The Greatest Trick

In an era that has reclassified puffing on a cigarette as a great social evil, I was amused to note how everyone in Good Night and Good Luck smokes like a chimney. Everyone that is, except Senator McCarthy. Rather than simply reflecting the times, perhaps Clooney is suggesting that in those days smoking was not only socially acceptable but good for you – a vital drug that kept one from degenerating into right wing fanaticism.

Such silliness aside, Good Night and Good Luck is a dramatic and fascinating slice of American television history. This is very much the George Clooney show, his second feature as director after Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. He also plays producer Fred Friendly; an admirably understated role, giving centre stage to the excellent David Strathairn as CBS anchorman Ed Murrow, who bravely took on Senator McCarthy at the height of the 1950’s communist witch hunt.

For the historically ignorant among you, McCarthy initiated a relentless and paranoid campaign to unearth communist sympathisers, forcing them to testify before the “House of Un-American Activities” committee, and give names of people they knew had associations with left wing organisations. Good Night and Good Luck is based on the true story of how McCarthy was eventually undone, and how CBS broadcasting played a significant part in his downfall.

One of the strengths in Clooney’s austere drama is his decision to shoot in monochrome and restrict the action almost entirely to the claustrophobic confines of the television studio, thus eschewing the nostalgia trap so many period pieces fall into. It was also great that he used the actual archive footage of McCarthy instead of casting an actor in the role, thus making his case all the more convincing as the viewer can see for themselves what a paranoid bully this woefully misguided politician really was.

Furthermore this is a film that does not patronise its audience but treats it with respect, assuming it has read a history book or two. Never does Clooney deteriorate into Oliver Stone mode, bashing a political manifesto over his audience’s head, but at the same time the message is clear: regardless of how evil Soviet Communism may have been, the McCarthy witch hunts were simply another form of totalitarianism which likewise spread fear and silenced free speech. McCarthy’s methods caused people to lose their jobs, their social standing, and often their families and friends were investigated as a result. Some even ended up committing suicide (including a character in the film).

Of course, this is a lesson the Bible teaches clearly, that one should not overcome evil with evil but overcome evil with good. The lessons of Good Night and Good Luck are more relevant than ever to today’s global political situation. Just think of the several attempts to bring in legislation curbing free speech both here and in the US (such as the now thankfully defeated religious hatred bill). No-one denies terrorism is evil, but in fighting it, it is imperative that we do so without unnecessarily compromising the civil liberties that separate us from such militant groups.

Good Night and Good Luck is a thought provoking and interesting work, though possibly too low key and dry for some tastes. However, it is also a fine addition to a recent trend of more partisan American films that require the audience keep their brain in gear and grapple with difficult issues. As such it is certainly a worthy contender for Best Picture at this year’s Oscars, and more evidence that Clooney could well end up being a more interesting director than he is actor.

Simon Dillon, February 2006.

This was an unusual choice for us in a way, because we more or less knew exactly what we were going to get (you generally do with romantic musical comedies), but went with it anyway as it came up on our DVD rental recommendations and didn’t look like a total waste of time. To be fair, there are lots of people who probably would call it a waste of time, and there’s certainly NOTHING original about this film, but it wasn’t horrific in the same way as I imagine watching Patch Adams might be. Which, by the way, I will never do.

Connie and Carla (Nia “Big Fat Greek Wedding” Vardalos and Toni “Muriel’s Wedding” Collette) are ‘performers’ in the loosest sense; they sing and dance for the unfortunate passengers waiting for a connecting flight in Chicago’s O’Hare airport, and struggle to make ends meet, clearly. When they witness their boss being gunned down over a kilo of cocaine, they go on the run to LA, where the first place they go to unwind is a drag bar in need of a new act. Cue terrible make-up but great performances as they ‘become’ a drag act themselves, convince their audience and colleagues they are men pretending to be women, and get into all sorts of hilarious japes. Especially when the brother of one of the real drag queens turns up (David Duchovny) and begins to fall in love with one of them, despite his better judgement.

