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You remember how it was in the gospel: "let the dead bury their dead"... I don't know why this phrase etched in the subconscious until I watched Macbeth and Banco are on the shoulders of the dead Mature and boys, which recently gathered to fight...I never seen anything like this, although it seems looked at my life quite seriously bloodthirsty and bloodthirsty humor movies... I don't pochuvstvovala changes relevant to them on a physical level... Yeah... it's dead... only they left for them the same... friends... no more... you replied... which you could trust with your life...and more about Banco I don't recognize anything, but Macbeth folded them all together and set fire to, all together have left them... every single one... they look at him whenever... come when you want... and maybe only for them he reserves the right to ask him their silent questions, because he lived his life...And the most powerful in the film the core it is a war and the sword in his hand... that makes sense and the essence and the answers to all... "kill me... I'm one soldier to another, please..." there is nothing for those who wore ever the title of a soldier is nothing more honest and clearer here... don't need to explain, because you is death... and death you are, no matter for what purpose took up the sword... how adorable is this... "before the fight" before the fight and "after the battle"... in such a force, which I had not seen or felt yet never... I'm calm now Assasins''s Creed, because I know that all will honour and conscience, cruel and scary with all the ease of life, when you have to kill... not Babi snot and coquetry... men don't bury those whom did the dead... the purpose of a soldier to kill... and the only way he knows, at least when he gets home, they will all be back together with him in his head... and will stand and look at him at night, and enter without invitation, at any time, because the doors to it open for them... I don't know if I would call it a disease... it's more like a presence on your body hands or feet... and Macbeth was not a problem with it... I saw him the familiar pain, but also peace of mind, and a willingness to carry their own weight just because its not released...how many I caught amazing moments... like the whole movie, no Cotillard with her Neorganicheskie, is made up of moments... the hand of the king on the cheek of Macbeth and his stare, and stare, with which he goes about it... impossible to tell words... unlikely he would be able to verbalise their thoughts in those moments... "that's the head you wanted... I brought... I left my friends and their flesh torn to pieces by the beasts and birds... then you build out as my trophy, but I have to..." almost all of right and wrong really, because all the excess... so again, again and again... and your face is the face of Macbeth is a tragedy by Shakespeare... finally she... the one all the others he wrote, and which no one was able to show... because I should be sad and painful, and needs to torment the question: but how -- how did that happen just now... and why is it so bad and so scary... the tragedy... would you ever Lear to play... now this:

Rage... Blow winds, blow!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vount couriers to oak-cleauing thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head! And thou allshakihg thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o 'th' world;
Crack nature's mould, all germins spill at once,
That make ungrateful man!!!
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness!
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you chitdren;
...Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure!.. Here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak and despis'd old man!

I'm ready to wait as much as necessary, but only to feel what I wanted to say Shakespeare, in fact, when I wrote this... Because except you no one was or is able... the tragedy... I know now how it looks... and how it tastes inside you think that I could imagine... no... never... but it's cool to know...

Here...

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