The next day.
"There were no tearful embraces between teacher and student, no knowing smiles between father and son, no tearful gazes between lovers, and no thunderous applause from an adoring crowd. The protagonist simply did something and kept doing it, doing it to the best of his ability, with nothing else in mind. That was what dreams were supposed to be like: you started, then kept going, doing it to the best of your ability, with nothing else in mind."
"Enduring torment itself became a form of conquest. Yet beautiful and elegant things were often brought into being by people of terrifying intensity. One had gone berserk, the other destroyed people without ever tiring of it. Teacher and student tormented each other relentlessly, unable to stop themselves. It was impossible to tell whether they loved music, their dreams, or pain."
"This film was like the jazz within it—a blood-and-sweat product of an adrenaline surge. It wasn't perfect, but it was irreplaceable!"
"Was this praise, or a shudder in the face of an antisocial personality in full bloom? Master and disciple honed their talents against each other at the limits, wishing they could strangle one another's madness. There was too much excellence in this world, but only those who had borne the weight of something hanging by a thread without breaking could achieve greatness."
"The entire film's editing flowed forward seamlessly, stepping on every most gripping shot. The two leads' performances never missed a beat in any frame. Every shift in intensity and pacing seemed to form a perfectly natural whole, pushing viewers along with the rhythm into an artistic life where one had to go mad or die."
"A young genius of a director had brought us a crazy film!"
"."
The wild praise after the screening was, in