Theo Angelopoulos,

b. Athens, Greece, 1936 1968: I Ekpombi/The Broadcast (s). 1970; Anuparastattis/Reconstructton. 1972; / Mere* toil 36/Days o/36. 1975: O Thiassus/Tfie Travelling Player*. 1977; I Kinighi/The Hunters. 1980: O Megalexandros/Alexander the Great. 1984: Taxidi stin Kythera/Voyage, to Cytkera. 1986: O MdiMokomos/The Beekeeper. 1989; Topio stin Qmichli/ Landscape in the Mist, 1991; To Meteoro Vina Tou Pelargou/The Suspended Step of the Stork.
The movies, or cinema, are nearly one hundred years old. How many of the medium’s greatest practitioners are alive and/or still functioning? Bresson is alive (as of this writing), even if he is unlikely to make another film. Antonioni is in ruined health. Kurosawa might do anything still, and he is eighty-three this year, Rivette and Godard are working. There are a few others, a little younger, who might claim a place in the pantheon — Berto-lucci, Scorsese, Chris Marker, Zhang Yimou, Marcel Ophuls even . . . ? But already, I think, this list has reached below the very top rank. It may be more helpful to be more stringent in making the list, in which case let it hold at Bresson, Antonioni, Rivette . , . and Theo Angelopoulos, who is fifty-eight and thoroughly at wqrk, no matter that he js thc_ least -known director named in this paragrapji.

17 Theo Angelopoulos
Angeloponlos studied law at the University of Athens, and then film at l.D.H.E.G. in Paris. He was film critic for the Athens paper Allagi in the mid-sixties, when he worked on an unfinished feature project known as Fonnix Story.
In the seventies, he made three movies—all lengthy and not slow so much as preoccupied with duration—that addressed the history of modern Greece. Days of 36 concerns a prisoner who makes a hostage out of a politician who visits his jail. The Travelling Players uses a band of actors to uncover Greek history in the years 1936 to 1952. In The Hunter, the years from 1949 to 1976 are dealt with through the fablelike incident of a hunting party that discovers a young man’s body-frozen in the snow.
Preeminently, those films showed the elaboration of one of the cinema’s most sophisticated and beautiful “sequence shot” styles, with moving camera. In other words, Angelopoulos’s camera tracks almost as constantly and naturally as photography employs light. Early critics said he was like Jaucsu, but Angeloponlos himself declared that Murnau, Mlzoguchl, and Welles were stronger influences. By now, it has become clear that his style is deeply personal and poetic—and, of course, it has to be experienced, for the work is not just plastic but temporal. When Angelopoulos moves, he is sailing in time as well as space, and the shifts, the progress, the traveling make a metaphor for history and understanding. (The Travelling Players has just eighty shots in four hours.)
This is engrossing cinema, not fast or fluent, yet compelling once its rhythm has been yielded to. Not that Angelopoulos is determined on naturalism. His movies are theatrical, and nearly Brechtian: they are lessons in which “real life” is imposed upon by schema, clearly labeled points of view, and the nearly abstract emphasis on wintry space, desolation, and time spent waiting,
The Travelling Players is a masterpiece that owed a good deal to the political repressive-ness of Greece in much of the director’s lifetime. As the country has been liberated, so Angelopoulos has moved on to loftier, and more general, themes—to a kind of contemporary mythology.
Voyage to Cythera concerns a filmmaker who wants to make a movie about an elderly political refugee. And so he begins to watch him, and follow him, until the old man’s life takes on the elements of story. The beauty of the film has seldom been equaled, and the balance of liquid movement and rocklike human interpretation is both tragic and exhilarating.Theo Angelopoulos 18
In Landscape in the Mist—the only one of these films to have had any commercial release in the United States—two children travel to a legendary “Germany” searching for their father. This is a story of mythic needs transcending horders, and it may prove an uncanny intuition about the real political/geographical future of Europe. Indeed, there are hints of a Balkan chaos yet to come in The Suspended Step of the Stork that make the film more intriguing as time passes. This is a story of a journalist who believes he has discovered a former leading politician who is now living as a humble refugee.
It is hard For anyone to study Angelopoulos
Iroperly. The films deserve large screens— ut one would settle for wretched video versions. Film culture lias come a long way since the days when it was impossible to see “old” films in any form. Nevertheless, it is the case that many people who take the medium seriously have scarcely heard of, let alone encountered, the work of a master. And there are so few masters left now.

