白日梦想家英文观后感

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影评-白日梦想家
白日梦想家英文观后感(一)

《白日梦想家》----生活的真谛

电影《白日梦想家》是由本·斯蒂勒自导自演的奇幻剧情片，本.斯蒂勒饰演的华特米提是《LIFE》杂志的底片管理师，平凡内向、谨小慎微的一个上班族。他不敢向心目中的女神示好，即使是在网络上。当在工作上遇到了讨人厌的上司以及女神时，华特就会陷入自己的幻想中，实现自己内心渴望的梦想。在长达十六年的时间里，华特.米提负责处理顶级摄影师肖恩.欧康诺的作品，然而在杂志面临收购改组网页化的紧张关头，华特却无论如何找不到肖恩号称“生活精髓”的一张底片，面临着失业的威胁。因此华特踏上了追寻肖恩之路，在人迹罕至的格陵兰、在喷发火山的冰岛、在空气稀薄的喜马拉雅，华特.米提逐渐触到了曾经的自己真正丢失掉的梦想，那也是他一直苦苦追寻的最后一张底片----生活的真谛。

当现代社会的节奏越来越快，人们往往拼尽全力才能让自己有一个比较舒适的物质环境，才能让家庭稳定。但奇怪的是，在物质越来越富足的今天，大多数人的内心越来越空虚，找不到自身存在的价值。但在现实社会遭受挫折之后，他们往往躲进自己塑造的保护壳中，直到下一次的挫折来临。《白日梦想家》就是这样一部在当代时代特征下出现的好电影，在里面折现了纸质媒体在新媒体时代中的变迁，也折现了在变迁中，小人物的挣扎与努力，还为我们提供了多种的关于时代变迁的思考，其中有一条就是：在面对生活的困境时，只有保持精神不死，才能找到生活的真谛。

To see the world,things dangerous to come to,

To see behind walls,

To draw closer,

To find each other and to feel,

That is the purpose of LIFE。

开拓视野，冲破艰险，

看见世界，身临其境，

贴近彼此，感受生活，

这就是生活的目的。

我想，这应该是一部公路片，沿途的风景美得不可思议，主人公在行走中收

获生活的真谛与生命的意义。当华特.米提在格陵兰前行，踏着滑板骑着自行车前行，看过了太多的美景，结识了很多人。在喜马拉雅山冒着生命危险去寻找肖恩，无论结果如何，他已经成功了，不是吗?有多少人只在心中幻想着一场说走就走的旅行，却在将要出发前犹豫不决，始终踏不出那一步。但是，华特.米提最终踏出了那一步，即使途中很狼狈，但至少向我们证明了，在钢筋水泥的重压下，他的精神不死。他将自己的幻想，甚至可以说是梦想，照进了现实。他去鲜有人烟的格陵兰岛，去火山喷发的冰岛，去高不可攀的喜马拉雅，展开了一场不可思议的奇幻之旅。在这趟旅行中，他找到了勇气，找到了自己的价值，收到了众人的关注，也拥有了向女神告白的勇气。最最重要的是，他找到了生活的真谛，开创了第二人生！

也许有了“摄影师”与“公路”两个要素的参与，《白日梦想家》在画面的美感上下了不小的功夫；很多画面都极具美感，线条，光线，构图，很见功底。这部电影或许有些苍白：苍白的故事，苍白的思想，苍白的情感，但这种苍白沉淀在电影中，展现出的却是热血的状态。整部影片始终在一种平静与温和的氛围中进行，偶有戏剧冲突，亦不是大喜大悲；但或许这便是生活的真谛，每个人都活在平凡之中，但在这个平凡的世界，你可以保持你的精神不死，总有一天，你的梦想也会照进现实。

在这个时常让人流泪的世界里，还是需要一些温暖的东西给我们正能量，《白日梦想家》就是这样一部电影，让我们明白，梦想还是要有的，万一实现了呢？

白日梦想家
白日梦想家英文观后感(二)

龙源期刊网 .cn

白日梦想家

作者：三井兽

来源：《当代体育·扣篮》2014年第17期

1来到赌城的人，有钱的会在各大赌场晃悠，其他的只能看着别人风光，坐在路边欣赏穿着暴露的美女，然后钻进某个不知名的脱衣舞酒吧，要一杯啤酒，然后漫不经心地看着表演，但泰特斯独自一人在拉斯维加斯度过了五天时间，他完全没有时间在赌城过那种纸醉金迷的生活，就好像热闹的派对中，谁也不认识一样。他先是参加了职业球探学校为期两天的培训，这所学校是由TPG体育组织公司所组织的，他们宣称自己的使命是培养体育界的未来领袖。价钱不贵，两天300美元，好过去赌场放纵，而且能学到成为职业球员的精髓，每天都和高技数据打交道，谈论篮球的时候更加专业。

