Every character in Leon is unexpectedly wonderful. It doesn't have a lot of profound thinking, but it's too intriguing. As a professional killer, Leon's life is simple-simple, even like an old craftsman. He goes out early and comes back late, making a living by running, training again and again, and completing the task. Because of occupational hazards, he has to sit while sleeping. In the face of love and possible leisure life, he should also restrain himself and remind himself. He is not so much a killer as a kind of life itself-he represents the most extreme side of a man-he is ruthless in the face of powerful and cruel opponents, but in the face of gentle women and delicate children, he must abide by the rules-he doesn't hurt them or even compromise, his warmth is even their Achilles heel, and finally he will repay them at the cost of his life. "A line has a line of rules. Do not kill women, do not kill children. " Behind such rules and taboos, his desire and affection are printed. After years of paralysis, the accidental intrusion of a little girl reminded him of these forgetfulness, just like remembering childhood stories. The old man said, "When you first came to this country, you were in a mess. Women made a mess of you. Now, he is an excellent killer. " Man's strength and ruthlessness are roots born in the soil of pain and destruction, but they are destined to become plants that are carefully cared for by killers but cannot blossom and bear fruit. Martina's appearance became the light of his life and her own destruction, rebirth and redemption. Just like the moment he opened the door in the face of the panic after her family was bloodbath, the light lit up her face and lit up her life. He was changed by her, and he became her love and new life. Everything in a miserable life has been turned upside down.
I've been speculating about the ending. Most people think that when the killer walks to the door, what he longs for is a new life-a life in which slaughter and vigilance will cease to exist, and there are only his Martin Da and his beloved who will not blossom or bear fruit. The eager eyes and confused and yearning expression on his face betrayed his feelings, but made him lose the instinct of a killer-the pistol followed, and he was unaware of it. Finally, a gunshot killed the killer at the end of the dark corridor, only one step away from the bright door. But I tend to think that the murderer knows the pistol behind him and he is looking for a dream that can't be found anywhere. That dream is connected with corridors and exits, and also with the pain of this world and the dream of the afterlife-that is death. He hit hundreds of people by himself. In the end, he didn't have a pistol and couldn't avenge Martina. The only hope is to die with that pervert. More importantly, what can he do when he goes out? Is Martina better or worse with him? Still with him, I'm afraid the little girl's life is still spent in hatred and there is no new life. Everything is back to the old track-practicing martial arts, killing people and performing tasks. Life is like a sharp knife. He chose to die, and at the last moment after he fell, he sent the bomb pull ring to the hands of perverts and villains. He was almost affectionate and gentle, as if he were dying: "This is from Martina." The bomb detonated, the revenge was completed, and the murderer died.
"This is, from, Mathilde-"In a sense, it is obvious that this is his revenge on Mathilde. But more fundamentally, he completed the mission that she didn't want her to complete in this life on her behalf. The mission of revenge has been completed, Martina's mission as a killer has been completed, and the painful lives of the two killers have ended at the same time-one has got eternal rest and the other has finally gained freedom. A plant that does not blossom or bear fruit is finally planted on the grassland. It can grow because it has never been so close to nature. He was very twisted and restrained until one day the crazy, stubborn and childish Matinda saved him. Finally, he used all his strength as a reward for her long-term enthusiasm, and the murderer finally completed the rescue. An accidental meeting lit him up, just like the last Grenade burst into the most violent light-"Is life always so painful, or is it only when I was a child?" The killer was silent for a while and murmured, "All the time." But now she can stop doing it. She can stop doing it. Life and love drove him to this road, but in the end she returned what she had taken to him. The difference is that this time, he willingly found the owner for his non-flowering and unfruitful plant-she finally rooted it in the soil.
Abnormal villains like Beethoven, know Mozart and recommend their prey to try Brahms, but they are crazy, cruel and indifferent; The killer can't read, he doesn't know classic movies, he doesn't know Monroe and Chaplin, but he finds refuge in the cold life and opens the window and door of his soul. It turns out that art can cultivate temperament, but it can't change the soul-nothing can change the soul, because the soul is deep-rooted, and it is the person himself-just like the killer's career makes him as cold as ice, but it can't erase the original immature soul in his heart-the soul is led but not sent, patiently ambushed, and finally returned to himself after accumulating for too long. Just like that plant and milk, it comes from nature and can't tolerate any pollution, but it can't find its own land. But it finally went home. If it is green, it belongs to the soil. If she is a naive daughter, she will definitely belong to another world, but that is the past time that he can't give, yearn for and reach in his lifetime. It turns out that what each of us is looking for is not a mature personality, nor is it just happiness, but a soul that has been lost by ourselves for a long time. It belongs to last night's territory and the castle of the past. It originated from our childhood dreams. It has a childlike innocent face. Children can love, fantasize and break the game of the adult world by their own survival instinct. However, people's growth and years of tempering are nothing more than abandoning it in turmoil, being confused by it in love, being suppressed by it in the harsh law of survival, but still being strong and forbearing, hiding secrets. If you can't see it, it is always there; Seeing it, it reveals all the secrets for us. It will always lead us, hiding and revealing like a mystery, until death throws this strange and dazzling dream away from us.