ReidVeronica QuilliganPeter GilmoreAidan GillenRating: 7.1/10

Title: The Lady in the VanYear: 2015Genre: Comedy, Drama, BiographyCountry: UKLanguage: English, FrenchDirector: Nicholas HytnerScreenwriter: Alan Bennettbased on his own memoirMusic: George FentonCinematography: Andrew DunnEditor: Tariq AnwarCast:Maggie SmithAlex JenningsGwen TaylorDeborah FindlayRoger AllamPandora ColinFrance de la TourJim BroadbentDermot CrowleyClare HammondCecilia NobleNicholas BurnsDavid CalderDominic CooperClaire FoyJames CordenRussell ToveyMarion BaileySacha DhawanClive MerrisonStephen Campbell MooreAndrew KnottJamie ParkerSamuel BarnettSamuel AndersonAndrew KnottRating: 6.3/10Oh, this one really hurts. We all know this day will come,, but how can we bid adieu to Dame Maggie Smith (1934-2024) without being inundated by an oceanic ebullition of incredulity, loss and grief? We could only commemorate her by watching her works. Here is a mini-marathon of 3 films chosen from her illustrious career spanning nearly seven decades, starting from a posho lady playing an undeterred foil to his equally posho detective husband in a shamus pastiche, to a fancy-free spinster, whose apparent romantic late blooming only drags her down to alcoholism and utter misery, then culminating as a slovenly homeless old crone, bedeviled by guilt, obstinately lives her remaining days on her own terms and en passant, she becomes an inspo for a writer who is fascinated by her heterodox way of living. Robert Moore's MURDER BY DEATH flagrantly pokes fun at the murder mystery genre and its sundry authors, corralling five world-famous detectives (a caricature of Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Charlie Chan, Nick Charles, and Sam Spade), and their plus ones, to a country manor where its reclusive owner Lionel Twain (Capote, in a sally into playacting) pontifically announces that there will be a murder before midnight, and taunts that none of them could solve it. Then since there are only three persons (Lionel, a blind butler and a deaf-mute and illiterate maid) are present other than the ten guests, the plot archly plays permutations to assign who is the victim and who is the murderer, while sending up the time-honored tropes and proffering flat-out implausibility to keep the detectives engaged in their heated yet utterly fanciful deductions. While some gags are zany (Guinness's unflappable tricks as the blind butler Jamessir Bensonmum are sublime and Coco's Poirot travesty has its own delightfully flaming moments), the rest of them are either facetious (Sellers's Sidney Wang rather gets one's back up for its conformable racist infelicities, after 40 years, you would think some revisionary measures could've been implemented to the denigrating Charlie Chan stereotype), run-of-the-middle (Niven's William Powell imitation and Lanchester's Miss Marple variety are relatively unexceptional, even Smith's style seems to be cramped by the outrageous goings-on) or wastefully frivolous (Falk pulls a straight face to nail down his hard-boiled Sam Spade impression). The studio-bound setting and artificial-looking mechanic props never endeavor to add any semblance of veracity to the beggars-belief yarn, which is full of loose ends - what happens to the room-swapping legerdemain?For a tongue-in-cheek spoof, it can get an artistic license to be intentionally nonsensical as long as it is able to keep its pace afloat. Unfortunately MURDER BY DEATH feels lackadaisical and cartoonish by concertinaing its twists and reveals up to the gill (flogging to death the face-changing antics). It ends up as a mere fluff, an eager beaver undermined by its own self-aware frivolity. THE LONELY PASSION OF JUDITH HEARNE is Jack Clayton's theatrical swan song, where Smith's plays the titular Miss Hearne, a middle-aged private piano teacher who moves into a new rooming house in Dublin, and is taken by the landlady's brother James Madden (Hoskins), a fresh-homecoming widower from New York City. Getting their wires crossed, Judith