漂亮男孩2018

电影音乐很棒。

1. Nic情况有所好转以后回家，爸爸在他睡觉的时候唱着Beautiful Boy的摇篮曲。一开始声音开得小，我还以为那是个无声镜头，直到父亲回忆Nic小时候在机场跟他告别时BGM变大我才听到。让我很惊喜的细节是歌曲不光是约翰列侬的原唱，还有演员的声音，仿佛那首摇篮曲从Nic小时候唱到了现在。而我也终于听到了那句早在预料之中的“I love you more than evergthing”。

2. Nic在公路上开车的经典镜头，背景音乐是我称之为公路音乐最佳的Heart of Gold。

3. 如果说前半段的Nic是在混沌中堕落，他在clear一年多之后的复吸就是清醒着堕落。当他和女生一起堕落着的时候，音乐却是如此浪漫与缓和，仿佛这种沉沦是世上最美的事情。最后Nic想要结束生命那一段，凄美缓慢的女高同样安详而宁静。

4. Nic和女生开车逃出家，继母流着泪开车跟在后面，像是追赶，却没过多久又停了下来。但原来她不是在追，而是在驱赶。之前父亲说要去找儿子的时候，她愤怒地希望丈夫be responsible，当时没看懂，原来她希望丈夫放弃这个可能给自己孩子带来负面影响的哥哥，而她的驱逐也是想要让Nic远离年幼的孩子。不得不说挺绝的。

其实感觉整部电影都是那种节奏缓慢而充满回忆的，真好像吸了一大口drug而变得飘飘然。看其他影评才知道电影参考了父亲和儿子分别写的两本回忆录，这也解释了为什么前半段是父亲的视角为主、而后半段是Nic为主。

要不是看到片尾对现实中的主角后来人生的叙述，单是电影结尾给我的感觉没那么充满希望。因为反反复复多少次，总是以为他彻底clear了、与父亲做了坚定的保证了、被当作戒毒成功的典范了，最后又是新一轮的绝望，好像永无止境，像颗定时炸弹。但是总归会结束的吧。

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

I love you more than everything.

伴随着影片最后八分钟的落幕和音乐，我很想表达一下我对这部电影的喜爱！

首先，当我看到十分钟左右的时候，我就已经很怀疑豆瓣上的这个评分，看到后来我越来越不服气这个评分，我去IMDb上去搜了评分——7.3，要知道甜茶同样出演的《call me》在IMDb上也只有7.9的评分。因此，豆瓣上一些大V顶着流量的旗号，影响着一大批观影者的评判，当然不少时候我也是我刚刚说的那样，是一个被影响者。

电影的摄影构图绝对是精心的，我截了几张我很喜欢的图片。摄影一直保持着高水准的构图，有黄金分割，有中轴对称，整个画面一直都保持着很舒服的状态。

配乐是丰满的，虽然有几个片段显得故意了一点，honestly，但整部电影的配乐是让我融入情绪的重要配件。重金属摇滚和亲和钢琴，还有促进情绪的配乐，都很能借助音乐表达情绪。

再说剪辑手法，个人而言我很受用时空交叠的描述方式，因为当这样的手法是文字写在书上的时候，是会引起无尽的想象的。当然有一两个地方，这种剪辑用过了，造成了理解上的些些偏差。

很多童年片段的重演，是导演对人生前后的差别表达，也是剧情的一部分。

文学与艺术方面，诗歌的介入，摇滚乐的介入，小团体忏悔式的自述的介入，无不都在掀起一些列的情绪波澜，电影的价值是在无形中被赋予的。

很多人觉得这部电影，剧本太弱，甚至有说它是一部「禁毒宣传片」。我个人的感觉是，如果不去真的用情感带入，应该会很难理解情节上的反复重复；而且一再突出的「禁毒宣传」让他们情感上很难平静得去融入电影里。

剧本不弱，情感线更不弱！父子之间的感情线，从童年讲述起，一路贯穿成长。非要在这样的电影里讲述一个动人的感情故事吗？非要像寻亲那样悲鸣吗？父亲的信任变化与情感变化，是写实的；继母的情感也是真实的！

