Grace Kelly

[scriptgirl]

mptv

 

[Ashcottmanor]

She looks so pretty thanks for the pics!
You know, I had a weird dream last night. I was in Monaco and I was doing all this shopping and then I went to the end of this street by a harbor and saw the Palace, it was night so it was all lit up and shiny. I couldn't believe I was that close to it! It was weird because I have never been to Monaco before. I didn't want to wake up

 

[christiane]

from ebay

 

[christiane]

Scan by me from my clipping collection

at a party

Having fun with Prince Rainier and friends

 

[scriptgirl]

la presse

 

[nmyngan]

baidu

 

[scriptgirl]

opera gloves

 

[nmyngan]

medium

 

[scriptgirl]

wr

 

[scriptgirl]

Cheryl Ladd as Grace Kelly from the tv movie on her in 1983

ebay

 

[scriptgirl]

another one

ebay

 

[scriptgirl]

Tampa Tribune
mpa tribune
Spellbound by Beauty: Alfred Hitchcock and His Leading Ladies," by Donald Spoto (Harmony Books, $26)

His silhouette is synonymous with mystery and macabre, but what is known about his relationships with his actresses? In his third Alfred Hitchcock biography, "Spellbound by Beauty," Donald Spoto exposes the genius's sometimes volatile interactions with his performers.

Hitchcock's "actors are cattle" metaphor is well-known. What is not is his behind the scenes behavior. From his directorial debut in 1926 to his final feature 50 years later, Hitch blossoms from an innocent novice to the Svengali of the cinema, as does his management of female stars.

His practical jokes and vulgarity on the sets provoked myriad reactions: Some laughed, others cringed and many felt humiliated.

Throughout his distinguished career, Hitchcock seemed bewitched by three of his stars. His unreturned love of Ingrid Bergman, followed by Grace Kelly, turned to betrayal as both abandoned their careers for marriage.

The next target of his obsession was unknown Tippi Hedren. He subjected her to unrelenting humiliation.

Spoto separates the man from his mythological footprint left on cinema. You will never look at a Hitchcock movie the same.

 

[scriptgirl]

Magill's
REAR WINDOW

Abstract:
L. B. Jeffries (James Stewart), a news photographer, becomes a voyeur after he is immobilized in his Greenwich Village apartment with a broken leg. While his elegant girlfriend, Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly), aggressively pursues the possibility of marriage, Jeffries becomes convinced that one of his neighbors, a salesman named Lars Thorwald (Raymond Burr), has murdered his wife. Alfred Hitchcock's formal concept brilliantly expresses the emotions and themes of the material and provocatively implicates the viewer.


Summary:
REAR WINDOW is one of five Alfred Hitchcock films which cannot be seen in the United States. A legal dispute concerning the estate of Cornell Woolrich, author of the original novella upon which the script is based, prevents any showing, commercial or nontheatrical. Like VERTIGO (1958), however, which also cannot legally be screened, REAR WINDOW is one of Hitchcock's very best films and maintains that reputation even under its legal restrictions.

Hitchcock is widely regarded as the best director of the English and American commercial cinema. He was the first of the auteurs, and has been honored in every conceivable way, from the large numbers of books and articles written about his works, the college courses centered about his oeuvre, and the critical and industry awards, to the box-office successes. No other director, with the possible exception of John Ford, has managed to combine artistic and commercial success so well, and Hitchcock certainly has done it with greater regularity. Perhaps the greatest tribute to the "master of suspense" is the number of films made which are attributed (or unattributed) homages to his films. Francoise Truffaut's THE BRIDE WORE BLACK (1967) and MISSISSIPPI MERMAID (1969) are two of the best-known, but many French New Wave directors acknowledge their enormous debt to Hitchcock, as do such young American directors as Peter Bogdanovich.