is thrilled by a gentlemanlike James's interest in her, while he is spoiling for a funder to bankroll his local business and under the wrong impression that she is a lady with dough to spare. Ergo, in the aftermath of the inexorable disenchantment, Judith is devastated and gets off the wagon. Her alcoholism is a secret that has cost her dearly and she tries very hard to conceal. After a complete mental breakdown and losing faith in her religion (she is Catholic), Judith is taken to a rehabilitation home to recuperate. While Clayton’s affinity for eliciting fine, resonant performances out of his cast still rules the roost and Delerue’s grand, poignant score is all too captivating, Peter Nelson's script, based on Brian Moore’s 1955 novel JUDITH HEARNE, orchestrates a fairly uncharitable picture of the Irish people. One would hope that some sort of female solidarity shall be in operation, but no, the stigma of spinsterhood turns everyone else against Judith, not least other fellow spinsters. She is subjected to be a laughingstock and can barely be acknowledged as a "woman" by the opposite sex, whether she is unwitting or not. The landlady (Kean, don't be cheated by her beaming affectations) summarily deems her as unfit for her brother as if a dumpy and hard-up James were a good catch! Even her bond with Moira (Scales), the only friend she can rely on, is marred by Judith's harsh disclosure of her true feelings. On the spear side, the prospect doesn’t look any better. Bernard Rice (McNeice), the lascivious and shiftless son of the landlady, is a corpulent swine; Father Quigley (Devlin) is sanctimonious and cannot relate to Judith’s tormented psyche. But an inexcusable mistake the film commits (even taking into account of its 1950s backdrop) is to be an apologist for the rape culture. James is unpunished for his horrific act of ravishing a young housemaid (Davies), whose flirtatious nature is implied by the film as the bane of her worse-than-death fate. The obscene sequences are more unsettling as they are boldly crosscut with Judith’s revelry in her own one-sided infatuation. Moreover, near the end, James has the temerity to touch base with Judith when he again plies the same deal without any self-examination of his misleading and self-serving actions. It is almost unthinkable that this man, who is reckoned as a charming, courteous gentleman, but cannot control his primordial urged, will break Judith's heart and be rewarded with a kiss on the cheek in the end (Hoskins, against all odds, incarnating the banality of evil with a halting resistance which somewhat humanizes James’s frailties). All those points up the author’s own jaundiced view on gender discrimination and an abortive corrective from the filmmakers, that impede the film from branching out to new audiences. Be that as it may, Smith's dominant performance makes the film eternally worthwhile. Her rendition cuts deep to the bones of a pious and piteous woman's yearning to make up for her lost time - Judith's prime is squandered by attending to her anal-retentive, bed-ridden aunt (a magisterial Hiller), her sole kin - and how precarious it is. One couldn't help but be transfixed by Smith's supernal prowess of vividly objectifying Judith's drastic emotional roller coaster in front of the camera. Her lengths of immersion into her personage are fathomless and her outpourings are originated from within her own being, never for a second, they betray any trace of deliberateness. Judith is such a precious role that permits Smith to run the whole emotional gamut from ecstasy to utter wretchedness, which she pull off with flying colors. Like Judith’s final gesture, tossing the paper out of the car window. A simple movement but potently demonstrates that she now accepts her spinsterhood with a regained strength. The whole affair is a painful lesson, which exhausts both her savings and longings, but she survives it and becomes wiser and savvier. Clayton’s film sticks its landing with a perceptible finale and