Harriet Andersson

b. Stockholm, Sweden, 1932 By the standards we have come to expect of Swedish actresses, Harriet Andersson is something of an outsider: a little coarse, sensual, dark, and slatternly, a creature of more homespun sensibility: thus, her fame was based originally on the arbitrary, sexy working girl, Monika, in Summer with Monika (52, Ingmar Bergman). Her own background was in revue and the chorus line, rather than the straight theatre. She began filming in her late teens: Medan Staden Sover (50, Lars-Eric Kjell-gren); Anderssonnkans Kalle (50, Rolf Hus-berg); Biffeii och Bananen (51, Husberg); Puck Heterjag (51, Schamyl Bauman); Sabotage (52, Eric Jonsson); Ubat 39 (52, Erik Faustman); and Trots (52, Gustaf Molander), After Summer with Monika, she made several films for Bergman, invariably representing the sensual “lower” woman: first as the circ\is girl in Sawdust and Tinsel (53); A Lesson in Love (54); journey into Aiitumn (55); and Smiles of a Summer Night (55). After that, she made three more films with Bergman: superb as the schizophrenic in Through a Glass Darkly (61); in Now About These Women (64); and as the dying sister in Cries and Whispers (72), If she did not work for him much more it may be because of her marriage to director Jorn Don-ner, a man more disposed to drawing out her vitality. Her other films include: Hoppsant (55, Stig Olin); Sista Paret Ut (56, Alf Sjoberg); Nattbarn (56, Gunnar Heltstrom); Kvinna i Leopard (58, Jan Molander); Flottanfs Overman (58, Olin); Brott i Paradlset (59, Kjell-gren); to Germany for Barliara (61, Frank Wisbar): Slska (62, Alf Kjellin); Lyckodrnm-men (63, Hans Abramson); A Sunday in Sejitember (63, Conner); To Love (64, Don-uer); Loving Couples (64, Mai Zetterling); For Van&kaps Skull (65, Abramson); Lianbron (65, Sven Nykvist); Heir Borjar Aventyret (65, Donner); to Britain for The Deadly Affair (66, Sidney Lumet); Ormen (66, Abramson); in an episode from Stimulantia (67, Donner); Rocftree (67, Donner); Mennesker Modes og Sod Musik Upatar in tljertet (fi7, Henning Garlsen);]ag Alskar du Ahkar (6&, Stig Bjork-man); The Girls (68, Zetterling); Anna (70, Donner); Den Vita Vcggen (75, Bjorkman); Monismanien 1955 (75, Kenne Fant); La Sabina (79, ]os6 Luis Borau); as the kitchen maid in Fanny and Alexander (82, Bergman); Rakenstram (83, Hellstrom); Summer Nights (87, Gunnel Lindbumi).
of her greater emotional experience. She was thirty now, and in that astonishing scene where Liv Ullmann and she look into the camera as if it were a mirror, and Ullmann arranges Andersson’s hair, it is as if Bergman were saying, “Look what time has done. Look what a creature this is.” Alma talks throughout Persona but is never answered, so that her own insecurity and instability grow. Technically the part calls for domination of timing, speech, and movement that exposes the chasms in the soul. And it was in showing that breakdown, in reliving Alma’s experience of the orgy on the beach years before, in deliberately leaving glass on the gravel, and in realizing with awe and panic that she is only another character for the supposedly sick actress, that Andersson herself seemed one of the most tormented women in cinema.
She was in support, spiky and ill at ease in A Passion (69, Bergman), the center of regeneration in The Touch (71, Bergman), and in one episode from Scenes from a Marriage (73, Bergman). The Touch shows that she is the warmest, most free-spirited of Bergman’s women, more broadly compassionate than Thulin or Ullmann. Being more robust, her distress is more moving, and her doggedness Tnore encouraging.
Necessarily, that seems the core of her life as an attress. But in addition, she has played Miss Julie on Swedish TV, After the Fall and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on the stage, and these other films: My Sister My Love (66, Sjoman); Le Vial (67, Jacques Doniol-Valcroze); Svarta Palmkronor (68, Lars Magnus Lindgren); The Girls (68, Mai Zctterling); Taenk pa et Tat (69, Palle KjaeruIff-Schmidt); Storia di una Donna (69, Leonardo Berco-vici); The Kremlin Letter (70, John Huston); Afskedens Time (73, Per Hoist); Blondy (75, Sergio Gobbi); I Never Promised You a Rose Garden (77, Anthony Page); An Enemy of the People (78, George Schaefer); Qttin-tet (79, Robert Altman); L’Amour en Question (79, Andre” Cayatte); The Concorde—Airport 79 (79, DavidLowel! Rich); Twee Vrotvert (79, George Sluizer); Barnforbiudet (80, Johan Bergenstrahle); Blomstrande Tider (80, John Olsson); Marmeedupprtruet (80, Erland Josephson and Sven Nykvist);/ag Rodnar (81, Sjoman); Scarte Fuller (83, Lasse Glom); as Nastassja Kinski’s mother in Exposed (83, James Toback); A Hill on the Dark Side of the Moon (83, Lennart Hjulstrom); Sista Laken (84, Jan Undstrom); Hitomenna (86, Julia Rosna); Babette’s Feast (87, Gabriel Axel); Los Duenos de la Silencia (87, Garlos Lemos); Zernando al Viento (88, Gon/alo Suarez);
and, for TV, Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story (88, Lament Johnson).

Lindsay Anderson,

b. Bangalore, India, 1923 1948; Meet the Pioneer,? (d). 1949: Idlers That Work (d). 1951: Three Installations (d). 1952: Wakefield Express (d)- 1953: Thursday’s Child (codirected with Guy Brenton) (d); O Dreamland (d). 1954; Trunk Conveyor (d). 1955; Foot and Mouth (d); A Hundred Thousand Children (d); The Children Upstairs (d); Green and Pleasant Land (d); Henry (d); £20 a Ton (d); Energy First (d). 1957: Every Day Except Christmas (d), 195!): March to Alder-maston (codirected) (d). 1962: This Sporting Life. 1966: The White Bus (s). 1967: Raz, Dwa, TrzytThe Singing Lesson. 1968; If. … 1972; 0 Lucky Man!. 1974: In Celebration. 1979; The Old Crowd (TV); Red White and Zero. 1982: Britannia Hospital. 1987: The Whales of August 1989: Glory! C/ory.’ (TV).
By now, it looks as if the contradictor!ness in Anderson’s personality will be vigorous

13 Lindsay Anderson
enough to prevent him from a filmmaking career that has any continuity. And yet since the war he lias been one of the more active and idiosyncratic figures in the British arts. Anderson has been so fiercely engaged with the problem of why it is so difficult to make good films in England, one cannot escape the feeling that his energies are unresolved and that his rather prickly talent has never been fully expressed. England’s fault or Anderson’s? The question is crucial because Anderson has been involved in some of the most thorough scrutiny of the British cinema. And just as there was never much doubt that he was more talented than his contemporaries—Tony Richardson and Karel Reisz— so he never allowed his solution to the questions to become tied to any noncine-mutic dogma. Briefly, in the mid-1950s, his sense of commitment fastened on that left-wing emotion that inarched to Aldermaston. But Anderson is too good an artist to swallow politics whole. His need to he committed is itself the chief impulse of his career, and the catalogue of his causes is, by implication, the story of dissipation. His productions of David Storey’s stage plays have an earnestness and need for significance that might alarm an author and certainly expose the texts. In retrospect, he seems a lesser figure than, say, Robert Hamer or Seth Holt—if only because he has made so few features—and already too inflexible In an age of Eranagh and Stephen F rears.
Anderson was the son of an officer in the Indian army. He came back to England to go to Cheltenham and Oxford; which underlines the biographical elements of Kipling and public school in If. . . . His period at university was interrupted by war service. But, still at Oxford, in 1947, he was one of the founders of the magazine Sequence (Karel Reisz was the other). He edited it for five years, by which time he was involved in documentary filmmaking. The simultaneous criticism and creativity was vital to Sequence but sadly peripheral to filmmaking and appreciation in Britain. Anderson’s documentaries are no advance on the films of the 1930s and 1940s, while Sequence is an uneasy and inconsistent proponent of a director’s cinema. Anderson’s own taste was for what he called “poetic” cinema; but that led him to liking John Ford as much as Vigo, The beginnings of a proper appreciation of American cinema in Sequence were always evaded, perhaps through ultimate critical shortcomings, perhaps through distaste for America. In any event, Anderson missed the chance that Cahiers du Cinema gobbled up, of a new movie aesthetic that took American sound films as its models.
Bui, even in 1958, Anderson seemed torn between irritation with Cohiers and the recognition that it had taken a rewarding path, above all in the way it led fo actual, and marvelous, films: “Here you have a magazine like Cahiera du Cinema, terribly erratic and over-personal in its criticism, which has been enraging us all for the last five years. But the great compensation is that its writers make films, that three or four of its critics art; now making films independently. And this means that they have a kind of vitality which is perhaps finally more important than critical balance.” Tbat comes from a Sight and Sound discussion with Paul Rotha, Basil Wright, and Penelope Houston in which Anderson alone seems disturbed by English inertia. Those films he saw corning made Free Cinema—the hopeful blanket description of British documentary in the mid-1950s—look dreadfully insipid.
In fact, Anderson worked in TV and began to direct for the theatre. His first feature. This Sporting Life, was from a novel by David Storey and still smacked of Free Cinema in its flashy use of tenements, pubs, and rugby league. But the dogged boorishness of its subject, epitomized in the inescapable presence of Richard Harris, gave it a sad, plodding feeling in place of the sheer working-class tragedy to which it aspired.
In the 1960s, Anderson was more heavily involved in the theatre than in films. The White Bus was broken by production problems, and The Singing Lemon showed Anderson’s rather forlorn resort to East Europe as an artistic influence. Indeed, Milos For man owns up to a large debt to Anderson’s encouragement. If.. ., in 1968, and for Paramount, was a real film, rooted in a world and feelings that Anderson knew, but alight with idbas and passions that would not have shamed Vigo. Its ending is bleakly and helplessly destructive (as if Anderson now was disenchanted with politics), but //. . . makes other English school films look halfhearted. It is pungent, sexy, socially accurate, funny, and exciting— what a film for a young man to have made. O Lucky Man!, though, is something an older man hopes to forget.
Anderson remains his own man: despite the geriatric delicacies of The Whales of August (nothing else has ever shown him as such a softy), Britannia Hospital was a rowdy satire on bureaucracy, while Glory! Gtoryl tore TV evangelism limb from limb with astonishing zest and Swiftian vengeance.