REAR WINDOW demonstrates beautifully what Hitchcock is so justly famous for: the perfect expression of emotions and themes in the visual style of the film. It is about Jeff (James Stewart), a free-lance photographer who is confined to his New York apartment in a wheelchair with a broken leg (sustained in a crash while he was photographing a car race) during a heat wave. He spies on his neighbors across the apartment courtyard (first with binoculars, then with the telephoto lens of his camera) and becomes convinced that one of them, Lars Thorwald (Raymond Burr), has killed his wife. He finally convinces his girl friend Lisa (Grace Kelly) and a detective friend Thomas Doyle (Wendell Corey) that he is on to something and gets them to help him prove it after they find evidence in the garden that has resulted in a curious dog being killed by Thorwald. Lisa gets bolder and goes into Thorwald's apartment, barely escaping when he returns unexpectedly. When
Thorwald sees Jeff watching his movements and realizes that he is suspicious, he breaks into Jeff's apartment and throws him out the window, breaking his other leg. Thorwald is apprehended, and Jeff and Lisa seem to be closer to each other than at the beginning of the film.

REAR WINDOW is about a voyeur. Jeff is more interested in other people's lives than he is in his own, as evidenced by his profession (which requires him to travel extensively, putting down few roots), his relationship with Lisa (in which she is far more committed than he, as evidenced by his unwillingness to consider any different life style or even pay her the attention he gives his subjects across the courtyard), and his neurotic avocation of spying on his neighbors. Jeff's alienation from his own surroundings is clear in the first shots: the moving camera of the opening cuts as it reaches Jeff, just before discovering him asleep in his chair, binoculars in his lap. He is thus separated from his surroundings; but in the last shot, the camera first shows him alone, then, without a cut, discovers Lisa's legs on the sofa beside him. Thus, they are joined in a way that they had not been in the first shots of the film.

Jeff names one of the people he watches "Miss Lonelyhearts," since she is lonely most of the time. Even when she gets up the courage to bring a man home, he turns out to be so crude that she throws him out of the house without carrying out her clear intentions. In a beautifully economical composition, Hitchcock shows us Jeff's greater involvement with her life than with his own; he raises a glass of wine in an answering (and unheeded) toast to her as Lisa prepares their food and wine in the background. She is just out of focus while he and Miss Lonelyhearts are in focus, thus separating her from Jeff and joining him with Miss Lonelyhearts. This also indicates Jeff's inability to show emotion and commitment: he requires great emotional distance which can be provided only in a voyeur situation where no demands are made on him. He resists Lisa, considering her "too perfect" in her high-style dress and manners. His insistence that she would not fit into his
free-wheeling, traveling life seems to be an aspect of immaturity which is at least partially gone at the film's end.

Jeff's isolation is carried out visually as well as thematically in the film. That he becomes a voyeur might seem no more than an unhealthy extension of his profession, except that his relationship with Lisa makes it clear that he prefers to be on the outside of human emotions even in this aspect of his life. His physical relationship to the objects of most of his attention describes his isolation: each character is isolated in his/her own frame within the frame of the film. The kind of frame the characters have is an indication of their state of isolation from their own lives and from the rest of those in the apartment building. Lars Thorwald and his wife are separated by the two windows of their apartment, in a metaphor of their emotional separation. He occupies the first window, she the second, usually in her bed. When she is killed, that window becomes strangely vacant, even when he is in it. Miss Torso (so named because she exercises nearly nude in
front of her window and entertains many young men) is often alone, framed by her one big window, isolated from the rest of the world but not from anything inside her own apartment. The newlyweds are very much together, and through their one big window we can see their door leading to the outside, through which they come into their own world. Miss Lonelyhearts is seen through one of two windows in her apartment, and her isolation is emphasized by the fact that there is no one with which to share it. Whichever window she is seen through, she seems a little dislocated.

Hitchcock uses still another kind of framing in REAR WINDOW, this time to indicate the watching eye of Jeff and to emphasize his growing obsession with his neighbors and his further intrusion into their lives. First, he merely watches with his naked eye, which takes him only a little way into their apartments and lives. Next, he takes out his binoculars and we see his point of view through them: he is now much more involved with them by the simple device of his eye isolating the boundaries of their existence as we see them framed by the circle of the glasses. As his obsession grows still further, he takes out his long-lens camera in what is the most disturbing shot in the film except one. Before, his "Peeping Tomism" had a curious, innocent quality, but with the introduction of the long lens, it is almost as if he were pointing a weapon at them, entering and controlling their lives by his intrusion. The lens brings them closer to him, makes them appear
larger in the frame, almost as big and important in his point-of-view angle as Lisa is when she is in his apartment. He has thus totally entered into their frames, and this has implications for his own isolation. It is usually a condition which indicates moral weakness and lack of emotional contact and which must be remedied; but in REAR WINDOW, Jeff's intrusion into their privacy (especially in the case of Miss Lonelyhearts when he watches her humiliation in bringing home a one-night stand, then not having the fortitude to see it through) seems even worse than moral weakness. Since this is only one-way involvement, it is not healthy; and when it becomes two-way (when Lars Thorwald looks straight into the camera while the audience is looking with Jeff through his long lens) it is terrifying. It is as though Jeff were trying to play God and this is his subject turning on him. In trying to get inside their lives with no corresponding exposure of his own,
he has put both Lisa (who acts as his legs and goes into Thorwald's apartment after more evidence) and himself in danger.