Smith consummates another tour de force. THE LADY IN THE VAN is conceived out of the renowned English playwright/screenwriter/author Alan Bennett's own memoir, about Mary Sheppard (which is actually a false name), an elderly woman dwelling in a ramshackle van in the gentrified Camden during the 1970s. When Bennett moves into the area, he lets her park the van in his own driveway. Their cohabitation lasts for 15 years till her death in 1989. Starting with an oblique hit-and-run with Mary (Smith) at the wheel, the film accessorizes the main plot with Mary's own past. A lapsed Catholic nun with a flair for music, Mary's plight can be subsisted in how the Church has failed her by snuffing her talent, how she has been beset by the religion-indoctrinated guilt of an automobile accident which is not entirely her fault. She prayers like a mad for redemption and is constantly on the run, which explains why she lives in a van. Watching side by side with THE LONELY PASSION OF JUDITH HEARNE, a viewer cannot turn a blind eye on the deleterious implications angling at the Catholic church, a sign of the times that stokes the prevalence of Anglicism. If Mary's life is an outgrowth of a series of mishaps, it is her mind-her-own-business tenet shores up her solitary survival. When you really do not care about the judgments from others, you live freer and happier. That is the strength propels Mary’s life, who takes the favors from her wealthy neighbors for granted without a throwaway thank-you as if she could sense that their kindness is shrouded by the guilt. Naturally, people need to feed on other people’s misery to feel good about themselves (that’s why news report are swamped with tragedies), so in a way, her neighbors need her more than the other way around. Furthermore, the semi-friendship established between Mary and Bennett (Jennings) never reaches a boiling point. Mary’s appreciation to him is not demonstrative, whereas Bennett maintains a polite distance and takes an interest in her more for his own creativity’s sake, out of which it would germinate an essay, a book, a stage play, a radio play and finally a motion picture treatment. The film’s temperature remains consistently tepid, with Smith doing wisecracks (“It doesn’t matter whether it is distilled or not, it’s holy water!”) and bossing around in her usual carriage. The two-hander turns lopsided as Jennings is refractorily aloof, even if the film does some digital wizardry to conjure up two Bennetts (one himself, one his alter ego, the writer), mistaking a stiff upper lip for reserved emotions. With Bennett assuming the job of the scribe and his regular collaborator Hytner at the helm (the film is studded with cameo roles from the ensemble of Bennett’s 2004 play THE HISTORY BOYS, whose success is parlayed into a cinematic adaptation in 2006 by Hytner with the same cast), THE LADY IN THE VAN cannot erase the unfavorable impression that it is an exploitation and encroachment of a poor soul who just wants to be left alone, not to be ridiculed, caricatured or sentimentalized, with whom Bennett only deigns to build a connection on account of his immense sympathy (plus a strong scatological tolerance). The tawdry CGI shots of ascension is a desperate move of insincere adulation. As per usual, Smith is the saving grace, whose crinkled face conveys an indelible aura of weather-beaten sorrowfulness. When Mary finally bestirs herself to tickle the ivories, music’s soothing and healing power washes all over us and on screen there is a serene valedictory snapshot mirroring Smith’s own life on earth. R.I.P. our beloved dowager, we are forever indebted to her artistic legacy, populated by her undiminished wit, élan and pathos.referential entries: Jonathan Lynn's CLUE (1985, 5.5/10); W.S. Van Dyke's THE THIN MAN (1934, 7.9/10); James Ivory's QUARTET (1981, 6.2/10); Clayton's ROOM AT THE TOP (1959, 6.1/10); Dustin Hoffman's QUARTET (2012, 6.0/10); Nicholas Hytner’s THE CRUCIBLE (1996, 6.9/10), THE HISTORY BOYS (2006, 6.9/10).