So it’s Some Like It Hot vs Yentl vs Twelfth Night; somehow, due to the charm of its central performances, it manages not to be a mess of references to other stories but a fun if unimportant romp through a load of show tunes. Of course, its message is the boringly standard ‘accept everyone and don’t ask anyone to change, do what you feel is right in your heart’ twaddle that one comes to expect from such fare, but I can’t imagine that would surprise anyone. Nor, in fact, should the casting of the movie, although I did think Duchovny would be given a bit more to do, a few more comedy moments perhaps. Vardalos and Collette do a good job with the singing too, but don’t bring any surprises either; frankly, I would expect them to be able to pull off a movie like this (Toni Collette has done some excellent and noteworthy previous work, however, such as About A Boy and The Sixth Sense).

Without being offensive as a movie, it is worth readers being aware of the sexual jokes/themes and drug references, which again, shouldn’t come as a surprise to you if you’ve read this far. One moment regarding Vardalos’ ‘false’ breasts shouldn’t have made me laugh as much as it did, but there we go. If you love tunes from musicals and fancy seeing a load of them being performed well (but can handle them being tacked onto a fairly lazily-plotted movie), why not try Connie and Carla. It won’t ruin your day.

A few years ago, when I saw Sean Penn’s superb and hugely underrated The Pledge (starring Jack Nicholson), I left the cinema amid an aghast chorus of “but you didn’t find out who the killer was!” from other viewers. I shook my head silently. The Pledge was a study of obsession, and in the plot the identity of the killer was ultimately irrelevant.

In Cache however, the identity of the person terrorising the main characters is very relevant, and when the end credits roll over the final shot, it appears this has not been revealed. Once again, I left the cinema among frustrated viewers mumbling and groaning, thinking that this time they had a point. However, as I thought about it, I suddenly realised the identity of the perpetrator had in fact been revealed through this apparently innocuous but on second glance devilishly ingenious final shot (which takes place on the steps outside a school and cleverly mirrors what happens in the audience – some get up and leave. Some sit around and wait to see what will happen, if anything…)

Let me just rewind here, and explain the plot of director Michael Haneke’s superb thriller. Happily married couple George and Anne (Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche) begin to receive videotapes showing them under surveillance in the post. They go to the police, but of course nothing can be done until a law is broken. In the meantime, paranoia escalates as more tapes show up, giving further clues as the potential identity of the person sending them. George begins to think the tapes relate to an incident from his childhood on his parents farm, involving their Algerian workmen.

To say anymore at this point would spoil the film, but suffice to say this is not typical Hollywood fare. Yes, there are superficial similarities to Hitchcock, but this is a unique and riveting thriller in its own right. There is a superb joke at the expense of television in the opening shot, as the entire opening credits appear in one caption in tiny lettering that will be impossible to read if the film is seen on a TV screen. There is no music score, and many scenes are filmed entirely in master shot, giving the film an un-staged, disturbing voyeuristic feel appropriate to the subject matter. The genius of Haneke’s direction is in the way he sets up static long shots that go on for ages where nothing much happens. Yet far from being boring, the audience immediately realises this is surveillance footage, and begins to concentrate intensely, trying to spot clues as to what is going on.

The ever prolific Daniel Auteuil gives a great performance of a man repressing years of guilt (I have a friend who is convinced there is some law stating all French films must star either Gerard Depardieu or Daniel Auteuil) and Juliette Binoche is as wonderful as ever in the role of his distraught wife.

Cache has many intriguing and ambiguous interpretations. Personally, I think the whole film is about the French government’s treatment of Algerians in the 1960s, but in miniature. From a Christian perspective it is also a morality tale about the power of un-confessed sin, specifically lies. It shows how guilt from the smallest lie can escalate over years if un-confessed, leading in this case to a terrible situation where the perpetrator of the lie is incapable of even trusting his wife. Ultimately, this misjudgement leads to tragedy (in a shockingly bloody scene – be warned), as George relentlessly pursues and persecutes the wrong people thinking he has found those responsible for the videotapes.

Cache is not for everyone, but if you have acquired a taste and temperament for something different, this is a slow burning, ambiguous, but nail-bitingly tense and hugely rewarding thriller with plenty of food for thought.

Simon Dillon, February 2006.

Having not yet reviewed a remake, I thought it would be interesting to have the two movies face off against each other and see which came out on top. Therefore, for ease of reference, I will call them CATCF and WWATCF. Mmm, succinct, I know. When I heard that Tim Burton was remaking CATCF with Jonny Depp I knew it was a perfect project for them. I still believe that to be the case, having watched the film last night, but WWATCF, with Gene Wilder, is one of my favourite and best-known films, so it had a lot to live up to.