As Jeff intrudes more and more deeply into the lives of his neighbors, first through idle watching, then by using binoculars, and finally through his long lens, he is farther and farther detached from his own life. This is one reason why it is so disturbing when he first picks up the long lens: he is really confining his experience to that little lens while projecting his emotions away from his own apartment and Lisa. It is not until he sees Lisa through this device that he really knows that he loves her and is willing to commit himself to her.

There remains a question of how deeply Jeff does commit himself: in the last scene Lisa is finally in a costume that would seem to be suitable for his way of life -- blue jeans -- but she sneaks a look at her own magazine, putting down the one he would like to have her read as soon as she knows that he is asleep. Still, this seems like a gesture of assertion of her own personality: the panning shot from Jeff to Lisa joins them, and its manner of discovering first her feet, then her leg, and finally her entire body, places her very firmly in Jeff's apartment. As for her commitment, it would seem that the compromise indicated by the blue jeans is a necessary movement for her as well. Her life is so formally arranged in the beginning of the film that it leaves no room for surprise or romance of a deeply moving kind, and she must come out of her own social isolation through danger to reach him. The chaos and danger of the murder and its discovery is a device
often used by Hitchcock to shake people out of their isolated, complacent lives and into contact with forces that are alive and volatile. Jeff and Lisa each must change in order for them to come together, and it is as significant that Jeff's back is to the window in the last scene as it is that Lisa is wearing blue jeans.

 

[scriptgirl]

starledger
He cast the pale beauties almost exclusively from his first thriller, the silent "The Lodger" in 1927, and by his final film, "Family Plot," not quite 50 years later, the list had grown to include some of cinema's best. Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman. Janet Leigh and Julie Andrews. Doris Day and Joan Fontaine, Eva Marie Saint and Carole Lombard.

TD
Although he joked it was only because fair hair was like "virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints," his tastes were precise. He ignored the obvious bombshells, the Mansfields and Monroes. If the woman was normally brunette, like Anne Baxter, he chose the hair dye; if she was an unknown, like Tippi Hedren, he chose everything.

Yet there is a line between being involved and being obsessed, with controlling a production and controlling a person. And it was a line that Alfred Hitchcock often crossed.

All good directors are obsessive in some way - they have to be, if they're going to be successful. And Hitchcock was a great director, and perhaps Hollywood's most popular. A new, deluxe DVD set from MGM collects eight of his films; a recent one from Universal spotlighted even more. His name has become an adjective, his caricatured profile a logo.

Yet there was a side of "The Master of Suspense" that the canny self-marketer took pains to conceal. The witty raconteur who, off the record, was fond of filthy jokes. The devoted husband who pined after frosty beauties like a schoolboy. And, most dreadfully, the kindly mentor who ruthlessly pursued his own young discoveries.

The new book by Donald Spoto, "Spellbound by Beauty: Alfred Hitchcock and His Leading Ladies," captures all of it. Spoto, who´s written two other books on the director, has spent years speaking to many of his stars and colleagues. And the picture that develops is of a deeply unhappy and darkly secretive man.

It´s certainly not the witty image the filmmaker or his family presented. When I interviewed Pat Hitchcock nearly a decade ago, she described her father as "very kind" ("I wish people would know that," she added wistfully). She claimed that, although she hadn´t read Spoto´s first unauthorized biography, "nothing that people quoted to me from it was true."

Yet even if the doting father was beloved in his own house, there are too many stories in too many other books for Spoto´s to be ignored. Yes, Hitchcock´s films are amazingly enjoyable (and, on second viewing, extraordinarily deep). But clearly they sprang from his own pain, and working with him could e a torment.