谁贴的喜剧标签？

除了末尾墓地对话和升天，整个看得人苦哈哈的，哪里喜？

大概，同性恋取向和COMNST暗示的时代限定刻板印象，算个笑点？

英式幽默我不懂，但英式悲伤我太懂了。

她沦落至此的故事，应该跟原著一样用的作家主视角，给我们一些过往路标和生活片段，讲得收敛克制，不让人望而却步的同时，又保证会戳到痛处。

//真相大白时，说是天降无妄也可，但确实因为一念之差，给自己的良心戴了副铐子。

某种意义上的选择，但我绝对没有想说“自作自受”的意思，只是唏嘘。

what if她乖乖回去做笔录，事情调查清楚，她一清二白，不会被垃圾cop敲诈，不用心理负罪四处逃窜，精神紧绷、竖起戒备高墙，她可能捡起钢琴演奏，进乐团或当家教，也可能当出租车司机，起码温饱有着落、服饰干净面容整洁、生活安定。

但也很难讲她停在现场配合，会是这么乐观。

毕竟，追索她的是那个垃圾cop，即便清楚是另一方负全责，说不定看这位报警者战战兢兢，恶向胆边生，敲一笔更大的。

但起码走公开程序，有协同勘查，有申辩机会。

（不得不说，在没发生的事情上，我偏向乐观。

越是这样，也显得现实操蛋）而事情已经是这样的，只能说按照她的性格，在紧急状况下的下意识反应就是如此，不存在what if。

稍微能变动一些的，是cop，若遇见的是一个按章办事的，警告加罚款，了结一切。

屋漏偏逢连夜雨勿以恶小而为之但求俯仰无愧于天地没想说教的，但还是拐到这里。

说教对于后来者可能有用，但也有限。

事到临头，人哪能考虑这么多？

更别提还有这无处不在又无法预料的恶意。

思辨反省留给少数人，活着挣扎才是多数人。

//Tough life makes people become difficult/eccentric.按照演员和装扮变化，捋了捋女主时间线。

小时候，爱干净、懂事、不用大人操心、有小红花。

年轻时，去法国，师从名家学琴，会法语。

回到英国，进了修道院，被禁止接触音乐。

二战期间，开救护车。

然后是让她一down到底的那个车祸偶遇。

精神状态不佳，被哥哥送去Asylum监管/隔离。

关不住，跑出来，开始街区游荡的货车生活。

车祸后她所遭受的惩罚（或不幸），内外交加，远远超过了她所应当的。

不公。

尊严，骄傲，较真，用刺儿来维持摇摇欲坠的体面（不想说傲娇，这个词儿轻浮，有种不食肉糜的调调，压不住这几十年风霜刀剑蚀刻出的人）必须承认，看这部电影我是想在心里打个底。

不婚不育，异国他乡，出租屋（努力一把，自建小宅院）孤独终老，是现阶段看来可预见的结局。

我觉得挺好，但真的过起来会怎样，还是忐忑。

为了安慰自己，找来感觉更悲惨一些的经历来以毒攻毒。

看完之后，确实添加了一些勇气。

车到桥头自然直，人老了就有“爱咋咋地”的资格。

会体衰力弱、腿脚不便，但有口气、有点精神，没什么坎儿是过不去的。

最怕的是植物人、无意识或健忘症，太麻烦了。

//中产邻居们叽叽喳喳传八卦、表面礼貌内里凉薄有良心但不多，也别苛责（我自己在场，不会做得比他们好，甚至我根本没有独栋别墅的停车位，能让她停车）应是社会的活儿（福利制度）//福利制度中后期社工介入变得专业规律，但终究没有全面接手。

即便老人院那样的一揽子方案，也无法达到无微不至的效果。

（caring是一件耗时耗力的专业情感劳动，而人的情感需求又复杂多变，不是流水线一样的服务标准能满足的。

要么说久病床前无孝子、死比活容易，因为漫长的照料是马拉松，死亡是终点，死亡不可预见，照料越久越觉得辛苦疲惫。

死亡的处理，不仅比照料容易简单好多层，社会提供的关注和支持（不管是给活人还是给死人的）更是几倍不止。

）所以说作家是心最软的（bullied），lazy确实三个月变十五年开始是过意不去的好心、妥协，中间当捡屎官（字面意义，看呆我）那是无可奈何、吵也吵不过那就凑活过、破罐子破摔，后来抬头不见低头见、一段不见还想念、处出感情了//专业护工拉老太太去日托这段，泪目1 小哥帮她拉了拉裙子，包住膝盖，给她体面2 坐轮椅上被自动托举到车厢，画面是她的侧脸，旁白是作家说看到了她流浪者的高贵——————————————世界当然不会充满爱，但纯粹的恶什么时候滚出人间。

1利用她畏罪潜逃心理实行敲诈勒索的cop，是坨屎明知道她其实无辜路过，不仅没阐明事实还加深其错误认知，以此为把柄一勒索就是几十年，甚至她沦落为这样的街头流浪老太太也不放过。