John Alton (Janos or Jacob Altman),

b. Sopron, Hungary, 1901 In the early 1990s, nothing had been reported to say that John Alton was dead, but no one seemed to know where he was. And so his strange and often unaccountable career became the more mysterious and romantic. How easy it was to suppose that one of the great creators of shadow had simply opted for some rare obscurity. It was nearly thirty years since Alton had worked: he was the initial cin-t’lnatographer on Birdmait of Alcatraz (62), but he and director Charles Crichton were replaced by John Frankenheimer and Burnett Guffey. After that. . , ?
Was Alton disgusted or disappointed? Did he feel there was no more point in wasting his time on Hollywood? Or did he reckon that being sixty was enough? Did he resume some Hungarian name or identity—for surely he was not born “John Alton”? If this was hard enough to explain, there was a greater enigma. For years, Alton worked on the lowliest of movies, B pictures and quickies. Then in the space of a few years he helped create the look of film noir. And then … he went under contract to MGM, where he photographed a mixed bag of pictures hut never really went back to noir.
Then movie buffs “rediscovered” Alton. Of course, he had known where he was all along—and he had been in Los Angeles much of the time, the most obvious place and for that very reason, perhaps, the best hiding place. And so the legend gave way to some verifiable facts.
Alton had come to America from Hungary in 1919-20. He had worked in the labs for MGM and then he had become an assistant to Glyde De Vinna and Woody Van Dyke. As John Alton 12
such, he worked on Spoilers af the Went (28, Van Dyke) and Wyoming (28, Van Dyke), David Sel/nick’s first efforts at Metro. Alton was also traveling, and lit: did some location shooting in Germany for The Student Prince (27, Ernst Lubitsch). He did some shooting in Paris on Song At that point, Alton chose !o go to Argentina to help develop that country’s film Industry, He shot over twenty films, and even directed: El Hijo de Papa (32, Alton); Los Tres Berretines (32, Enrique T. Suslni); Lti Vidti Bohemia (38, Joseph Berne); and Puerto Ce-rrada (39, Luis Saslavsky).
His American credits begin in 1940 on films that are hard to see, and which in some cases are likely lost: The Courageous Dr. Christian (40, Bernhard Vorhaus); The Refugee (40, Vorhaus); Three Faces West (40, Vorhaus); Forced Landing (41, Gordon Wiles); Ttie Devil Puys Off(4\, John H. Auer); Mr District Attorney in the Carter Case (42, Vorhaus); Moonlight Masquerade (42, Auer); Ttie Button’s Daughter (43, Arthur Dreifuss); Atlantic City (44, Ray McCarey); Lake Placid Serenade (44, Steve Sekely); Girts of the Big House (45, George Archainbaud); A Guy Could Change (45, William K. Howard); Affairs of Ceraldine (46, George Blair); The Madonna’s Secret {46, William Thiel); and The Ghost Goes Wild (47, Blair).
Driftwood (41, Allan Dwan) was a step up, and it has some fine, atmospheric coverage of the young Natalie Wood. But the films Alton would be known for lay just ahead (and they were all small films in their day): He Walked by Night (48, Alfred L. Werker—and with some uncredited work by Anthony Mann); ttatv Dial (48, Mann); Hollow Triumph (48, Sekely); 1-Afcn (48, Mann); Reign of Terror (49, Mann); Border Incident (49, Mann); and Devil’s Doorway (49. Maun).
Alton’s vision was ideally suited to low-budget work-, he used tew lamps, and he abandoned standard setups; he was also ready to anger union electrician* by bypassing their preferred procedures. He was as much at ease in the French Revolution setting of Reign of Terror as in the modern, urban uoir of T-Men. This was very arty lighting, despite its harsh mood; in 1945, Alton published a book called Painting With Light, which helped draw attention to bis very mannered photography and to the influence of Rembrandt.
By 1950, he had been signed up by Metro, and he was at work on Father of the Bride (Vincente Minnelli)! A year later he shared an Oscar for color cinematography on An American in Paris (,51, Minnelli)—his first ever color film. This was more prestigious work, and it paid better. For ten years, Alton was a studio cameraman, though Allan Dwan observed that be fought the unions with increasing zeal; Grounds jar Marriage (50, Robert Z. Leonard); Mystery Street (50, John Sturges); Father’s Little Dividend (51, Min-nelli); The People Against O’liara (52, Don Siey;el); Battle Circus (52, Richard Brooks); Count the Hours (52, Don Siegel); 1, the]unj (53, Henry Essex); Take the High Ground (53, Brooks); Cattle Queen of Montana (54, Dwan); Passion (54, Dwan); Silver Lode (54, Dwan); The Big Combo (55, Joseph H. Lewis)—perhaps the best noir he worked on; Escape to Burma (55, Dwan); Pearl of the South Pacific (55, Dwan); Tennessee’s Partner (55, Dwan); The Catered Affair (56, Brooks); Slightly Scarlet (56, Dwan)—magnificent late Technicolor; Tea and Sympathy (56, Minnelli)—dismal early Metrocolor; The Teahouse of the August Moon (56, Daniel Mann); Designing Wonmrt (57, Mmnelli); The Broth-en Karamazov (58, Brooks); Ijinelyheartt; (58, Vincent J, Donahue); Twelve to the Moon (00, David Bradley); and Elmer Gantry (60, Brooks).
Don Amethe (Dominic Felix Amici) (J90«-]993),b. Kenoshu, Wisconsin Born in the birthplace of Orson Welles, but seven years ahead of George Orson, Ameche had two distinct movie careers. For something over ten years, he was a Fox stalwart, refusing to notice the secret rhyme of his mustache and the bowtie he wore so often in romances and musicals. Then he faded away in his forties, came back for a while in his fifties, but waited until he was past severity for an unequivocal return that brought him a supporting actor Oscar and public affection.
He was in Ladies in Love (36, Edward Griffith); One in a Million (36, Sidney Lanfield); with Loretta Young in Ramona (36, Henry King); Love Is News (37, Tay Garnett); fifty Roads to Town (37, Norman Taurog); with Alice Faye, a frequent screen partner, in You Can’t Have Evert/thing (37, Taurog); Love Under fire (37, George Marshall); In Old Chicago (38, King); Happy Landing (38, Roy del Ruth); jnsette (38, Allan Dwan); Alexander’s Ragtime Band (38, King); as D’Artagnan in The Three Musketeers (39, Dwan); excellent in Midnight (39, Mitchell Leisen) as a Hungarian count and cabbie; inventing like crazy in The Story of Alexander Graham Bell (39, Irving Cummings) and forever associated with the telephone; as Stephen Foster in nee River (39, Unfold); Lillian Russell (40, Cuminings)- Four Sons (40, Archie Mayo); as an Argentinian with Betty Grable in Down Argentine Way (40, Cummings); That Night in Rio (41, Cummings); Moon Over Miami (41, Walter Lang); Kins the Boys Goodbye (41, Victor Schertzinger); The Feminine Touch (41, W. S. Van Dyke II); Confirm or Deny (41, Mayo); The Magnificent Dope (42, Lang); Girl Trouble (42, Harold Schuster); Heaven Can Wait (43, Ernst Lubitsch); Happy Land (43, Irving Pichel); Something to Shout About (43, Gregory Ratoff); in the war film Wing and a Prayer (44, Henry Hathaway); Greenwich Village (44, Lang); It’s in the Rag (45, Richard Wallace); Guest Wife (45, Sam Wood); So Goes My Love (46, Frank Ryan); as the villainous husband in Sleep My Love (48, Douglas Sirk); and Slightly French (49, Sirk).
In the 1950s, Ameche did a good deal of television, with just a few movie roles after 1960: A Fibrin the Blood (61, Vincent Sherman); Picture Mommy Dead (66, Bert I. Gordon); Suppose They Gave a War and Nobody Came? (70, Hy Averback); Ginger Gets Married (72, E. W. Swackhamer); and Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood (76, Michael Winner).
But the real comeback waited for the eighties: Trading Places (83, John Landis); winning his Oscar in Cocoon (85, Ron Howard); A Masterpiece of Murder [86, Charles S. Dubin) and Pals (87, Lou Antonio), both for TV; Hurry and the Hendersons (87, William Dear); Cocoon: The Return (88, Daniel Petrie); Things Change (88, David Matnet); Oscar (91, Landis); and Folks! (92, Ted Kotcheff).