Born Catholic and a Cockney - two circumstances that would shape the Englishman´s attitude toward sin, and his feelings of exclusion - Hitchcock grew up, he said, "uncommonly unattractive" with an artist´s eye and a fondness for detail. That led to a job designing title cards for silent movies - which, in those all-hands-on-deck days, soon led to directing.

Hitchcock would spend the first 17 years of his career in Europe in a variety of genres - he made a musical, even adapted a Sean O´Casey play. But it was his touch with thrillers that made his name. And Hitchcock soon remade them in his name, with a focus on unfair accusations and inescapable guilt.

Yet there were other obsessions, too.

The most obvious on-screen fetish was for blondes. (The very first shot in the very first Hitchcock thriller, "The Lodger," is of a screaming, fair-haired woman.) The most disturbing off-screen fondness was for bullying his actresses (he delighted in putting Madeleine Carroll through painful stunts in "The 39 Steps," and left her in prop handcuffs until her wrists were raw). Like some holier-than-thou inquisitor, he tortured his temptations.

Directors are manipulators, of course - it´s in the job description - and there were times when his bad behavior served his art. (Would he have gotten that perfect insecurity out of Joan Fontaine in "Rebecca" if he weren´t privately telling her how much everyone disliked her?) Yet other times, like the elaborate practical jokes he played, it was simple sadism.

Not all of his actresses were victims. Ingrid Bergman was far too clearheaded; Grace Kelly, for all her chilly class, far too worldly. Both women knew he was half in love with them; both diplomatically deflected his attentions. And the movies that resulted were amazing, and oddly revealing (in "Notorious," a vulnerable Bergman is debased by her own lover; in "Rear Window," an eager-to-please Kelly is endangered by her boyfriend voyeur).

Arguably, both women did their best work for Hitchcock. Yet the Bergman collaboration ended when she left him - and her husband, and the country - for Italian director Roberto Rossellini; the Kelly union stopped when she married Prince Rainier. As Vera Miles would discover years later - after Hitchcock had signed her to a rigidly exclusive contract, and she finally dropped out by getting pregnant - there were only a few ways of escape.

"Vertigo" was already being planned for her, and when it was finally made and released, many viewed it as a convoluted mystery with a peculiar hero. Decades later, when I interviewed replacement star Kim Novak, she said she´d seen it as a metaphor for her own career, always being reimagined as "this year´s" somebody-or-other.

Yet today, it seems like a sad parable of Hitchcock´s life as an artist.

The hero´s flaw is that he tries to "direct" another person - re-creating a fantasy, dictating the heroine´s "look." (In real life, Hitchcock was furious - and immovable - when Novak balked at a pair of pumps he insisted her character wear.) And, in the end, the heroine´s independence tragically defeats the hero´s fantasies - as much as Bergman´s and Kelly´s quietly defeated Hitchcock´s.

If "Vertigo" detailed his frustrations in directing a star, there was still one method of control left - creating his own. This time, however - instead of the 25-year-old, twice-married Miles - Hitchcock picked a more malleable figure. Tippi Hedren was 31, a divorced mother (of the then-toddling Melanie Griffith) and a model with a slowing career. Her performing experience was minimal; her gratitude for his interest, immense.

Hitchcock counted on both.

The two films they made mirrored their relationship. In "The Birds," she plays the victim of senseless, meaningless attacks; on the set, Hitchcock´s cruel insistence on using live animals for the final assault (which took a week to film) nearly sent her to the hospital. In "Marnie," she´s a dazed young woman brutalized by her own husband; off the set, Hedren said, it was at this point that Hitchcock declared he was taking her as his mistress.

There have been too many spurious books written about dead celebrities to simply accept this, now that Hitchcock cannot defend himself. Yet Hedren - who says she spurned his advances - tells the story herself, and her co-stars have corroborated details. Even the late Francois Truffaut, a devoted partisan, called Hitchcock a "frustrated Pygmalion" who was never the same after "Marnie" ended his "personal and professional" relationship with Hedren.