他的每次出现，根本就是种精神折磨，令老太太惶惶不可终日。

他根本不缺这几英镑，目的不在钱，在要钱这个猫捉老鼠一样的过程，对无法还手之人的玩弄，是乐子是享受，是践踏更弱者的变态心理。

半夜敲窗时我想一锤子打爆他狗头2（这种恶，由纯粹之恶被人为塑造教化）拒绝Music，神父和修女，有病活活折损了一个有才华的人3开车的年轻街溜子，什么垃圾砰砰砰砸人车窗，还晃车看得我血压升高4摆地摊时，路过的小屁孩恶语相向

故事没讲清楚，而且文化背景也有点远，宗教会这样拆解人的一生，一次误会拆解日常的生活。

最后熔铸出古怪、骄傲、暴躁、担忧。

其实看电影的很多时候觉得心碎，她把儿时的夸奖记得很牢，对音乐的逃避和毁坏，把坚硬的外壳竖起不对任何人流露柔软。

一个人在海边在旋转木马上像孩子一样笑，一个人在俱乐部里听着音乐缓缓闭上眼睛。

其实她是这样的人，富足、有趣、爱这个世界。

不堪和骄傲揉在一起，大半生都在拉扯的女人，最后小心翼翼地摸了摸钢琴，绝望地发现自己无法遏制音乐从自己的指尖流淌出来，躺在黑暗中绝望而幸福地说，音乐在我的指尖，音乐在我的骨头里。

在黑暗中我也能弹琴。

太喜欢这段了，拉扯挣扎了一生后的绝望和幸福。

男作家的话，也许也不好苛责剧本不够流畅，可能他接触到的女士真的只是这么些碎片。

两个人的设定挺有意思的，胆小的特质也确实接住了故事。

喜欢结尾在墓地，偷看帅哥被叫回，和当年以为自己误杀的小伙子成为朋友，有些滑稽夸张但让人会心地升上天堂。

好吧，这个时候就无须苛责宗教是否毁了她，而是终于一切都如她所愿地尘埃落定。

捐成门槛的祥林嫂。

Maggie特别特别特别特别好，举重若轻、浑然天成。

想起她在脱口秀里时不时想把自己和这个角色剥离开，开玩笑地表达气味啊货车的难堪，我们总有点不好意思和百转千回的老太太，其实你又很爱这个角色，是不是？

玛吉女士的演技实在太棒了，那种倔强又可爱的感觉，让人心疼又喜欢。

第一次看这部电影注意力有点游离，不过好在看到最后抓住了其中的感动。

尤其是玛吉的故事，一生热爱音乐，却因为中年的一次飞来横祸，下半生都背负着愧疚生活。

她为死去的男孩告解、祷告，却被神父告诉音乐会让恶魔释放，她为了安抚男孩也为了更好地安放自己的愧疚，用祷告代替了她深爱入骨髓的音乐。

与音乐，一别直至死亡。

她将自己的车刷成金黄色，在电影结尾，她在金黄色的房间里终于又一次弹起了热爱的钢琴，如她所说：“谁能把音乐遗忘呢……我闭着眼都能弹奏……它于我就像一座高楼大厦。

”——但她却不能安居其中，下半生都风雨飘零，在流浪的不只是身体，还有灵魂。

而她最后真的背弃了信仰触碰了音乐吗？

并没有。

那座金黄色的房子，只是她金黄色的小车而已，一切都是临终的幻想。

如果她选择音乐，就是对信仰的背叛，对祷告的背叛，对死去男孩的背叛。

她善良，所以她放逐自己。

好在男主的小说中，她和男孩手挽手上了天堂，对自己灵魂的放逐终于有了些意义。

对于男主的部分我并没关注太多，因为玛吉的故事太吸引我了。

或许有天重看，还会有新的发现。

这部片子之前刚一口气把星球大战1-6看完，进入这部片子一下子换了个风格。

这是一部包含隐喻的电影。

玛格丽特时常在片中让人不要发出音乐的声音，人们弹奏歌唱，留声机发出的音乐声她都要阻止，到了片尾才知道原来不是因为她不喜欢音乐，恰恰相反，她非常的爱音乐，但是她肇事出人命逃跑后，选择的这种残喘生活让她没有办法再次接触到自己热爱的音乐，所以为了避免音乐勾起她的回忆，触动她的痛苦，所以才做出这种貌似不喜音乐的行为。