这是TPG培训计划的第一年，在来到球探学校之前，泰特斯虽然经常混迹篮球圈内部，但对于球探的生活是什么样一无所知。很多人当看到一群志在成为职业球探的人士时，会觉得环游世界有多么好玩，天天看球并且让NBA球队为他们的意见付钱，会有多么美妙。他们甚至盲目地认为，走出球探学校之后立刻辞掉自己的媒体工作，然后调动自己在篮球圈内的全部关系，成为一名顶级球探。但事实是，两天之后，泰特斯深刻认识到，这个世界上如果有哪个工作可以用最不堪来形容的话，那就剩下NBA球探了。在学习班里，他亲眼目睹大批的同学自掏腰包支付机票飞到拉斯维加斯，听到他们抱怨这份工作有多么糟糕，然后却信心满满地离开赌城，立志要坚守自己的梦想——他们身上的疯狂，直到现在都让人无法理解。

对于职业篮球球探，环游世界看比赛不是“你想去就能去”，大多数情况下他们必须服从组织安排，让你去哪儿你去哪儿，也许是一些可能自己压根就不愿意去的地方。想想看，在漆黑的夜里搭乘红眼航班，从北美洲飞到欧洲，目的只为看一个身高2.10米的14岁孩子，看看他是否有潜力能在未来几年里，让自己的场均得分从0.5变成2.5。看完这个孩子之后，你还得马不停蹄飞到亚洲某地，在飞机上写写球员报告，然后继续重复一天前的工作。如果足够幸运，你所观察的对象，或许会在几年之后穿上你所在球队的球衣，也许能有几场比赛得到10分。

NBA球探也分好几种，他们在球队中的角色截然不同，但他们的共同点就是跑腿，所以跑腿成了职业球探学校的一个常见话题。在球探学校里，你听到最多的一句话就是，要像爱上旅行一样爱上这份工作，否则这份工作就会把你彻底毁掉。这里所说的旅行就是搭各种交通工具，每天一开始都会展示一段由飞机、地铁、交通，还有关于球探要跑多少腿的统计（大约每年10万英里）组合成的视频。听课的大约有250人，负责讲课的是小牛球员事务总监托尼·罗赞和太阳总经理莱恩·麦克唐纳——那句话便是他们俩说的。这两位来自NBA的专业人士还向那些想成为球探的人们说了很多注意事项，比如这份工作会让你自此失去家庭生活，他们打趣说，没准酒店雇员比你的家人还要亲切，酒店的床比家里柔软的床还要舒服。在严格控制的预算下，你必须提前几个月就做好一年的旅行计划，以便自己能够看尽可能多的比赛。

白日梦想家 小说英文原版
白日梦想家英文观后感(三)

《The Secret Life of Walter Mitty》（1939）【白日梦想家英文观后感】

by James Thurber

"WE'RE going through!" The Commander's voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full-dress uniform, with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye. "We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me." "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said the Commander. "Throw on the power lights! Rev her up to 8500! We're going through!" The pounding of the cylinders increased:

ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" he shouted. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" repeated Lieutenant Berg. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" shouted the Commander. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. "The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another. "The Old Man ain't afraid of hell!" . . .

"Not so fast! You're driving too fast!" said Mrs. Mitty. "What are you driving so fast for?"

"Hmm?" said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife, in the seat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. "You were up to fifty-five," she said. "You know I don't like to go more than forty. You were up to fifty-five." Walter Mitty drove on toward Waterbury in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in twenty years of Navy flying fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind. "You're tensed up again," said Mrs. Mitty. "It's one of your days. I wish you'd let Dr. Renshaw look you over."

Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building where his wife went to have her hair done. "Remember to get those overshoes while I'm having my hair done," she said. "I don't need overshoes," said Mitty. She put her mirror back into her bag. "We've been all through that," she said, getting out of the car. "You're not a young man any longer." He raced the engine a little. "Why don't you wear your gloves? Have you lost your gloves?" Walter Mitty reached in a pocket and brought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she had turned and gone into the building and he had driven on to a red light, he took them off again. "Pick it up, brother!" snapped a cop as the light changed, and Mitty hastily pulled on his gloves

and lurched ahead. He drove around the streets aimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on his way to the parking lot.