Robert Altman,
b. Kansas City, Missouri, 1925 1955; The Delinquents. 1957; The James Dean Story. 1964: Nightmare in Chicago. 1967: Countdown. 1969: That CM Day in the Park. 1970: M’A'S’H; Brewster McCloud. 1971: McCabe rind Mrs. Millar. 1972: Images; The Long Goodbye. 1974-. Thieves Like Os; California Split. 1975: Nashville. 1976: Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s History Lesson. 1977: 3 Women. 1978: A Wedding.
Robert Altaian
1979: Quintet’ A Perfect Couple. 1980: Health; Popeye. 1982: Come Back to the 5 6- Dime, jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean. 1983: Streamers. 1984: Secret Honor. 1985: Fool for Lone. 1987: “Les Boreades,” an episode from Aria; Beyond Therapy; O.C. and Sfiggs. 1988: Tanner ‘88 (TV). 1990: Vincent and Theo. 1992: The Player. 1993: Short Cuts.
In 1975, before I had seen Nashville, 1 wrote, “Altman seems less interested in structure than in atmosphere; scheme and character recede as chronic, garrulous discontinuity holds sway.” The tone was critical, and when I fell asleep in Nashville and then faced the unquestionable disaster of Buffalo Bill, I felt confirmed in my opinion of a director who could not tell stories but allowed us to assume or hope that he was interested in something else. As this is written, 1 remain uncertain about everything except the absence of a flawless film in Ajtman’s work. But going back to Nashville, some of the earlier films, and the first half of 3 Women made me reflect. Whether from confusion or density, Altman is that rarity in American cinema: a problem director, a true object of controversy, and a man whose films alter or shift at different viewings like shot silk.
M’A'S’H is still Altman’s only substantial hit, and one of his most overrated films. The willful looking away from war’s slaughter in favor of the preoccupations of camp life is original and arresting, but the movie is callous and flippant (so often, Altman wearies of his own experiments). The treatment of the Sally Kellerman and Robert Duvall characters is brutal, while the final football game is a feeble retreat to unenlightened conventions. That a cozy TV series could spin off from the movie reveals its compromises. Still, M°A°S°H began to develop the crucial Alt man style of overlapping, blurred sound and images so slipper)’ with zoom that there was no sense of composition.
That is what makes Nashville so absorbing—once you’re awake. The notion of twenty-six roughly equal characters moving in random turmoil and coincidence is the ideal material for his style: he aspires to film not just eccentric groups but seething masses. It remains enigmatic how organized or purposeful Nashville is, but there is an attitude to individuals and society in it—of helpless, amused affection, only occasionally spoiled by Altman’s weakness for cheap shots and druggy attitudinizing. The feeling of real time and space stretching to contain the actions of so many people, without moralizing, is both beautiful and demanding. The emiing is a