通过这种隐晦的手法暗示大众要珍惜自己当下的生活，导演通过这种手法把隐喻传递给观众。

导演把悬念留到了最后，原来玛格丽特一直背负着根本不属于她的罪恶过着痛苦的日子，也暗示人们要增强法律知识和法律意识这部片子成本非常小，走的是内心思想方面的路线，拍摄手法和技术可以不提

这部温情电影是去年无意中看到的，人生的道路必然有失有得，这位女士的人生堪称悲剧，但是在人与人之间那种微妙的感情，在这种人生际遇下又是十分幸运的。

人不可能永远把自己困于枷锁中，也永远不可能对他人展开心扉，这样的矛盾体，才能构成我们。

在这个社会里，很多人不得不将自己困于混沌，却又贪恋这样的孤独境地。

「Boa constrictors in the street, peacocks on the wall. It seems that both at the northern and southern gates of my life stands a deluded woman.」「There were few occasions on which one saw her genuinely happy, and one of these was when she was putting paint on.」「If you choose to live like this, it's what you must expect. → I didn't choose. I was chosen.」「Good-nature, or what is often considered as such, is the most selfish of all virtues; it is nine times out of ten mere indolence of disposition. by William Hazlitt from 'The Round Table' (1816)」「This is London. Nobody thinks anything.」「It's like a fairy story. A parable, in which the guilty is gulled into devising a sentence for someone innocent only to find it is their own doom they have pronounced.」「That was what God wanted. And that I'd been told before. I said, couldn't I just play some hymns for us to sing to? And she said that was arguing. And I'd never make a nun if I argued.」「You write about her all the time, one way or anoter. You use your mother.↓That's what writers do.↓Me next, I suppose.」「You don't understandably resent it when the professionals lend a hand.↓No, though I resent it when the professionals turn up every three months or so and try to tell me what this woman, whom I have coped with on a daily basis for the past 15 years, is like.↓What is she like?↓Mary, as you call her, is a bigoted, blinkered, cantankerous, devious, unforgiving, self-serving, rank, rude, car-mad cow. Which is to say nothing of her flying faeces and her ability to extrude from her withered buttocks turds of such force that they land a yard from the back of the van and their presumed point of exit.」「Mr. Bennett. Mr. Bennett. That social worker wanted to know my next of kin. I don't want my next of kin broadcast, so I said I didn't have any. Only, they're in this envelope. And you keep it under your hat.」「The chair goes up on a lift. And in this small ascension, when she slowly rises above the level of the garden wall, there is a vagabond nobility about her. A derelict Nobel Prize winner, she looks, her grimy face set in a kind of resigned satisfaction.」「Music. How are people supposed to avoid it? You see, I had it at my fingertips. I had it in my bones. I could play in the dark. Had to sometimes. And the keys were like rooms. C major and D minor. Dark rooms and light rooms. Just like a mansion to me, music. Only it worried me, that playing came easier than praying. And I said this, which may have been an error.↓Said to whom?↓My confessor. He said that was another vent the devil could creep through. So, he outlawed the piano. Put paid to music generally. Said dividends would accrue in terms of growth of the spirit. Which they did. They did.」「Mr.Bennett? Hold my hand. It's clean.」「It is a van no longer. It is a sepulchre. Even now, I do not venture into this evil-smelling tomb. But I feel cheated that the discovery of the body has not actually been mine and that having observed so much for so long. I'm not the first to witness her death. Now, in quick succession, come the doctor, the priest and men from the undertaker's, all of whom do what no one else has done for 20 years. Namely, without pause and seemingly without distaste, step inside the van.」「Mr. Bennett? I came into your drive for three months and I stayed for 15 years! Mr. Bennett? Do you know what that is? It's the last laugh.」「Well, she wanted an ascension. Let's answer her prayers. Stand by, Miss Mary Teresa Shepherd, late of 23 Gloucester Crescent. Up you go.」「Starting out as someone incidental to my life, she remained on the edge of it so long, she became not incidental to it at all. As homebound sons and daughters looking after their parents think of it as just marking time before their lives start, so, like them, I learned there is no such thing as marking time and that time marks you. In accommodating her and accommodating to her, I find 20 years of my life has gone. This broken-down old woman, her delusions, and the slow abridgement of her life, with all its vehicular permutations, these have been given to me to record.」「What I've learnt, and maybe she taught me, is that you don't put yourself into what you write. You find yourself there.」「Have a bit more in my life. I might even start living. That's the end of the story. It might make a play. What do you think?↓Now I'm here, I think you should stop talking to yourself.」「Gloucester Crescenrt has had many notable residents, but none odder or more remarkable than Miss Mary Shepherd, to whom we dedicate this blue plaque today.」「MISS M.T. SHEPHERD "The Lady in the Van" live here 1974-1989」