说起情感，难道，桌子上那封写给「漂亮男孩」的信，所要传递的，不够吗？冲浪的回忆对比，不够吗？写作在整部电影里出现的意义，与充满黑暗色彩的日记本，不够吗？不能够揭露内心吗？

说到写作，我很明白，一个擅长或忠于写作的人，是能够从写作中找到解脱的。这也是为什么电影总是在强调Nic需要写作，写作是一个人得到解脱，最廉价也最昂贵的方式，昂贵在很多人不愿意借助文字表达内心。

我喜欢这部电影！我觉得这个评分大家给的太低了！

我大胆猜测大家评分只有三星的主要原因是，大家不爱这个题材，觉得毒品电影就应该拍成《湄公河行动》？？？

色调很美的片子，艺术性大于故事性。不知道导演本意还想拍出什么更深的立意，但在我看来这部片子的核心立意就是毒品对家庭的危害以及为孩子操碎心的父爱。 甜茶演的Nic这个人设是个漂亮但性格有点绿茶的失足男孩，最后Laura被救护车拉走后Nic哭着给爸爸打电话请求他让他回家的那点把“装可怜”三个字演绎得很好很好，虽然他吸毒并总爱干一些作死的事，但完全让人恨不起来。电影有个镜头后劲很大，就是Nic少年时期爸爸唱“beautiful boy”的歌哄他睡觉的那一段，看的时候内心平静，看完之后回想起来，真的很想让我掉眼泪，我想不管是Nic还是爸爸，都宁愿时间永远停留在那一刻，一个希望自己永远不会长大，令一个希望自己永远不会老去。“如果仅仅到这里就是结局该有多好，如果后面那些事情都不要发生就好了。” 在这部片里完全get到了甜茶的美，我首先就很喜欢很喜欢他的气质，他能完全不矫揉造作地把“娇”的感觉表现出来，嘴上不说，一举一动里却都透露着“虽然我总是让父母为我操心，但这不能完全算我的错，我也很可怜，我也很脆弱，我想借你的肩膀哭一会，我想要你抱抱我”的感觉。但他的“漂亮”同时也是这部片子的嘈点，导演没有把握好文艺片和现实片之间的度，导致我看起来感觉有些美化吸毒者。瘾君子犯毒瘾是非常可怕的，这点小李子的《边缘日记》珠玉在前，主角犯毒瘾时歇斯底里，六亲不认，攻击性强，折磨家人折磨自己，像怪物一样的形象才正常。但甜茶把犯毒瘾时候的Nic完全演成了一个病弱美少年，只有“美”而不见“毒瘾”了，因此我看外网有人评论说“这个片子应该所有中小学强制播放，向他们宣传毒品的危害”的时候，我是不以为然的，当个甜茶颜值安利片还差不多，戒毒宣传片还是差了点。如果抛开以上都不谈，甜茶真的是可以用“美”来形容的男孩子，大眼长发冷白皮，身材比例优越，又瘦又高，真的会爱死帅哥。（而且在这部片子里他穿的衣服都好好看，把他原本就好的气质衬得更好了，四年前的他还不是如今这个穿个孙答应的赤色鸳鸯肚兜就上红毯结果被群嘲的笑料，好莱坞的风水不养人呜呜呜） 更新一下 看了一些豆瓣影评，把我内心隐隐感受出来但没能用语言很好的表达出来的内容说了出来，这部片子还有更深的立意。我们带着一身棱角来到这个世界上，高傲地看不起一切，将安宁与和平视为软弱者的精神寄托，但在日子的洪流中，我们彼此推搡着，慢慢发现曾经总以为与众不同的自己也和他们没有什么区别。某种程度上来说，我们都在为不同的东西而“上瘾”，逃避着一切我们不愿意面对的现实。可惜导演没有把这个立意拍深，不然就该八分往上了绝对不会只有6.2分。