trite concession to the way commercial movies must end with some sort of resolution, but along the way there are countless moments of felt but uncaptioned human interaction that few American films have been wayward enough to notice. The mosaic, or the mix, permits a freedom and a human idiosyncrasy that Renoir might have admired.
In hindsight, I think California Split, The Long Goodbye, and McCahe and Mrs. Miller benefit from this style and lead it toward Nashville. But as soon as he concentrated on a few people, Altman looked an evasive fum-bler, unable to focus character or to shape his films. As alternatives, he pursued improvisation and a sort of decorative dismay. The Long Goodbye is an ingenious variation on a known genre, hut it has an empty soul: so great is the attention to pretty reflections and the crazed fragmentation of the theme song. All its playfulness leaves one frustrated, for Altman backs away from tragedy or real comedy: a sort of alert, floating drift is his essence, and it works best when people are involved for whom depth can be avoided.
Images is a forbiddingly half-baked showing off and horrid warning of what Altman may believe he’s striving for. Thieves Like Us has an authentic period flavor and a touch-ingly offhand treatment of the love story, but it is ruined by grotesque overemphasis and is far less an achievement than its model, Nicholas Ray’s They Live by Night. 3 Women starts off like a breakthrough, but then succumbs to florid illusions of poetry, dream, and the mystical sisterhood of glum women, Buffalo Bill is a mess, too cute or too feckless to give the supportive irony that Paul Newman’s rather brave performance requires.
One of the fallacies attached to Altman is how good he is for actors. Evidently he inspires and captures the mood of a group, especially their vague sense of affinity. But individuals can suffer at his hands: Geraldine Chaplin is an actress tor Carlos Saura, while Altman makes fun of her; Harvey Keitel has been wasted, just as Keith Carradine has been damagingly indulged; Lily Tomliu offered a poignancy in Nashville that Altman was not prepared to touch; Janice Rule postures dreadfully in 3 Women; and Sterling Ilayden is allowed to substitute ham for pathos in The Long Goodbye^ nonentities are mixed in with talented players. But no one else has made as much of Elliott Gould-, the reappraisal of Chandler in The Long Goodbye emerges from Gould’s restless, spacey humor; Warren Beatty achieves nobility in McCabe and Mrs. Miller; while Shelley Duvall in 3 Women is a conception and a performance that take one’s breath away as we forget Hollywood figureheads and face a daft, pretty girl whose personality is as unstable and grating as a marble on a hard floor, rolling this way and that.
Perhaps Altman himself hardly knows how far he rejects the well-made movie (in a spirit of innovation) or cannot reconcile himself to its discipline. He is no more articulate in print than he is coherent on-screen. Like it or not, his method and his nirvana lie bevond meaning. Like Renoir, Warhol, and Rivette, he is a filmmaker clumsily or acutely loyal to the camera’s power of observation, and is bent on a new way of seeing. Drama—as Hollywood understood it—may have no place in the spectacle; the people may degenerate into shadows, reflections, and a hubbub of noise. It could be so aimless as to be antihuman; or it might embody a sense of people being like atoms whirling around to laws no one knows and thus part of a kind of play or hopeful gambling—as in California Split, easily the most passionate ot Altman’s pictures, so far, and one that sees a kind of philosophy in gentle futility.
In the eighties, Altman ran into hard times, obscure pictures, and a reliance on theatrical restagings for the camera that seemed pedestrian after the real movies of the previous decade. Health was pretty had, and Popeye was too much the comic book for a large audience. Come Back… is worthy and well acted, yet Altman never finds a way of transcending the mediocre, sentimental play. 1 .ikewise, Streamers and Secret Honor meekly and rather leadenly live up to their originals. Ftxil for Love- was as bad as Altman has been—how could Sam Shepard act in the film without realizing that Altman was imsuited to the play’s intense, enclosed, and mounting explosiveness? (And Shepard had directed Fool for Love on stage.)
Thereafter, Altman’s films found little or no release, But Vlncnnt and Then was a return to power and quality, even if it didn’t seem Alt-manes Short Cuts came from a number of Raymond Carver .stories—though several Carver enthusiasts disputed the fidelity of the film. It was Altman, for good and ill. The movie caught the slippery looseness of L.A., its casual violence, and its childishness with a precision seldom attempted by mainstream Hollywood, Most of the people were both awkward and interesting, and in many of the transitions there was an inspired sense of incidents interacting, reflecting, and making a kind of helpless, numb philosophy. As in Nashville, the cuts, the pans, and the looking sideways overcame the director’s innate cynicism. But there was also a squeamishness about people (except for pretty, undressed women) that curdled the film. The scale of Short Cutv made this bitterness obtrusive and as disconcerting as Altman’s irritable superiority. Fie has so much facility, so little faith. Few people in L.A. liked Short Cuts—which suggests how good it is.

Pedro Almodovar,
b. Calzada de Calatrava, Spain, 1951 1974; La Caida de Sodoma (s); Dos Putas, o Historia de Amor que Termina en Boda (s). 1975: Hamenaje (s); E! Sueno (s). 1976; El Estrella (s), 1977: Complementos (s); SKXU Va (s). 1978; Polle, t’olle, Folleme, Tim; Salome (s). 1980: Pepi, Luci, Bom y Otras Chicas del MotitoWPepi, Luci, Bom and Other Girls Like Mom. 1982: Laberinto de Pasiones/Labyrinth of Passion 1983: Entre Tinieblas/Dark Habits. 19&4; Qiie He Hecho Yo Para Merecer Esto?
What Hace I Done to Deserve This?. 1985; Trayler para Amantes de lo Prohibtdo (s), 1986; Mdtador. 1987: La Ley del Deseo/Lato of Desire. 1988: Mujeres al Borde de wn Ataque de Nervios/Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. 1990: Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down!. 1991: High Heels. 1993: Kifai. Almod6var was one of the most welcome explosions of the eighties and a sign of the new Spain. Whereas Carlos Saura (nearly twenty years older than Almodovar) made intensely measured and psychologically reflective films, with the innate secrecy of someone raised under the Franco regime. Almodovar is excessive, garish, outlandishly inventive, and irrepressible. He is openly gay, devoted to sexual confusion, and eternally committed to the chance of love. His mode is satiric yet generous and free from moraUy.ing. He lias remarked on his debt not just to Hitchcock, Wilder, and Bufiuel, but to Frank Tashlin. Indeed, there is a cartoonlike abandon and delirium in his best films and a complete faith in the torrential subconscious.
A frustrated provincial (he came from the area of La Mancha), he moved to Madrid in 1967 and worked for the telephone company. He joined an experimental theatre group, he wrote comic strips, and he was active in rock music. He began making short films on Super-8 at the time of Franco’s death.
Almodovar must mean more in Spain than anywhere else, yet his generation has been insistent on throwing out the country’s past. Still, he has preferred to work in Spain, with a striking band of actors—notably Carmen Maura and Antonio Banderas. Women on the Verge is his most successful film, the one in which gaiety, violence, and tragedy jostle together most dangerously. Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down.’ was a relative disappointment. An energy like Almodovar’s needs to keep expanding or risk becoming mannered. So he may need to take on fresh, dangerous territory. America could prove a very fruitful inspiration, for he knows American culture, and he is ideally placed to smash our old, fixed dreams about what it is to be Hispanic.