There were still good films to come - there is a cool assurance to "Frenzy," and a sort of peace to "Family Plot" - but once he dropped Hedren´s contract, Hitchcock dropped the polite mask as well. "Torn Curtain" features a gruesomely realistic killing and "Frenzy" a graphic r*pe; he then spent years planning a film that would open with a brutal sex murder. The project never came to pass; the director died in 1980.

Elegies were not easy to compose.

A shy man of peculiar phobias (raw eggs, policemen, untidy bathrooms) he made some of our most terrifying films; an astoundingly gifted filmmaker, he never won a best-director Oscar. When praised for the complexity of his work, he always changed the subject with a quip, or switched the topic to technical details; having cast the world´s most beautiful actresses, he often greeted them with dirty jokes and sometimes dirtier behavior.

In the end, we honor the art, not the artist; if film lovers have - mostly - forgiven the sins of Charlie Chaplin, Woody Allen and Roman Polanski, surely there is room for Hitchcock´s redemption, too.

Yet his flaws and fears are so interwoven with his films that they haunt them; it is impossible, once you know something of the man, to ever watch "Vertigo" or "Marnie" or even "Notorious" in quite the same way again. Was it because he knew how much his films revealed that he pretended they were mere entertainments? Or did he honestly never realize what impassioned confessions he had made?

Of all the mysteries that Alfred Hitchcock created, the greatest was himself.

 

[scriptgirl]

globe and mail
Here are five films that didn't merely reflect their era's fashion trends, they helped to define them.

TD
1

To Catch a Thief (1955)

Retired cat burglar (Cary Grant) is the wrong man for the French Riviera police—and the right man for a lovely heiress (Grace Kelly).

The look Natty jacket-sweater combos for Grant; shoulder-baring Edith Head gowns for Kelly. The effect perfectly captured post-war American style.

2

Alfie (1966)

Cockney womanizer (Michael Caine) swings his way through the barrooms, and bedrooms, of London.

The look Alfie's got a rotation of bird-dogging get-ups, favouring monogrammed blazers and narrow ties. Caine wasn't a conventional leading man, but his rakish demeanour (with a wardrobe to match) made him the quintessential late-'60s screen lady-killer.

3

Annie Hall (1977)

Self-loathing comic (Woody Allen) meets zany life-force singer (Diane Keaton).

The look Allen looks typically schlubby, but Keaton's fetchingly androgynous duds (pants, vests, neckties) embody NYC-boho chic. Keaton reportedly chose the clothes herself, over the objections of the costumers. Well, la-di-da to them.

4

Wall Street (1987)

The Gs have it: Guy named Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) explains that Greed is Good.

The look Dark, immaculately tailored Armani suits for a rogue's gallery of corporate raiders. Douglas is probably more famous for being naked in Basic Instinct. But here, he's not just a clothes horse: He's a thoroughbred.

5

Quantum of Solace (2008)

No surprises here: James Bond (Daniel Craig) does exciting stuff in exotic locales.

The look Secret-agent chic: freshly pressed tuxedos from Tom Ford, accessorized with weaponry by Walther PPK. Craig is no pretty-boy Pierce, but he's easily the suavest 007 since Sean Connery—especially when his adventures leave him a little rumpled.

 

[scriptgirl]

san diego tribune
Freud would have loved Hitchcock, or feared him. And wouldn't a course called "Hitchcock 101" make a terrifyingly perfect elective in some university's psychology (or abnormal psychology) curriculum?

TD
That brings us to the release this month of three Hitchcock classics from Universal Studios Home Entertainment: "Rear Window," "Vertigo" and "Psycho." Besides being -- in order -- suspenseful, eerie and terrifying, these entries embody three of Hitchcock's frequent psycho-sexual archetypes: the voyeur, the obsessive- compulsive and the psychotic. That all three are highly entertaining and require no in-depth analysis whatsoever is merely a bonus.

Speaking of bonuses, these reissues are loaded with extras, making them must-owns for inveterate Hitchcock fans.

As all three are staples of cable-movie programming and/or Hitchcock film festivals, we won't belabor the plot summaries. Instead, let's consider each's quintessentially Hitchcock nuances that, every time we see them, make you feel just a wee bit uneasy. (Or, in the case of "Psycho," a lot uneasy.) A warning: If you begin to see yourself in any of these characters, don't fret. You won't be alone.

`Rear Window' (1954)

What do you call a man who sits by the window and watches his neighbors, first with binoculars and then, more brazenly, with a telephoto lens? Sick, right?