再更新下

看完七百多条的高赞影评后我突然狠狠地共情起了Nic，我也有个看起来很美好的家庭，外人都羡慕，我父母也很爱很爱我。可惜，关系网是由个体组成，个体的问题对关系网的影响牵一发而动全身，在这个世界上，没有人是完美的，每个人都是普通人，在我看似美好的家庭中，也已经积攒了许多问题，这些问题让我在很多个深夜辗转反侧时都忍不住偷偷落泪，爱与恨的关系就如同善与恶，随意强行剥夺哪一方，另一方也会自然消失。我常常在这种环境下也告诫自己“我已经比很多人都幸福了，我不该这样矫情”，但结果只会让我越来越痛苦，越来越崩溃窒息，这简直是环境pua我后我又自我pua的后果。 虽然我不至于像Nic那样因为成长中受到的伤害去吸毒，但被伤害的人表现出的情绪是多种多样的，索性我意识到了“我在这之中受到了伤害，我应该去面对而不是逃避”这一点，我愿意努力疗愈自己。

最后感谢甜茶把Nic这个角色演绎得活灵活现，感谢原著作者愿意揭开伤口把他的故事呈现给我们，希望类似的悲剧不要再发生

" Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you.

When I was a young man I felt that these things were dumb, unsophisticated.

I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing.

I was hard as granite. I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms. I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass cursed. I challenged everything was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind.

Women were something to screw and rail at

I had no male friends. I changed jobs and cities. I hated hoildays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movie, Spiders, garbagemen, English accents, Spain, France, Italy, walnuts and color orange.

Algebra angered me. Opera sickened me.Charlie Chaplin was a fake. And flowers were for pansies.

Peace and happiness were to me signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind. But as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women, it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same.

They were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances.

The men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone.

Everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage.

The lie was the weapon, and the plot was empty. Darkness was the dictator.

Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark.

The less I needed, the better I felt.

Maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation or in mounting the body of some poor, drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow.

I could never gobble down all its poisons. But there were parts, tenuous magic parts, open for the asking.

I reformulated. I don't know when-- date, time, all that-- but the change occured.

Something in the relaxed, smoothed out. I no longer had to prove that I was a man. I didn't have to prove anything.

I began to see things. Coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. Or a dog walking along a sidewalk. Or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there, really stopped there, with its body, its ears, its nose.

It was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself, and its eyes looked at me, and they were beautiful. Then it was gone.

I began to feel good. I began to feel good in the most situations, and there were plenty of those. Like say, the boss behind his desk.

He is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days.He's dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses. He says, ' I am going to have to let you go.' 'It's all right, ' I tell him.

He must do what he must do. He has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I'm sorry for him. He's caught.

I walk out into the blazing sunshine. The whole day is mine, temporarily anyhow.

The whole world is at the throat of the world. Everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated. Everybody is despondent, disillusioned.

I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I remember that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing, the works.

Don't get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself.

This is a shield and a sickness. The knife got near my throat again. I almost turned on the gas again.

But when the good moments arrived again, I didn't fight them off like an alley adversary.

I let them take me. I luxuriated in them. I bade them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly.

I now liked what I saw. Almost handsome . Yes, a bit ripped and ragged. Scars, lumps, odd turns. But all in all, not too bad.

Almost hadsome.

Better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt.

And finally I discovered real feelings for others, unheralded.

Like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving for the tracks, I saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there, covers pulled high, just the shape of her head there.

Not forgetting centuries of living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead, but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the Earth turning, the tote board waiting for me.

I saw the shape or my wife's head, she so still. I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her on forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seat belt, backed out the drive.

Feeling warm to the fingertips, dowm to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the house full and empty of people.

I saw the mailman, honked. He waved back at me."

Either peace or happiness,

let it enfold you

when I was a young man

I felt these things were

dumb, unsophisticated.

I had bad blood, a twisted

mind, a precarious

upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I

leered at the

sun.

I trusted no man and

especially no

woman.

I was living a hell in

small rooms, I broke

things, smashed things,

walked through glass,

cursed.