Nestor Almendros (Nestor Almendros Cuyas) (1(130-92), b. Barcelona, Spain Almendros was a beloved citizen of world film, a tender gentleman, a man of several languages, and an invaluable aid to many diverse directors. His book, A Man with a Camera, is as worthwhile as the movies he worked on, and so is the documentary Mau-vaise Conduite (83), about gay life in Cuba that lie photographed, cowrote, and co-directed with Orlando Jimenez Leal. Yet Almendros is in this book because he was a very good director of photography, self-effacing yet inventive, and happiest if he could serve good directors.
Few cinematographers have demonstrated what I would call a singular creative character—John Alton comes to mind, Gregg Toland, Raoul Coutard perhaps. These are cameramen without whom certain careers and even genres might not have been the same. Yet photography is not that difficult, and not even that influential or decisive—I suspect that music and even editing have more effect on what we feel about a film than photography. The image is so fundamental and so wonderful in and of itself, but it is a given: every day, all over the world, millions of people take wonderful or useful pictures. Is it so remarkable that a few hundred people do it for movies?
In other words, I do not want to exaggerate Almendros as cameraman. He served several directors very well—Truffaut, Rohmer, Bar-bet Schroeder, Robert Benton. But do we know by their look or feel that, say, Mississippi Mermaid, The Aviator’s Wife, Reversal of Fortune, or Nadine are not by Almendros? I trust not, for he did shoot Nadine (87). Equally, I find it hard to make claims for a consistent photographic personality in films as varied as Places in the Heart, My Night at Maud’s, and Two English Girls. 1 am moved by the look of those films, but not convinced that Almendros brought more than appropriate skill and understanding to them.
There are two films where the photography is more forceful: Sophie’s Choice (82, Alan J. Pakula), with the sickly-saintly paleness of Meryl Streep’s face as she recollects; and Days of Heaven (78, Terrence Malick), with many miracles of natural light on the prairie, a movie in which—to my mind—photography has seeped into areas abandoned by the director. Days of Heaven is photographed to death. It is to the great credit of Almendros that he so seldom earned that rebuke.
He went to Cuba in 1948 and became an active cineaste there, photographing and directing many short films in what was a time of creative ferment. He studied at the University of Havana, at New York’s City College, and at Centro Sperimentale in Rome, all in the 1950s. From the early sixties on, he worked as a cameraman in Europe arid in America.
He did these for Truffaut; The Wild Child (69); Bed and Board (70); Two English Girls (71); The Story ofAdele H. (75}~with a good sense oi’ the Caribbean; The Man Who Loved Women (77); The Green Room (78); The Last Metro (80); and Confidentially Yours (82).
Then for Rohmer: an episode for Paris Vu Par… (64); La Coltectioneuse (66); My Night at Maud’s (69); Claire s Knee (70); Love in the Afternoon (72); The Marquise of O (76); Perceval le Gallois (78); and Pauline at the Beach (82).
And lor Benton: Kramer vs. Kramer (79); Slid of the Night (82); Places in the Heart (84); Hadine (87); and Billy Bathgate (91).
Beyond those, Almendros worked on The Wild Racers (68, Daniel Haller and Roger Gorman); The Valley (72, Schroeder); La Gueule Ouverte (74, Maurice Pialat); General Amin (74, Schroeder); Cockfighter (74, Monte Hellman); Mes Petites Amowreuses (75, Jean Eustache); Maltresse (76, Schroeder!; Des Jounces Entires dam les Arbres (76, Marguerite Duras); Madame Rosa (77, Moshe Mi?.rahi); Coin’ South (78, Jack Nicholson); The Blue Lagoon (80, Randal Kleiser); Heartburn (86, Mike Nichols); Nobody Listened (87, which he cowrote and codirected with Jorge Ulla); and the “Life Lessons” episode for New York Stories (89, Martin Scorsese).

In “Swordfish”, we visit the wonderful world of Gabriel Shear (John Travolta, looking all the world like a 21st century Dracula) - renowned playboy, super-fly criminal genius and determined to pull off the heist of the century. He’s James Bond, Shaft and Austin Powers in one, if you can imagine so much ego fitting into an Armani suit. He recruits washed-up former hacker Stanley Jobson (Hugh Jackman) to provide various worm programs and hacking expertise to steal 9.5 billion dollars from under the US Government’s nose. As you do. For Stanley, it’s a no-win situation. Enticed by the prospect of a major pay-off and custody of his daughter from his ex-wife, Jobson would tell Gabriel to shove his job if it wasn’t for the mysterious but sexy Ginger (Halle Berry) egging him on. And jitters are the last thing the ruthless Gabriel needs.