其实我想说电影重点应该不是什么老太太造事逃逸然后变流浪汉在精分作家前院待了15的传奇故事吧。

重点不应该是这个电影很隐晦的讽刺了教会么？

从作家和修女谈话后意味深长的上帝画像到最后老太太去世讲的那段话，什么音乐是一种释放内心恶魔的途径，终止一切和音乐有关的东西，狡辩不能当修女，不就和之前那个修女狡辩买什么吃的那里相呼应了吗？

真正信教内心善良相信音乐会让人快乐的人却因为教父的话被赶出教会结局那么悲惨而一脸假正经的装做很虔诚却狡辩的人却可以当修女，教会的人办完丧事之后像没事发生一样反而感觉那些社工的人才感觉真心对老太太好呢，起码不会一脸嫌弃人家

这是一部温情的英式喜剧，讲述了一个住在小货车里的性格古怪脾气又倔又犟的老太太，来到了一个中产社区，在这里让大家吃尽了苦头。

精分的剧作家男主角在自家门前的停车位上收留了老太太，在接下来的15年里发生的各种啼笑皆非又感人的故事。

必须重点说到的是，玛吉奶奶的表演出神入化，浑身是戏，身上的小孤僻小倔强表现的可爱又童真，玛吉奶奶一个人去游乐园坐旋转器，吃骨，然后走进一家老年人俱乐部，那一段，可爱又让人心酸。

后面玛吉奶奶生命的最后时刻去弹钢琴那里、直接就泪奔了，一辈子热爱音乐，却因为条条框框而困住了自己，就这样把自己一辈子困在了一个货车里，好在她人生的最后15年，遇到了精分男主，虽然并没有改变她的生活状态，但起码有了“陌生”的陪伴。

最后玛吉奶奶和男主握手那一刻，直接就泪奔了，这是她第一次主动接纳了别人，也是人生的最后一刻，和自己和解了。

定位为剧情+喜剧，其实在用看似轻松的笔调讨论了一个深邃的故事。

改编自英国剧作家Alan Bennett的同名戏剧，来自作者本人真实的故事。

独居的作家，身世不明的流浪老妇人，看似不相干的两个人阴差阳错地在陪伴了十五年。

邻居、朋友、亲人，他们看似靠的很近，但又从不过问对方的生活，不会刺探彼此的秘密，远远关注着，始终保持合适的距离。

那些温情脉脉的瞬间里总掺杂着令人保持清醒的疏离感。

作家有一个年迈的母亲，他爱着母亲却只把这份感情放在字里行间，一直拒绝和母亲同住，直到母亲的身体状况越来越糟糕，有一天记不起他是谁，他所有说不出口的“爱”终于再也不需要了。

可能这也是当下社会环境里比较普遍的状态，有时候想走近却找不到入口，希望被安慰却没有可依靠的肩膀。

流浪的老妇人年轻时有高超的钢琴演奏技巧，师出名门，对音乐对这个世界心存向往，但所有的美好却在做修女期间被大主教的意志熄灭了，后来的交通意外只是坚定了自己逃避现实的借口。

世界那么大，每个人都需要一片可容身的地方足以，比如落满枯叶的小货车，它可能破旧不堪，但足以保护好我的倔强和尊严。