Plot: Charlie Bucket, poor boy, watches the news as five golden tickets for entrance to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory are distributed around the world and won by four rotten children: a glutton, a spoiled brat, a gum-chewer and a TV addict. This is the chance of a lifetime, after Wonka mysteriously closed the factory and sent his workers home. Charlie finds some money and tries his luck one last time, finds the final ticket and visits the factory, where all sorts of candy-related adventures await. So far, so the same. But CATCF adds a lot, and is a lot more faithful to the original book. Much of Wonka’s backstory from Roald Dahl’s novel is represented where it wasn’t in the 1971 movie, to good effect. We see the chocolate palace for the indian prince, and his first encounters with the Oompa-Loompas in Loompaland. But we also get an unsubtle, tacked-on subplot explaining why Wonka is as strange as he is (without giving away too much, father was a dentist and wouldn’t allow sweets is where it starts). It didn’t destroy the film for me, but it didn’t add anything much either.

Characters & actors: Jonny Depp is perfect in this role, as I always knew he would be. The forced smile, the strange hair, the slightly-too-high voice, the physical mannerisms are characteristics only he could pull off and make look natural. Wilder was equally fun to watch, but more sinister in my opinion, and certainly more scary towards the end of the film. In CATCF you only ever think that Wonka is strange and a little heartless; in WWATCF there were several moments when you downright disliked him. Charlie, as played by Freddie Highmore in the 2005 film and Peter Ostrum in the original, is probably a thankless character to play as he’s the film’s good (and therefore largely unemotional) centre. But Highmore, after his excellent turn in Finding Neverland, brought tears to your eyes with his goodness in some scenes. Peter Ostrum didn’t really ever manage that in my opinion. The other kids are all stereotypes really (which is clearly what Dahl intended in the book too), not characters, and the updated versions worked just as well as the 1971 brats. Some of them had been well-developed, such as Mike Teevee, who is now not just a telly addict but a violent and angry video game player too. All this is exacerbated by his spineless parents, of course.

Music & songs: this is where the modern version really fell down. Danny Elfman’s score was fine, although if you’ve seen Batman or Edward Scissorhands, you’ve heard most of it. But the songs were a real disappointment; one of the highlights of the 1971 film is the Oompa Loompa songs after each child meets their demise, which are generally scathing indictments of the parenting skills of the relevant kid’s mommy or daddy. The 2005 songs are intended to do the same thing, but you can’t hear what they’re singing for the majority of the time, so it loses all its power: they’re just funky tunes with a silly dance routine. And I don’t think the Oompa Loompas themselves are done well at all in CATCF; having one man and reproducing him with CGI is a nice gag, but it looks fake and is fake and unsatisfactory. In fact, lots of the CGI isn’t up to scratch, which is a real shame, because Burton is a high quality film-maker and shouldn’t be burdened with shoddiness like that.

Conclusion: the ideal version of this story would be a mixture of both films. At its heart the story is difficult to communicate badly, but the different treatments have equal amounts of qualities and faults. See both, and make your mind up!

Watch with caution. It’s a few years old now, and there might well be those of you out there who find what we have to say about it over the top and/or reactionary, but we saw Luc Besson’s vision of the life of Jeanne d’Arc last night, and were quite disturbed by it. This review will contain major spoilers, for which I apologise, so if you have any intention of seeing the film, do so before reading this. And then comment!

The story is familiar enough: teenage Jeanne becomes convinced she is being given messages and a purpose by God, namely that of leading the flailing French armies against the English and whipping their scummy butts out of France. Oh, what a surprise, the English are the enemy again! Anyway, I won’t dwell on that. She achieves a modicum of success, especially at Orleans, despite the inevitable view that a girl couldn’t possibly do what she was attempting to do. Then the ‘Oh look, she can!’ amazement becomes “Hmm, I’m male and therefore afraid of this” and she is, and I choose my words carefully, castrated with regard to any power over the army or the king’s business. The ‘Holy Mother Church’, as the Catholic authorities continually refer to themselves (and don’t even get me started on what’s wrong there) decide that they don’t like an illiterate peasant girl having these messages from God either (that is their domain, after all, and they hold the authority), and set out on a mission to prove her a heretic at the English king’s behest. They are, as we know, successful and Jeanne ends up burning at the stake for her ‘heresy’.