———————-Swordfish (2001) On YouTUBE! —————

ravolta Swordfish Tavolta Swordfish Trvolta Swordfish Traolta Swordfish Travlta Swordfish Travota Swordfish Travola Swordfish Travolt Swordfish Travolta wordfish Travolta Sordfish Travolta Swrdfish Travolta Swodfish Travolta Sworfish Travolta Swordish Travolta Swordfsh Travolta Swordfih Travolta Swordfis TTravolta Swordfish Trravolta Swordfish Traavolta Swordfish Travvolta Swordfish Travoolta Swordfish Travollta Swordfish Travoltta Swordfish Travoltaa Swordfish Travolta SSwordfish Travolta Swwordfish Travolta Swoordfish Travolta Sworrdfish Travolta Sworddfish Travolta Swordffish Travolta Swordfiish Travolta Swordfissh Travolta Swordfishh rTavolta Swordfish Tarvolta Swordfish Trvaolta Swordfish Traovlta Swordfish Travlota Swordfish Travotla Swordfish Travolat Swordfish Travolt aSwordfish Travolta wSordfish Travolta Sowrdfish Travolta Swrodfish Travolta Swodrfish Travolta Sworfdish Travolta Swordifsh Travolta Swordfsih Travolta Swordfihs TravoltaSwordfish Teavolta Swordfish T4avolta Swordfish T5avolta Swordfish Ttavolta Swordfish Tgavolta Swordfish Tfavolta Swordfish Tdavolta Swordfish Trqvolta Swordfish Trwvolta Swordfish Trsvolta Swordfish Trxvolta Swordfish Trzvolta Swordfish Tracolta Swordfish Trafolta Swordfish Tragolta Swordfish Trabolta Swordfish Travilta Swordfish Trav9lta Swordfish Trav0lta Swordfish Travplta Swordfish Travllta Swordfish Travklta Swordfish Travokta Swordfish Travoota Swordfish Travopta Swordfish Travolra Swordfish Travol5a Swordfish Travol6a Swordfish Travolya Swordfish Travolha Swordfish Travolga Swordfish Travolfa Swordfish Travoltq Swordfish Travoltw Swordfish Travolts Swordfish Travoltx Swordfish Travoltz Swordfish Travolta Sqordfish Travolta S2ordfish Travolta S3ordfish Travolta Seordfish Travolta Sdordfish Travolta Ssordfish Travolta Saordfish Travolta Swirdfish Travolta Sw9rdfish Travolta Sw0rdfish Travolta Swprdfish Travolta Swlrdfish Travolta Swkrdfish Travolta Swoedfish Travolta Swo4dfish Travolta Swo5dfish Travolta Swotdfish Travolta Swogdfish Travolta Swofdfish Travolta Swoddfish Travolta Sworsfish Travolta Sworefish Travolta Sworrfish Travolta Sworffish Travolta Sworcfish Travolta Sworxfish Travolta Sworddish Travolta Swordrish Travolta Swordtish Travolta Swordgish Travolta Swordvish Travolta Swordcish Travolta Swordfush Travolta Swordf8sh Travolta Swordf9sh Travolta Swordfosh Travolta Swordflsh Travolta Swordfksh Travolta Swordfjsh Travolta Swordfiah Travolta Swordfiwh Travolta Swordfieh Travolta Swordfidh Travolta Swordfixh Travolta Swordfizh Travolta Swordfisg Travolta Swordfisy Travolta Swordfisu Travolta Swordfisj Travolta Swordfisn Travolta Swordfisb Teravolta Swordfish Treavolta Swordfish T4ravolta Swordfish Tr4avolta Swordfish T5ravolta Swordfish Tr5avolta Swordfish Ttravolta Swordfish Trtavolta Swordfish Tgravolta Swordfish Trgavolta Swordfish Tfravolta Swordfish Trfavolta Swordfish Tdravolta Swordfish Trdavolta Swordfish Trqavolta Swordfish Traqvolta Swordfish Trwavolta Swordfish Trawvolta Swordfish Trsavolta Swordfish Trasvolta Swordfish Trxavolta Swordfish Traxvolta Swordfish Trzavolta Swordfish Trazvolta Swordfish Tracvolta Swordfish Travcolta Swordfish Trafvolta Swordfish Travfolta Swordfish Tragvolta Swordfish Travgolta Swordfish Trabvolta Swordfish Travbolta Swordfish Traviolta Swordfish Travoilta Swordfish Trav9olta Swordfish Travo9lta Swordfish Trav0olta Swordfish Travo0lta Swordfish Travpolta Swordfish Travoplta Swordfish Travlolta Swordfish Travollta Swordfish Travkolta Swordfish Travoklta Swordfish Travoklta Swordfish Travolkta Swordfish Travoolta Swordfish Travolota Swordfish Travoplta Swordfish Travolpta Swordfish Travolrta Swordfish Travoltra Swordfish Travol5ta Swordfish Travolt5a Swordfish Travol6ta Swordfish Travolt6a Swordfish Travolyta Swordfish Travoltya Swordfish Travolhta Swordfish Travoltha Swordfish Travolgta Swordfish Travoltga Swordfish Travolfta Swordfish Travoltfa Swordfish Travoltqa Swordfish Travoltaq Swordfish Travoltwa Swordfish Travoltaw Swordfish Travoltsa Swordfish Travoltas Swordfish Travoltxa Swordfish Travoltax Swordfish Travoltza Swordfish Travoltaz Swordfish Travolta Sqwordfish Travolta Swqordfish Travolta S2wordfish Travolta Sw2ordfish Travolta S3wordfish Travolta Sw3ordfish Travolta Sewordfish Travolta Sweordfish Travolta Sdwordfish Travolta Swdordfish Travolta Sswordfish Travolta Swsordfish Travolta Sawordfish Travolta Swaordfish Travolta Swiordfish Travolta Swoirdfish Travolta Sw9ordfish Travolta Swo9rdfish Travolta Sw0ordfish Travolta Swo0rdfish Travolta Swpordfish Travolta Swoprdfish Travolta Swlordfish Travolta Swolrdfish Travolta Swkordfish Travolta Swokrdfish Travolta Swoerdfish Travolta Sworedfish Travolta Swo4rdfish Travolta Swor4dfish Travolta Swo5rdfish Travolta Swor5dfish Travolta Swotrdfish Travolta Swortdfish Travolta Swogrdfish Travolta Sworgdfish Travolta Swofrdfish Travolta Sworfdfish Travolta Swodrdfish Travolta Sworddfish Travolta Sworsdfish Travolta Swordsfish Travolta Sworedfish Travolta Swordefish Travolta Sworrdfish Travolta Swordrfish Travolta Sworfdfish Travolta Swordffish Travolta Sworcdfish Travolta Swordcfish Travolta Sworxdfish Travolta Swordxfish Travolta Sworddfish Travolta Swordfdish Travolta Swordrfish Travolta Swordfrish Travolta Swordtfish Travolta Swordftish Travolta Swordgfish Travolta Swordfgish Travolta Swordvfish Travolta Swordfvish Travolta Swordcfish Travolta Swordfcish Travolta Swordfuish Travolta Swordfiush Travolta Swordf8ish Travolta Swordfi8sh Travolta Swordf9ish Travolta Swordfi9sh Travolta Swordfoish Travolta Swordfiosh Travolta Swordflish Travolta Swordfilsh Travolta Swordfkish Travolta Swordfiksh Travolta Swordfjish Travolta Swordfijsh Travolta Swordfiash Travolta Swordfisah Travolta Swordfiwsh Travolta Swordfiswh Travolta Swordfiesh Travolta Swordfiseh Travolta Swordfidsh Travolta Swordfisdh Travolta Swordfixsh Travolta Swordfisxh Travolta Swordfizsh Travolta Swordfiszh Travolta Swordfisgh Travolta Swordfishg Travolta Swordfisyh Travolta Swordfishy Travolta Swordfisuh Travolta Swordfishu Travolta Swordfisjh Travolta Swordfishj Travolta Swordfisnh Travolta Swordfishn Travolta Swordfisbh Travolta Swordfishb

Hi, women and gentlmen! Some words about “From Paris with Love” with John Travolta.
Yes, me friends, i like this film. It`s rather funny and interesting. i like the way Travolta plays, and he is interesting for me as an actor in general.
So, have a look at some puctures from this movie. The acting was great, the story is amazing! I Like it.

Read More about Travolta`s life and the way of an actor!