. . . "It's the millionaire banker, Wellington McMillan," said the pretty nurse. "Yes?" said Walter Mitty, removing his gloves slowly. "Who has the case?" "Dr. Renshaw and Dr. Benbow, but there are two specialists here, Dr. Remington from New York and Dr. Pritchard-Mitford from London. He flew over." A door opened down a long, cool corridor and Dr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard. "Hello, Mitty," he said. `'We're having the devil's own time with McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personal friend of Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductal tract. Tertiary. Wish you'd take a look at him." "Glad to," said Mitty.

In the operating room there were whispered introductions: "Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitty. Dr. Pritchard-Mitford, Dr. Mitty." "I've read your book on streptothricosis," said Pritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance, sir." "Thank you," said Walter Mitty. "Didn't know you were in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals to Newcastle, bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary." "You are very kind," said Mitty.

A huge, complicated machine, connected to the operating table, with many tubes and wires, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. "The new anesthetizer is giving away!" shouted an intern. "There is no one in the East who knows how to fix it!" "Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprang to the machine, which was now going

pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep . He began fingering delicately a row of glistening dials. "Give me a fountain pen!" he snapped. Someone handed him a fountain pen. He pulled a faulty piston out of the machine and inserted the pen in its place. "That will hold for ten minutes," he said. "Get on with the operation. A nurse hurried over and whispered to Renshaw, and Mitty saw the man turn pale. "Coreopsis has set in," said Renshaw nervously. "If you would take over, Mitty?" Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbow, who drank, and at the grave, uncertain faces of the two great specialists. "If you wish," he said. They slipped a white gown on him, he adjusted a mask and drew on thin gloves; nurses handed him shining . . .【白日梦想家英文观后感】

"Back it up, Mac!! Look out for that Buick!" Walter Mitty jammed on the brakes. "Wrong lane, Mac," said the parking-lot attendant, looking at Mitty closely. "Gee. Yeh," muttered Mitty. He began cautiously to back out of the lane marked "Exit Only." "Leave her sit there," said the attendant. "I'll put her away." Mitty got out of the car. "Hey, better leave the key." "Oh," said Mitty, handing the man the ignition key. The attendant vaulted into the car, backed it up with insolent skill, and put it where it belonged.

They're so damn cocky, thought Walter Mitty, walking along Main Street; they think they know everything. Once he had tried to take his chains off, outside New Milford, and he had got them wound around the axles. A man had had to come out in a wrecking car and unwind them, a young, grinning garageman. Since then Mrs. Mitty always made him drive to a garage to have the chains taken off. The next time, he thought, I'll wear my right arm in a sling; they won't grin at me then. I'll have my right arm in a sling and they'll see I couldn't possibly take the chains off myself. He kicked at the slush on the sidewalk. "Overshoes," he said to himself, and he began looking for a shoe store.

When he came out into the street again, with the overshoes in a box under his arm, Walter Mitty began to wonder what the other thing was his wife had told him to get. She had told him, twice before they set out from their house for Waterbury. In a way he hated these weekly trips to town--he was always getting something wrong. Kleenex, he thought, Squibb's, razor blades? No. Tooth paste, toothbrush, bicarbonate, Carborundum,

initiative and referendum? He gave it up. But she would remember it. "Where's the what's-its- name?" she would ask. "Don't tell me you forgot the what's-its-name." A newsboy went by shouting something about the Waterbury trial.

. . . "Perhaps this will refresh your memory." The District Attorney suddenly thrust a heavy automatic at the quiet figure on the witness stand. "Have you ever seen this before?'' Walter Mitty took the gun and examined it expertly. "This is my Webley-Vickers 50.80," he said calmly. An excited buzz ran around the courtroom. The Judge rapped for order. "You are a crack shot with any sort of firearms, I believe?" said the District Attorney, insinuatingly. "Objection!" shouted Mitty's attorney. "We have shown that the defendant could not have fired the shot. We have shown that he wore his right arm in a sling on the night of the fourteenth of July." Walter Mitty raised his hand briefly and the bickering attorneys were stilled. "With any known make of gun," he said evenly, "I could have killed Gregory Fitzhurst at three hundred feet with my left hand." Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. A woman's scream rose above the bedlam and suddenly a lovely, dark-haired girl was in Walter Mitty's arms. The District Attorney struck at her savagely. Without rising from his chair, Mitty let the man have it on the point of the chin. "You miserable cur!" . . .

"Puppy biscuit," said Walter Mitty. He stopped walking and the buildings of Waterbury rose up out of the misty courtroom and surrounded him again.