We didn’t hold much hope for liking this much, and in that respect it lived up to our expectations, but the film takes such a concerning spiritual standpoint that this forum is ideal for discussing it, probably at some length. More of that later. The action stuff is well-handled, with some suitably gruesome medieval war scenes (boy am I glad I wasn’t alive then); likewise the male characters around Jeanne make for an interesting collection, from the weak-willed and uncertain Dauphin (John Malkovich) to the initially sneering but ultimately loyal army captains she fights alongside. And Milla Jovovich (Besson’s then-wife) herself as Jeanne does a perfectly good job of portraying someone by turns forceful, determined, unsure, panicky, exhilarated and possibly insane. What we’re supposed to conclude about her is less clear, and is all tied up with the spiritual element of the movie. Before I get into that, I should just say that one of the factors that gets Jeanne stoked up to defeat the English is the murder and rape of her sister at their hands, an intensely unpleasant scene that comes early on and which had us reaching for the fast forward button on the remote.

Jeanne receives messages from God, the main one being that He hates the English and has given her the power to kick them out of France. For me, this is enough to know that this was not from God - there is no people group on the Earth which receives more or less love from God than any other. Yes, when He was establishing the land for the Israelites he told them to wipe out the nations currently inhabiting the land, but that was to fulfil a promise He had made to his people and to give them the space to live purely in a place. They never managed it, but that’s beside the point. The war featured in the film is not the same situation at all. So Jeanne was either deluded, fiercely patriotic, or both. The presentation in the film favours the latter. That she believed she was acting under God’s instruction is clear from history and the film, which is what makes it such a tragedy; she failed because she wasn’t operating under His will at all.

In fact, this is made quite clear through the introduction of the Dustin Hoffman character in the latter part of the movie (the section which many other reviews lament, due to the fact that her heroic acts dry up). To us, he is clearly presented as Satan tormenting Jeanne with the notion that it was in fact him who planted the messages in her head, and she who developed them into action based on her human desire for excitement or recognition or national pride. Now in other reviews I have read, the assumption was made that this character is in fact God. I can’t accept this reading; the God I know has no interest in causing his beloved to suffer through planting doubt in their heads. I also think that this is ignoring certain other aspects of Jeanne’s spiritual encounters as presented in the film.

The first time we see her is in confession (which, by the way, she is addicted to. She cannot operate properly without confessing every day in the film. This is not a relationship with God, especially as it has to be done through a priestly intermediary. This is not even ’spirituality’, a word I’m not sure I should use. This is bondage, pure and simple). Immediately afterwards she runs across fields, delirious with her perceived closeness to God, and lies down in the grass where a sword ‘miraculously’ appears beside her. On the screen, her arms are out, so she forms a cross shape. So does the sword next to her. But the camera is placed at her head rather than her feet, thereby creating the image of two upside-down crosses. This is not an accident on Besson’s part, but a deliberate decision and, it seems to me, a statement of belief regarding where her visions came from. Very surprising from a French director making a film about a French heroine. Or perhaps he simply was telling us what he believes about God.

This theory would be borne out by the presentation of every other spiritual encounter in the movie. Each one is sinister in some way; the camera judders uncomfortably, the Jesus character stares and points in an unsettling way, things and people transform into other things, sometimes horrifically. In short, this has no relation to the ways the Bible says God speaks to us. Sadly, this peasant girl, so steeped in arcane Catholic tradition and unable to read the Bible for herself, has no way of knowing that her relationship with God should not be like this at all. She shouldn’t wake up from spiritual flashbacks petrified and unable to make sense of the world; and Besson, if this is his view of ‘being at one’ with God (a phrase used in the film), is also sadly mistaken.

There is, however, one tiny glimpse of hope. The very last shot of the film, through the flames of Jeanne’s pyre, is a simple cross. Perhaps, let us hope, that Besson is telling us that when all the trappings and unpleasantness of religious fervour and tradition are burned and done away with, the sacrifice of Jesus remains true. This doesn’t, however, redeem a movie that I cannot recommend.

