背景：Tabu来自于电影Félicité。这里扯的只是Félicité和Tabu的关系中Tabu的感受。（为了锻炼我的想象力）
Félicité
Tabu经常去镇里的小酒吧喝酒，看人唱歌，这也是小镇为数不多的娱乐活动了。喝到兴头，大家会开始跳舞。Tabu挺受欢迎的，如果他想，经常也已约人发生关系。
Félicité是这个小酒吧的驻场歌手，她的水平在若干酒吧中算不错的。伴随人气而来的也是没有得到尊重的次数变多。Tabu经常看到Félicité受人戏弄，有次有个顾客把一张张的钱就那么扔在Félicité的脸上。Félicité还是面无表情继续在那里唱歌。Tabu会想，在这个冷漠的表情下，是怎样的内心呢。但毕竟不管我的事情，随便它了，继续喝我的酒找人一夜情。
Tabu的日常工作是机械维修师。冰箱和电视是最常见的需要维修的家电。Tabu自认为做这个工作还算尽职，不会随便坑人提高价格，或者给人快坏了的零件。但是对于同一行业的其它人Tabu就不是很赞同了。
Samo来找他说修冰箱，他就去了。Félicité说她的洗衣机坏了，Tabu看了说需要维修风扇，需要100美元。Félicité很生气，说刚换了发动机，你的同事说可以维持很久，但是怎么那么快就坏了。Tabu反驳说那不是我的同事，而且这次是风扇。Félicité问买一个新的需要多少钱，Tabu说300美元。Félicité很大声说不可以便宜点吗。Tabu看Félicité挺可怜的， 说200。Félicité说最高150，不可以更高了，进了里面的房间拿出了钱。Tabu保证会给她找一个性价比比较高的机器。
这一天还没有结束的时候，Tabu又听说了Félicité儿子Samo生病住进医院，需要一大笔钱去治疗，Félicité在到处借钱。Tabu带着钱回到了Félicité住处，把钱放在了桌上。试图去把旧冰箱修好。Félicité看到钱，默默把钱拿走了。Félicité额头上有个伤，衣服也破了，Tabu知道她经历了不幸的一天，Moma，你真美，让我来安慰你吧。但现在这么说有点乘人之危调情，Tabu还是默默修冰箱。
作为一个月光族，也没什么财政能力去帮助Félicité，哎。Tabu听说了邻里对Félicité的态度。有一个妇女看到Félicité带着警察来要钱，把口水吐到了钱上，把钱扔到了Félicité的脸上。如果不带警察，她一定不会还钱，还钱本来就是理所当然的，她还理直气壮责怪Félicité带了一个警察来要钱。Tabu原来觉得自己的道德素质比较低，私生活紊乱，但现在发现自己没有想象的那么糟糕，至少没有那么虚伪。会拿出一些表面上冠冕堂皇的理由来搪塞，比如村里族人开会，族里人会说葬礼都没给那家人什么钱，儿子出了车祸我们真的帮不了什么忙。在Félicité唱歌的酒吧，Tabu用一个人的帽子作为容器，去向各个顾客施舍点钱帮助Félicité。这些顾客都是经常来这个酒吧，对Félicité也相当熟悉，但是提到钱后，就会一副不乐意的表情，拿出来的钱连来一次酒吧都不够。钱为了自己享受怎么花都乐意，但是用来救助别人的时候就显得特别吝啬。
过了几天，冰箱还是没有修好。Félicité神情疲惫回来了，说可不可以帮她一个忙，需要有人把她儿子搬回家。Tabu从病床上抱起Samo的时候，Samo全身僵硬，Tabu像抱一个木棍一样抱着Samo去出租车。在路上，Tabu试图给Samo讲一些笑话打破隔阂，但是Samo一直面无表情望着窗外。如果我腿被锯了，我会怎么办呢。没有亲人的照顾，大概会自身自灭？
接下来几天，Tabu总是往Félicité家跑，修冰箱是一个很好的借口。也会努力去和Samo聊天，但Samo一直相同的表情。Tabu完全可以理解。灾难对于一个本来就已经穷困的家庭是一个很大的打击。
Félicité的前夫是一个渣男，当Félicité去找他要钱救助Samo的时候，被一口回绝。还把Félicité拖出门口，用各种伤人的语言去贬低Félicité。如果我有一个儿子，就算离婚了，我也会承担责任吧，Tabu想。
Tabu终于修好的冰箱，虽然它会发出噪声。经历了买了一次啤酒给Samo喝，重点还是时间的磨砺，Samo终于会开始讲话开始笑了。家里重新有了些许的温暖。
Tabu渐渐就住到了Félicité家，晚上会去Félicité唱歌的酒吧看Félicité唱歌。某天，他忽然对这样的生活状态感到厌倦，每天睡同样的女人，这个女人已经到手了，日复一日的单调。他要发泄，他贴着Félicité的耳朵说我是一个很浪的人，他大声说请全酒吧的人喝酒，即使��囊中羞涩。后来的事情已经不太记得，就记得醒来的时候睡在Félicité的床上。还是同样的生活要继续啊，Tabu看了周遭继续睡去。
Tabu还是继续去酒吧，但是他越来越不拒绝和人暧昧，贴着身体跳舞。生活发泄的途径只有这一个么。Tabu不知道其他途径，性是一个最容易去发泄的途径吧。
某天，Tabu和一个女性贴着跳，然后就去了自己家。早上，当他们两个光着身子躺在床上的时候，Félicité进来让那个女人出去，然后坐在床沿。Tabu抱怨你没有必要每天来，Tabu也觉得太冷酷了，但这就是一直以来的真实的我，无法改变。Félicité也没有哭，问你以为我想从你这里得到什么。
生活继续。
Alain Gomis' character study of a struggling single mother in Kinshasa evolves into something far more sensually complex than it initially seems.
Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans, goes the old saying — though for the variously stymied characters of “Félicité,” life hits them when they have no plan at all. A loose, vibrant fourth feature film from Franco-Senegalese director Alain Gomis, “Félicité” likewise builds to a fever of energy and activity while never sketching out more than the bones of a narrative: It’s a film in which a hard-earned smile, the contact between one person’s skin and another’s, or a serene strain of music amid the everyday noise can qualify as a dramatic event. Following a proudly independent club singer through the ragged streets of Kinshasa as she seeks a way to save her hospitalized son, Gomis’ latest is far from the miserablist issue drama that synopsis portends, instead weaving a sensual, sometimes hopeful, sometimes disturbing urban tapestry with threads of image, sound, poetry, and song.
Gomis’s last film, “Today” — which, like “Félicité,” unspooled in competition at Berlin — was a similarly refined, freewheeling work that proved to be more of a festival favorite than a distributor’s darling. His latest might wind up in the same corner, particularly given a two-hour-plus running time that could use a trim, and no remotely recognizable onscreen talent to court a niche following. (“Today” at least boasted cult U.S. rapper and slam poet Saul Williams in the lead role.) Adventurous viewers who do take a chance on “Félicité,” however, shouldn’t find it at all lacking in star quality: In the title role, Congolese singer-turned-actress Véro Tshanda Beya proves entirely mesmerizing from the moment the camera alights on her strong-featured, deep-gazing face, sometimes shading entire histories of dismissal, disappointment, and ongoing resistance into a single expression.
Beya’s husky, double-espresso singing voice makes an equally striking initial impact, meanwhile, in the film’s remarkable, unhurried opening scene, which introduces Félicité singing for her supper in a rough-and-ready Kinshasa bar. As she throws herself into the music, grooving infectiously with dynamic real-life collective the Kasai Allstars, Céline Bozon’s itchy-footed camera wanders from the stage, taking in the bar’s smaller sights and sounds, as patients chatter, drunkenly pick fights and scatter banknotes over our performing heroine. It’s a languid opening gambit that nonetheless economically defines the everyday conditions and conflicts of the world Félicité lives in: Gomis, himself a stranger to the bustling Congolese capital, shoots it with an unjaded outsider’s eye for life at the edges.
In this film, of course, even the protagonist’s life counts among those. Félicité may be a star at the bar’s modestly raised stage, but in all other respects, day-to-day living is a struggle for the single mother, who must contend with indifference from the system, harassment from men, rank cruelty from loved ones (“How did you end up this ugly?” her mother asks coolly) and, in a doleful running gag, a fridge that’s permanently on the blink. She weathers it alone as best she can, but when her 14-year-old son Samo (Gaetan Claudia) has a grievous accident that lands him in the hospital, she’s forced to admit she needs help. Offered none by the boy’s father (“You wanted to be a strong woman,” he sneers), she begs the charity of her city — yet only the unprepossessing Tabu (Papi Mpaki), one of the bar’s most raucous regulars, lends a hand. A hesitant, push-pull romance develops, and with it the semblance of a new family.
Yet there are no sentimental solutions in “Félicité,” nor any compassion without compromise. Without a word of rhetoric — indeed, the film just about dispenses with words altogether for extended stretches — Gomis gives audiences a burning sense of the economical and administrative blight still holding this part of Africa down, as well as the regressive gender politics that make it a challenge for women like Félicité simply to be. Occasionally the camera darts into our heroine’s peripheral vision to note incidental tragedies that strike no observers as remarkable: the savage beating of petty thieves in a crowded street market, for example, is glimpsed without comment from character or filmmaker. Recurring, near-dreamlike nighttime sequences, shot by Bozon in barely discernible layers of velvety black, find Félicité wandering away from the city and into the less corrupted wilderness: At one point, Gomis reworks German poet Novalis’ “Hymn to the Night” in voiceover as a kind of paean to the peace of darkness.
Finally, the film’s jangling, diverse musical soundtrack practically functions as a screenplay in itself, charting Félicité’s shifting states of mind as it leaps from the Kasai Allstars’ breathless modern fusion of indigenous and international rock to the sober grace of the Kinshasa Symphonic Orchestra’s spin on Arvo Pärt. “Around Félicité,” a virtual and traveling multimedia exhibition detailing the film’s patchwork of artistic and musical influences, provides further evidence of Gomis’s multi-disciplinary approach to storytelling — just in case this unruly, occasionally rapturous film weren’t quite enough.
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