A woman who was passing laughed. "He said 'Puppy biscuit,'" she said to her companion. "That man said 'Puppy biscuit' to himself." Walter Mitty【白日梦想家英文观后感】

hurried on. He went into an A. & P., not the first one he came to but a smaller one farther up the street. "I want some biscuit for small, young dogs," he said to the clerk. "Any special brand, sir?" The greatest pistol shot in the world thought a moment. "It says 'Puppies Bark for It' on the box," said Walter Mitty.

His wife would be through at the hairdresser's in fifteen minutes' Mitty saw in looking at his watch, unless they had trouble drying it; sometimes they had trouble drying it. She didn't like to get to the hotel first, she would want him to be there waiting for her as usual. He found a big leather chair in the lobby, facing a window, and he put the overshoes and the puppy biscuit on the floor beside it. He picked up an old copy of Liberty and sank down into the chair. "Can Germany Conquer the World Through the Air?" Walter Mitty looked at the pictures of bombing planes and of ruined streets.

. . . "The cannonading has got the wind up in young Raleigh, sir," said the sergeant. Captain Mitty looked up at him through tousled hair. "Get him to bed," he said wearily, "with the others. I'll fly alone." "But you can't, sir," said the sergeant anxiously. "It takes two men to handle that bomber and the Archies are pounding hell out of the air. Von Richtman's circus is between here and Saulier." "Somebody's got to get that

ammunition dump," said Mitty. "I'm going over. Spot of brandy?" He poured a drink for the sergeant and one for himself. War thundered and whined around the dugout and battered at the door. There was a rending of wood and splinters flew through the room. "A bit of a near thing," said Captain Mitty carelessly. 'The box barrage is closing in," said the sergeant. "We only live once, Sergeant," said Mitty, with his faint, fleeting smile. "Or do we?" He poured another brandy and tossed it off. "I never see a man could hold his brandy like you, sir," said the sergeant. "Begging your pardon, sir." Captain Mitty stood up and strapped on his huge

Webley-Vickers automatic. "It's forty kilometers through hell, sir," said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy. "After all," he said softly, "what isn't?" The pounding of the cannon increased; there was the rat-tat-tatting of machine guns, and from somewhere came the menacing pocketa-pocketa-pocketa of the new flame-throwers. Walter Mitty walked to the door of the dugout humming "Aupres de Ma Blonde." He turned and waved to the sergeant. "Cheerio!" he said. . . .

Something struck his shoulder. "I've been looking all over this hotel for you," said Mrs. Mitty. "Why do you have to hide in this old chair? How did you expect me to find you?" "Things close in," said Walter Mitty vaguely. "What?" Mrs. Mitty said. "Did you get the what's-its-name? The puppy biscuit? What's in that box?" "Overshoes," said Mitty. "Couldn't

you have put them on in the store?" 'I was thinking," said Walter Mitty. "Does it ever occur to you that I am sometimes thinking?" She looked at him. "I'm going to take your temperature when I get you home," she said.

They went out through the revolving doors that made a faintly derisive whistling sound when you pushed them. It was two blocks to the parking lot. At the drugstore on the corner she said, "Wait here for me. I forgot something. I won't be a minute." She was more than a minute. Walter Mitty lighted a cigarette. It began to rain, rain with sleet in it. He stood up against the wall of the drugstore, smoking. . . . He put his shoulders back and his heels together. "To hell with the handkerchief," said Waker Mitty scornfully. He took one last drag on his cigarette and snapped it away. Then, with that faint, fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad; erect and motionless, proud and disdainful, Walter Mitty the Undefeated, inscrutable to the last.

【Cindy的读书笔记】——《拖拉一点也无妨》
白日梦想家英文观后感(四)

后天能做的事儿，就别赶着明天做了。--马克·吐温

这是我第三次提到这本书。如果你想从此书中找到彻底根治拖延的毛病，别想了，那是不可能的。下面是我整理的读书笔记:

首先是这个结构化拖延法:其实就是要有一种逆向思维，想办法把拖延变成一种有价值的事。【Cindy的读书笔记】——《拖拉一点也无妨》。一旦意识到要拖着做某件事情的时候，就再找几件有价值的事情或者把以前拖的有价值的事情找出来。为了拖着不去做本来要做的有价值的事情，就会做其他事情，就让有价值的事情之间相互拖延着。这样就叫结构性拖延法。拖延症本身并不是真正的危害，真正的危害是我们的一个心理机制。只要是拖延症，你就真的很难能自律去摆脱这种拖延，于是为了不去做那件事情就会去做其他无意义的事情，比如各种娱乐，玩个游戏。或者就是窝在沙发里看电视。这样一天就没有什么意义了，所以佩里的这个结构性拖延法就相当靠谱了，所谓东路不通西路通。【Cindy的读书笔记】——《拖拉一点也无妨》。毕竟是做了一些有价值的事情了。这种方法的本质就是跟自己玩心理游戏。实践结构化拖延法是需要一定程度的自我欺骗的。因为你得对自己用上一种[金字塔式传销"的招数，这里所说的完美主义，完全是停留在脑海里的幻想层面的东西，而非真实状况。它不在于你真的做了什么完美(或是接近完美)的事，而是要借用手边的任务来满足自己的白日梦，让你幻想自己把事做得十足完美--或至少是极为出色。你一定听说过一句话:[好的开始是成功的一半。"但[成功"这个词，实在太模糊了。怎样才能算[成功"呢?相比之下，[完成"可能就具体得多。完成意味着整件事要做完整，不能有遗漏。哪怕细节再好、局部质量再高，没有完成，再[完美"都没用。 有些人会因为追求[完美"，陷入了难以[完成"的境地。这些时候，[完成"比[完美"更重要。[烂的开始是完成的一半。"

还有就是学到了几招:譬如说高考拿到语文卷子的时候，先去看作文题目，把题目看懂。然后再开始做第一题。虽然你在开始做前面的题，但是因为你看了一眼作文题，所以这个作文题所有的构思，不要以为大脑不去想它，其实它已经在你心理开始生长开始发芽，所以当你完成前面的题目开始写作文的时候，它已经完成了一部分，这是一个节省时间的方法。其实这个也可是是对付拖延症的一种方法，虽然很不情愿去做某件事情，但是至少先让自己了解一下。就算你拖着不做，搞东搞西，但是要知道那个种子它在生长，一旦意识到快到死线的时候，就会以最快的速度最高的效率把它做完。拖延症的最大共性就是，当你是一个人的任务的时候，你会拖延，而在群体压力下，拖延症会解消很大一部分。例如是美国很少有富人是胖子，因为富人有社群压力，因为你胖，意味着你意志薄弱，自控能力差，所以在社交圈子里就不好混。这种群体压力会对人的行为构成很大的反制能力。例如利用自己的虚荣心。

现在无法克服拖延症，别太着急这是人生上境界的过程。人在不同的年龄段对时间的感受是不一样的。对于现在价值和未来价值，就是跨越时间的价值调度，匹配，平衡。所有这些事情说白了就是要靠成熟，人格的成熟才能做得到。成熟有时就得靠时间去耗，去磨。拖延症不是什么问题，拖延症是进化历程给你的一个礼物。它是一个缺陷，但它更是你想把握这一生，想让这一生过得美好，你必须去克服的东西。在这个过程当中没有人帮得了你，只有等待自己更快地成熟，你的心理结构发生更快的变形的时候，那一切的解决方案会水到渠成。这个世界什么都在变，不变的就是成功的人，自己对自己满意的人和不成功的loser，一生对自己不满意的人。这个结构的比例它不会变，如果你真的克服不了，那也没什么奇怪的，你只不过和无数代我们的祖先所有已经死掉的人类一样，就是个loser而已，没什么奇怪的。

小编cindy推荐:

一本拖了15年才写成小书

一位人见人爱的萌教授，写出了一本人见人笑的<拖拉一点也无妨>。

堂堂哲学家佩里教授是一位[凡事都爱拖一拖"的老先生，而且和大部分拖延者一样，这位萌教授一直因为自己[做事爱拖拉"的习惯心怀愧疚。这不，17年前一个阴郁的午后，老先生正因为自己没有完成一件[本该做的事"而觉得自己就是个窝囊废，但转念一想，其实自己很能干，不是块懒骨头，对所在的斯坦福大学也贡献颇多。

佩里教授又在偷懒了，他正在海边用海草跳绳。叫兽，你可以再萌一些么?:)

拖拖拉拉不是罪。最重要的是，佩里希望拖延者们能够不再从心理上[对抗"拖延，而是学会[接受"自己的做事习惯，并聪明地利用它。毕竟，沮丧和罪恶感只会加重我们拖延的欲望。

自打佩里在2011年凭借[结构化拖延法"理论一举摘得搞笑诺贝尔文学奖以来，<纽约时报>、<华尔街日报>、<赫芬顿邮报>等知名媒体争相报道该理论。英文原书写成之后，还一度引发了五家出版社争夺版权。

#2014下半年#早起者，第25天。

这是一本小书哦，小编有kindle版的，有需要的亲们可以留邮箱。

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