Buster Keaton is well known as the silent comedy star who never smiles; with physical comedy as his forte, he places himself in astonishing situations for the sake of a well-timed sight gag, and never mugs the humour out of it but lets life and the movie continue. I am not a connoisseur of his films, or even of silent cinema, but there are a certain amount of classics that I feel obliged to watch if I’m going to even pretend to love film, and this is one of them. I was not disappointed, and nether will you be if you give it a go.

Keaton plays Johnnie Gray, a railroad engineer who loves his girl and his engine. When the Civil War reaches his part of the country, he tries (unsuccesfully) to enlist, and his girl rejects him. But then both the girl and the engine are stolen by northern spies, and he undertakes a single-handed mission deep into enemy territory to retrieve them, and along the way transforms himself from a bumbling no-hoper into a hero.

It’s a simple enough plot, but it weaves elements of many genres together brilliantly and results in a most satisfying (but longer than I’d expected) evening’s viewing. The war scenes are effective and realistic; the romance, while done in the style of the time and so a little stylised for the 21st century, rings true enough; and the action and comedy are so closely tied that it becomes impossible to distinguish one from the other. To be honest, Keaton barging into a group of Northern soldiers, shoving them off the train and getting it going is a standard action-flick moment, but comes off as very amusing due to his lack of physical stature, and method (or lack of) with which he seems to do things. Of course this is an illusion; every fall, jump and lurch around the train is so perfectly choreographed that it looks accidental. As a physical performer, Keaton is outstanding; in the same way as Jacques Tati and, though I hate to draw this comparison, Jim Carrey, he can control his body and timing to perfection to ensure the maximum laughs possible. And many people would accuse me of laughing too loudly and heartily when watching films in general (my parents, who were always in the room above when I was at home, in particular), but this one generated a lot of belly laughs. And it’s not all slapstick, either. Johnnie’s line after being rejected by the draft office: “Don’t blame me if you lose this war!”

The film, of course, could not be made today, and that is why you must see it. No insurance company would insure a major film star to do the things that Keaton does, and it was all him apparently. No stunt doubles here, even though any one of the pratfalls or misuses of props and scenery could have resulted in an injury or even death for Keaton had they gone wrong. Silent movies do, of course, demand more from the viewer these days, because we’re so far from that style. But give certain ones a chance and you will be handsomely rewarded (I also strongly recommend Nosferatu (1922) and Metropolis (1927), particularly for the sci-fi fans among you). And if nothing else, you can see where all those slapstick cliches began.

James Mangold is not a director I usually get terribly excited about. In the past he has made a smattering of diverse pictures ranging from muddled psycho thriller Identity to well-acted but unmemorable police drama Copland and even a half-baked One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest wannabe, Girl, Interrupted.

Walk the Line however, is easily his best film to date. This biopic of Rock/Country legend Johnny Cash is a handsome, brilliantly acted and very entertaining couple of hours. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it’s very similar to last years Ray (which is probably what caused it to be overlooked in the Best Picture category at this years Oscar nominations).

Both films have episodes of childhood trauma involving the death of a brother and parental “issues”, both chart the early successes of their respective artists and their slide into womanising and drug addiction. Rehab and redemption follow, and as such it is remarkable how similar the lives of Ray Charles and Johnny Cash appear to be.

However, upon closer inspection there are key differences. Although obviously a musical, Walk the Line is much more concerned with the love story and on/off relationship between Cash and singer June Carter over several years. Both go through a series of disastrous marriages before finally realising they are meant for each other. By the way, the climactic proposal on stage may seem improbable, but it apparently did happen. Of course, in reality, Johnny and June ultimately became Christians. This is hinted at in the film, but never mentioned explicitly.

The other main difference between this and Ray is that Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon are actually singing (very well), whereas Jamie Fox’s music numbers were dubbed. Both give outstanding performances. Phoenix has been dubbed “the new Brando” by a colleague of mine and whilst I wouldn’t go that far, he is very good indeed. As for Witherspoon, she is completely convincing, and I’d say her Oscar win is a virtual certainty.

In final analysis, Walk the Line and Ray are about as good as each other, although ultimately I prefer Ray, as his music is far more to my taste.

Simon Dillon, February 2006.