I challenged everything,

was continually being

evicted, jailed, in and

out of fights, in and out

of my mind.

women were something

to screw and rail

at, I had no male

friends,

I changed jobs and

cities, I hated holidays,

babies, history,

newspapers, museums,

grandmothers,

marriage, movies,

spiders, garbagemen,

english accents,spain,

france,italy,walnuts and

the color

orange.

algebra angred me,

opera sickened me,

charlie chaplin was a

fake

and flowers were for

pansies.

peace and happiness to me

were signs of

inferiority,

tenants of the weak

and

addled

mind.

but as I went on with

my alley fights,

my suicidal years,

my passage through

any number of

women-it gradually

began to occur to

me

that I wasn't different

from the

others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome

with hatred,

glossed over with petty

grievances,

the men I fought in

alleys had hearts of stone.

everybody was nudging,

inching, cheating for

some insignificant

advantage,

the lie was the

weapon and the

plot was

empty,

darkness was the

dictator.

cautiously, I allowed

myself to feel good

at times.

I found moments of

peace in cheap

rooms

just staring at the

knobs of some

dresser

or listening to the

rain in the

dark.

the less I needed

the better I

felt.

maybe the other life had worn me

down.

I no longer found

glamour

in topping somebody

in conversation.

or in mounting the

body of some poor

drunken female

whose life had

slipped away into

sorrow.

I could never accept

life as it was,

i could never gobble

down all its

poisons

but there were parts,

tenuous magic parts

open for the

asking.

I re formulated

I don't know when,

date, time, all

that

but the change

occurred.

something in me

relaxed, smoothed

out.

i no longer had to

prove that I was a

man,

I didn't have to prove

anything.

I began to see things:

coffee cups lined up

behind a counter in a

cafe.

or a dog walking along

a sidewalk.

or the way the mouse

on my dresser top

stopped there

with its body,

its ears,

its nose,

it was fixed,

a bit of life

caught within itself

and its eyes looked

at me

and they were

beautiful.

then- it was

gone.

I began to feel good,

I began to feel good

in the worst situations

and there were plenty

of those.

like say, the boss

behind his desk,

he is going to have

to fire me.

I've missed too many

days.

he is dressed in a

suit, necktie, glasses,

he says, 'I am going

to have to let you go'

'it's all right' I tell

him.

He must do what he

must do, he has a

wife, a house, children,

expenses, most probably

a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him

he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing

sunshine.

the whole day is

mine

temporarily,

anyhow.

(the whole world is at the

throat of the world,

everybody feels angry,

short-changed, cheated,

everybody is despondent,

disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of

peace, tattered shards of

happiness.

I embraced that stuff

like the hottest number,

like high heels, breasts,

singing,the

works.

(don't get me wrong,

there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism

that overlooks all

basic problems just for

the sake of

itself-

this is a shield and a

sickness.)

The knife got near my

throat again,

I almost turned on the

gas

again

but when the good

moments arrived

again

I didn't fight them off

like an alley

adversary.

I let them take me,

I luxuriated in them,

I made them welcome

home.

I even looked into

the mirror

once having thought

myself to be

ugly,

I now liked what

I saw, almost

handsome, yes,

a bit ripped and

ragged,

scares, lumps,

odd turns,

but all in all,

not too bad,

almost handsome,

better at least than

some of those movie

star faces

like the cheeks of

a baby's

butt.

and finally I discovered

real feelings of

others,

unheralded,

like lately,

like this morning,

as I was leaving,

for the track,

i saw my wife in bed,

just the

shape of

her head there

(not forgetting

centuries of the living

and the dead and

the dying,

the pyramids,

Mozart dead

but his music still

there in the

room, weeds growing,

the earth turning,

the tote board waiting for

me)

I saw the shape of my

wife's head,

she so still,

I ached for her life,

just being there

under the

covers.

I kissed her in the

forehead,

got down the stairway,

got outside,

got into my marvelous

car,

fixed the seatbelt,

backed out the

drive.

feeling warm to

the fingertips,

down to my

foot on the gas

pedal,

I entered the world

once

more,

drove down the

hill

past the houses

full and empty

of

people,

I saw the mailman,

honked,

he waved

back

at me.

