When I was in college just outside New York City, I used to write pompous film reviews that, when I read them now, make me cringe with embarrassment. Whatever. I was on the invitation lists of film studios and publicists and managed to attend dozens of advance screenings along with the real journalists and, sometimes, people connected with the film. I sat next to Britt Eklund at a screening of her starring vehicle The Night They Raided Minsky’s. I met director John Schlesinger at a showing of his Sunday, Bloody Sunday. Directors Bob Fosse, Frank Perry, many others. None tops meeting Federico Fellini at a screening of his Fellini Satyricon one Saturday morning in the library auditorium at Lincoln Center. I took this photo as he answered questions for us student journalists afterwards. He was so charming, so down to earth, and I was in such awe after having loved his 8 1/2 and Juliet of the Spirits so many times. I asked him about a rumored collaboration he was planning with Ingmar Bergman. “Where did you hear about this?” he asked me. “We are talking,” he smiled. On our way out, he stopped me (turning away momentarily from Harold Prince to do so!) to chat some more. Such kindness.