A short review tonight, not because the film doesn’t deserve it, but because it’s late. Touching the Void tells the story of Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, two (frankly, insane) climbers who, in 1985, attempted to scale the perilous slopes of Siula Grande in Peru. This was a mountain deemed unclimbable by the majority of the climbing community, and the pair of friends wanted to prove them wrong. Of course, they managed to climb it, but on coming down faced a barrage of obstacles, the main one being Joe’s leg breaking and Simon having to lower him down the mountain on a rope. Not all that easy, by the looks of things.

I won’t say any more because the major moral dilemma of the piece comes fairly early on, but it is clear from the start that both of them survived their ordeal, because they are doing talking heads interviews throughout the movie, giving their memories (when they can) and discussing their decisions. It’s a strange film, half documentary and half re-enactment, but never with enough focus on the characters as they are played by actors to engage with that part. And Simon and Joe are so British about their descriptions that they never fully engaged me either. Lines like “It really was very very cold” (not much of a surprise there, frankly) actually end up being terribly weak compared to what we can see on screen - perhaps it would have been better to make a straight documentary, or ‘based on’ film. And what we do see on screen of the re-enactment is amazingly done - I couldn’t help wondering how on earth they filmed it without going to a crevasse. How do you get a camera crew inside holes like that?

There are 2 major scenes of swearing, of the most offensive kind (but quite forgiveable in the context, and directed at nothing and nobody but the swearers themselves), just to be aware of. The film didn’t totally work for me, but the very fact that they shot it is testament to the skills of the film-makers, and some of the scenery is astonishing.

See this film for a perfect example of “war movies by numbers”. See this film for a perfect example of “a rubbish Nicolas Cage performance”. See this film if you have nothing better to do, basically. Not quite as bad as A Perfect Storm, but getting there. And James Horner’s name on the music credit had me very worried at the start too…

Nicolas Cage and Christian Slater play Sergeants Enders and Anderson respectively. (Could they not have given them more different-sounding names? As with almost all war movies, in the thick of the action you can’t tell which character is which, but that choice of names just made it impossible!) These are marines assigned to protect two ‘windtalkers’, Navajo indian marines used by the army due to their skills with an unbreakable code, namely their language. Their unit is involved in the offensive in the Pacific, the Japanese island of Saipan to be specific, and the windtalkers are an absolutely vital part of the attack. So vital in fact, that the Japanese are desperate to get their hands on one in order to get the code out of them. For this reason Enders’ and Anderson’s orders include a get-out clause should either of the windtalkers be facing capture. Yes, you know what it is and you know that at least one of them will have to face making that terrible, awful, heartrending decision in the heat of battle.

Every box is ticked on the war film check sheet. We get the ‘if anything should happen to me’ scene, the ‘ethnic minority gets bullied by redneck grunt’ scene, the ‘ethnic minority proves his worth to all and sundry by putting himself in ridiculous danger’ scene, the ‘marine reads letter and the writer of the letter narrates it for the benefit of the audience’ scene, several times for crying out loud. Just how much of a cliche is that, anyway? We get copious slo-mo (this is John Woo after all - no doves, though, surprisingly - ), anguished soul-searching from guilt-ridden soldiers in the form of poorly-done flashbacks, and, of course, the two very different main characters becoming not-quite-so-different after all and understanding each other better. Everyone say aahh. Or don’t bother, alternatively.

One of the problems with Windtalker’s director, John Woo, is that he is much more interested in visuals than in story-telling or characters. While this is not a problem in a ludicrously-plotted (but brilliant) film like Face/Off, because that’s really not what you’re watching it for, you expect some kind of emotional reward for sitting down to a war film, not just some nice explosions and mostly realistic war violence. Heidi wasn’t even satisfied with those. And forgive me if I’m wrong, but it looked like some decidedly dodgy stock footage of battleships at sea had been spliced into the movie at one point, which is certainly not what one expects from a Hollywood production. The fact that it had two writers was very much in evidence, too (frankly, they didn’t seem to have ever met each other, let alone know they were working on the same script); some scenes were riddled with swearing while 20 minutes could go by without a single bit of bad language being uttered.

On the plus side, James Horner’s score was not as dominating as in The Perfect Storm. It wasn’t particularly remarkable either, though. To conclude, I was looking at my watch 35 minutes into the film. That tells you enough I think.