———————- YouTube And From Paris with Love - John Travolta———————

rom Paris with Love Fom Paris with Love Frm Paris with Love Fro Paris with Love From aris with Love From Pris with Love From Pais with Love From Pars with Love From Pari with Love From Paris ith Love From Paris wth Love From Paris wih Love From Paris wit Love From Paris with ove From Paris with Lve From Paris with Loe From Paris with Lov FFrom Paris with Love Frrom Paris with Love Froom Paris with Love Fromm Paris

with Love From PParis with Love From Paaris with Love From Parris with Love From Pariis with Love From Pariss with Love From Paris wwith Love From Paris wiith Love From Paris witth Love From Paris withh Love From Paris with LLove From Paris with Loove From Paris with Lovve From Paris with Lovee rFom Paris with Love Form Paris with Love Frmo Paris with Love Fro mParis with Love From aPris with Love From Prais with Love From Pairs with Love From Parsi with Love From Pari swith Love From Paris iwth Love From Paris wtih Love From Paris wiht Love From Paris wit hLove From Paris with oLve From Paris with Lvoe From Paris with Loev FromParis with Love From Pariswith Love From Paris withLove Feom Paris with Love F4om Paris with

Love F5om Paris with Love Ftom Paris with Love Fgom Paris with Love Ffom Paris with Love Fdom Paris with Love Frim Paris with Love Fr9m Paris with Love Fr0m Paris with Love Frpm Paris with Love Frlm Paris with Love Frkm Paris with Love Fron Paris with Love Froj Paris with Love Frok Paris with Love From Pqris with Love From Pwris with Love From Psris with Love From Pxris with Love From Pzris with Love From Paeis with Love From Pa4is with Love From Pa5is with Love From Patis with Love From Pagis with Love From Pafis with Love From Padis with Love From Parus with Love From Par8s with Love From Par9s with Love From Paros with Love From Parls with Love From Parks with Love From Parjs with Love From Paria with Love From Pariw with Love From Parie with Love From Parid with Love From Parix with Love From Pariz with Love From Paris qith Love From Paris 2ith Love From Paris 3ith Love From Paris eith Love From Paris dith Love From Paris sith Love From Paris aith Love From Paris wuth Love From Paris w8th Love From Paris w9th Love From Paris woth Love From Paris wlth Love From Paris wkth Love From Paris wjth Love From Paris wirh Love From Paris wi5h Love From Paris wi6h Love From Paris wiyh Love From Paris wihh Love From Paris wigh Love From Paris wifh Love From Paris witg Love From Paris wity Love From Paris witu Love From Paris witj Love From Paris witn Love From Paris witb Love From Paris with Live From Paris with L9ve From Paris with L0ve From Paris with Lpve From Paris with Llve From Paris with Lkve From Paris with Loce From Paris with Lofe From Paris with Loge From Paris with Lobe From Paris with Lovw From Paris with Lov3 From Paris with Lov4 From Paris with Lovr From Paris with Lovf From Paris with Lovd From Paris with Lovs Ferom Paris with Love Freom Paris with Love F4rom Paris with Love Fr4om Paris with Love F5rom Paris with Love Fr5om Paris with Love Ftrom Paris with Love Frtom Paris with Love Fgrom Paris with Love Frgom Paris with Love Ffrom Paris with Love Frfom Paris with Love Fdrom Paris with Love Frdom Paris with Love Friom Paris with Love Froim Paris with Love Fr9om Paris with Love Fro9m Paris with Love Fr0om Paris with Love Fro0m Paris with Love Frpom Paris with Love Fropm Paris with Love Frlom Paris with Love Frolm Paris with Love Frkom Paris with Love Frokm Paris with Love Fronm Paris with Love Fromn Paris with Love Frojm Paris with Love Fromj Paris with Love Frokm Paris with Love Fromk Paris with Love From Pqaris with Love From Paqris with Love From Pwaris with Love From Pawris with Love From Psaris with Love From Pasris with Love From Pxaris with Love From Paxris with Love From Pzaris with Love From Pazris with Love From Paeris with Love From Pareis with Love From Pa4ris with Love From Par4is with Love From Pa5ris with Love From Par5is with Love From Patris with Love From Partis with Love From Pagris with Love From Pargis with Love From Pafris with Love From Parfis with Love From Padris with Love From Pardis with Love From Paruis with Love From Parius with Love From Par8is with Love From Pari8s with Love From Par9is with Love From Pari9s with Love From Parois with Love From Parios with Love From Parlis with Love From Parils with Love From Parkis with Love From Pariks with Love From Parjis with Love From Parijs with Love From Parias with Love From Parisa with Love From Pariws with Love From Parisw with Love From Paries with Love From Parise with Love From Parids with Love From Parisd with Love From Parixs with Love From Parisx with Love From Parizs with Love From Parisz with Love From Paris qwith Love From Paris wqith Love From Paris 2with Love From Paris w2ith Love From Paris 3with Love From Paris w3ith Love From Paris ewith Love From Paris weith Love From Paris dwith Love From Paris wdith Love From Paris swith Love From Paris wsith Love From Paris awith Love From Paris waith Love From Paris wuith Love From Paris wiuth Love From Paris w8ith Love From Paris wi8th Love From Paris w9ith Love From Paris wi9th Love From Paris woith Love From Paris wioth Love From Paris wlith Love From Paris wilth Love From Paris wkith Love From Paris wikth Love From Paris wjith Love From Paris wijth Love From Paris wirth Love From Paris witrh Love From Paris wi5th Love From Paris wit5h Love From Paris wi6th Love From Paris wit6h Love From Paris wiyth Love From Paris wityh Love From Paris wihth Love From Paris withh Love From Paris wigth Love From Paris witgh Love From Paris wifth Love From Paris witfh Love From Paris witgh Love From Paris withg Love From Paris wityh Love From Paris withy Love From Paris wituh Love From Paris withu Love From Paris witjh Love From Paris withj Love From Paris witnh Love From Paris withn Love From Paris witbh Love From Paris withb Love From Paris with Liove From Paris with Loive From Paris with L9ove From Paris with Lo9ve From Paris with L0ove From Paris with Lo0ve From Paris with Lpove From Paris with Lopve From Paris with Llove From Paris with Lolve From Paris with Lkove From Paris with Lokve From Paris with Locve From Paris with Lovce From Paris with Lofve From Paris with Lovfe From Paris with Logve From Paris with Lovge From Paris with Lobve From Paris with Lovbe From Paris with Lovwe From Paris with Lovew From Paris with Lov3e From Paris with Love3 From Paris with Lov4e From Paris with Love4 From Paris with Lovre From Paris with Lover From Paris with Lovfe From Paris with Lovef From Paris with Lovde From Paris with Loved From Paris with Lovse From Paris with Loves