在看《Beautiful Boy》的过程中，我始终疑惑，Nic为什么会选择use drugs，直到全片看完也没有给出解释。但是在细细碎碎的日常和不断闪回的片段里，似乎能够一窥端倪。 全片营造了一种父爱如山的意境，以至于我在看到某些镜头的时候十分不解。 比如说自幼父母离异的Nic每年大部分时间和父亲住在一起，但是暑假需要回到母亲家待两个月。父亲送他登机，在把他交给空姐之前，问他“我能抱你一下吗”，小Nic摇了摇头。父亲很困惑“为什么不，因为我让你离开，所以你在生我的气吗”，小Nic这时候很轻很轻地点了点头。结果父亲接下来说“但是你见到妈妈就会很开心了对吧”，小Nic又点了点头。接下来父亲试图向Nic表真心，还说了这样的话“你知道我有多爱你吗，世界上所有的言语加起来也不足以表达我对你的爱，我爱你胜过世间全部”。随后小Nic主动拥抱了父亲，拉着空姐的手上了飞机。 正是有这么一段前情提要，后面父子两每一次分离都会说“everything”，意指“世间全部”，但非常诡异的是，每一次在他们互相说完“everything”之后，都会发生一些不太好的事情。所以回过头来看父亲这里对Nic说的话，其实是有为自己开脱的成分在。父亲送小Nic登机其实有意识到小Nic的沮丧情绪，但是他没有正确面对这个情绪，而是用了自己做不到的誓言试图粉饰太平。前后连接起来应该是：我很爱你，但是我仍然要送你去你妈妈那里。所谓的“爱你胜过世间全部”真的太有保留，反而像渣男骗小姑娘的把戏。因此在表真心之后父亲顺利收获了Nic的原谅和拥抱。 小孩子的世界是非常单纯的，小孩子对人的信任也是绝对的。你告诉他世界上有怪兽他就会夜里做噩梦，你告诉他你爱他胜过世间全部他就会相信你绝对能够做到。但是根据父亲的表现来看，虽然他确实为了Nic的康复做了很多努力，但明显大部分出于责任，甚至到后来几乎是不管不问的放弃状态。 就比如说Nic在康复中心疗养400多天没有复发，结果一回到父亲家，只是简单度过了个周末，再想返回康复中心的时候，他就复发了。虽然这次复发非常猛烈，但是Nic是有向父亲求救的。他给父亲打电话说他想回家，他愿意自此放弃use drugs，但是他不想再留在康复中心，他想要回家，想要父亲的陪伴。这时候接到电话的父亲是怎么回复的？“对不起，我不能答应你。”为什么不能答应Nic？你不是爱他胜过世间所有吗？为什么做不到接纳他陪伴他？因为你再婚了，然后你再婚的夫人希望Nic远离她的两个孩子。因为你想起来你有了新的家庭，有了新的孩子。Nic只是你曾经的一个失败的儿子，他不能如你所愿成为“beautiful boy”所以活该被你遗弃。 这里并没有指责父亲的意思，只是想说大人在给小孩子许下承诺的时候最好掂量一下自己的水平，看看自己能不能够实践诺言，如果不能，就不要随便给承诺，小孩子是真的会当真，而且会因为大人的说话不算话产生巨大的心理阴影。 其实我一直觉得西方的亲情都是非常淡漠的，孩子成人之后就需要为自己的一切行为承担全部责任，父母不再掺和孩子的人生，不像东方的父母，即使是面对成人成家的孩子也还会不自觉地过度干预。这样的淡漠和疏离有好处也有坏处。好处就是独立性非常强，各自为各自的人生负责，谁也别成为谁的负担。坏处就是如果孩子幼年时没有得到应有的陪伴和良好的亲子关系，就会在成人之后表现出对情感的高浓度渴望，这些孩子可能会试图通过一些掠夺弥补幼年的缺失。如果不能向外掠夺就会向内攻击，不断地摧毁自己的内心，使得全部的精神世界夷为平地。 