Delightfully so.

It's hard to condemn wheelchair-bound (with a broken leg) photojournalist L.B. Jeffries (James Stewart) for being at the very least a busybody and at worst a voyeur because, as his visiting nurse, Stella (Thelma Ritter) declares: "We've become a race of Peeping Toms."

In "Rear Window," Hitchcock deftly tapped into the insatiable curiosity we harbor about others, particularly those about whom we can make up stories and blithely invest no emotional commitment or responsibility. Only when Jeffries becomes convinced that he's uncovered a murder through his telephoto lens does he get involved with his little fantasy world.

How much of this film is spent looking in or out of windows, passively invading the privacy of those too careless or too sweltering in the summer heat to draw the shades? Oh, about 95 percent of it.

Any guilt we feel from identifying with Jeffries is mitigated by his ultimate heroics, though girlfriend Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly, looking impossibly beautiful) does the legwork that he can't.

That Jeffries ends up with two broken legs at the end is just Hitchcock's brand of poetic justice.

Extras: "Rear Window -- Special Edition" comes with two trailers, a documentary titled "Rear Window Ethics," an interview with screenwriter John Michael Hayes, a featurette on Hitchcock's use of sound in films (he was not only a master of utilizing sound and music, but of using silence), and more.

`Vertigo' (1958)

Hitchcock really lets John "Scottie" Ferguson (also played by James Stewart) have it in this taut, intermittently bizarre film. Scottie starts out with a serious, but diagnosable, case of acrophobia, a consequence of a fatal rooftop chase while a police detective. But his fear of heights proves to be small potatoes when he becomes obsessed, body and soul, with the enigmatic blonde wife (Kim Novak, smoldering) of a friend whom he's tailing. The obsession is redoubled when said blonde, Madeleine, falls to her death from a church bell tower.

That's when "Vertigo," up to then slow and mysterious and as softly intoxicating as the San Francisco in which it is shot, turns into a creepy head trip. Rendered catatonic after the blonde's death, Scottie then undergoes a nightmare that's right out of the psychedelic scene in "2001" and is tossed into a sanitarium. Not long after being released, he spots on the streets a redheaded woman who resembles Madeleine. Insinuating, even bullying his way into her life, he begins to remake her in the dead blonde's image.

You know the rest.

Sick?

Delightfully so. Again.

Extras: "Vertigo -- Special Edition" features bonus material such as an alternate "foreign censorship ending," two audio commentaries, a documentary called "Obsessed with Vertigo: New Life for Hitchcock's Masterpiece," a look at some of Hitchcock's most frequent collaborators (like composer Bernard Herrmann and costume designer Edith Head), and more.

`Psycho' (1960)

You need not be a student of psychology to figure this one out. Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) has mother issues to the nth degree. What many consider to be Hitchcock's most horrifying film is thankfully shot in black and white -- its notorious shower scene, for example, needs no embellishment or further shock of reality.

But the little things in "Psycho" are just as expressive of the filmmaker's propensity for mind games. Take the first half-hour, before we even meet Norman Bates. It's Marion Crane's movie. (That's Janet Leigh, oozing quiet sexuality. You starting to see a pattern here with Hitchcock and his blonde actresses?). First, Marion steals away from the office for an afternoon tryst. Next, she steals $40,000 from her boss's client and high-tails it. Along the way, she's followed by the most sinister cop in sunglasses you're ever likely to meet.

Poor Marion. She gets punished, presumably for her tryst, for her theft and for making a cop suspicious.

Meanwhile, Norman Bates' mind is not a place we want to go. Yet Hitchcock makes us go there, one dark, claustrophobic moment at a time. The ending is practically anticlimactic.

Extras: "Psycho -- Special Edition" is accompanied by "The Making of Psycho" documentary, newsreel footage on the original release of the film, analysis of the famous music/sounds used in the shower scene, lobby cards and posters pertaining to the film, and more.

All three of the two-disc DVDs include excerpts from a 1962 audio interview of Hitchcock conducted by filmmaker Francois Truffaut and full-length episodes of the TV series "Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

 

[scriptgirl]

ebay

 

[scriptgirl]

todos

 

[nmyngan]

ebay

 

[scriptgirl]

lfi