Nic显然是没有得到过所谓的正确的陪伴。自幼父母离异，然后父母各自再婚。他在两个家庭间来回奔波，但是无论是父亲的一家四口还是母亲的二人世界，他都觉得自己是个外人。他融入不进去任何一个家庭，他享受不到给予他的独属于他的那一份爱。他的父亲他的母亲他都要和别人分享，他始终有一种寄人篱下的心态。他的天分让他拿到了6所大学的offer，只换来了父亲轻飘飘的赞叹。他和父亲继母以及两个弟妹一起去海边，弟弟想和他一起去冲浪，继母不同意，继母不对他提任何要求，只是不同意弟弟和他一起去冲浪。他想得到的不过是一种无差别的爱和对待，竟然也成为了一种奢求。 这期间他成功远离use drugs的那400多天，是有母亲的全程陪伴，所以他想要的不过是童年不曾有过的来自亲人的关心和爱护。结果回到父亲家面对继母和弟妹的时候，他又感受到内心的撕扯，终于又再次复发。这时候父亲拒绝再为他提供依靠，他才会彻底崩溃。 就像他在康复中心的发言：有一天我在医院里醒来，有人问我为什么住院，我说我嗜酒还是个瘾君子，那个人说，那只是你处理自身问题的一种方式罢了。Nic为什么会选择use drugs，是因为他总能敏感察觉到自己内心深处藏着的巨大的黑洞，他做了很多努力都没办法填补，终于有一天他通过use drugs这样的方式找到了一些满足，只有在use drugs的时候他才能感受到自己的人生是圆满的，自己的内心是充实的。想让Nic康复的手段不是把他丢弃在康复中心，而是给予完整的心理陪伴。但是显然，所有和他有关系的亲人并没有意识到这个问题，他们只是伤心失望于Nic反反复复的use drugs，在反复把他丢弃在康复中心的过程里自我感动。 还是那句俗话，幸福的家庭都有一样的幸福，不幸的家庭各有各的不幸。虽然我们已经很努力想要摆脱原生家庭的束缚独自翱翔，但大多数时候，我们依然是飘荡在空中的风筝，总会想要被线的另一端妥帖收回。不是成长得不够，而是从未得到过的东西无法成长。那些敏感的被我们忽略掉的小情绪在我们心里侵蚀出的黑洞，残忍逼迫我们必须去面对。有些人把自己的棱角磨钝，有些人把自己的情感磨钝，有些人无论如何也改变不了敏感，就只能眼睁睁地看着内耗不断蚕食内心。 Nic说的最多的一句话就是“I'm really sorry”，每次看到这句话都想说，没关系，那不是你的错，即使没有人爱你，你也要好好爱自己，成不成为beautiful boy都不重要，重要的是妥帖对待自己的小情绪，除了use drugs还会有别的更好的对待自己的方式，别放弃自己。 p.s.没看原著，只是因为甜茶看了电影，甜茶这挑角色的口味真独特，从elio到nic没有一个是标准尺度里的人物。看完之后是有很多疑惑的，所以去看了一些评论，从评论里获得了许多真实事件的信息，发现电影果然是高度美化了父亲的形象，但是即使美化成这样，依然看得出父亲的爱是这么有条件：他从未在nic幼年时关心照顾过nic的小情绪，凭什么要求成年后的nic就能成为自己引以为傲的beautiful boy？还有nic真的从头到尾都在道歉“对不起，我让你们失望了”，他们是对nic提出了多么苛刻的条件才会让nic这么有负罪感？就是因为他们从来没有给予却要求nic自力更生，而nic努力了却做不到，所以才觉得愧疚。从旁观者角度来看，说不好听点是父母对子女的PUA，明明是父母能量匮乏却把所有过错推给孩子，并且通过言语和行动让孩子默认这种逻辑。孩子为什么要承担这种莫须有的罪名？孩子凭什么就要为父母的过错买单？亲子关系真的是一生的功课，作业太难写不出来。