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LIFE WITH PICASSO by Françoise Gilot and Carlton Lake. 373 pages. McGraw-Hill...
After nine years and two children, Franchise Gilot finally left Pablo Picasso, reportedly exclaiming: "I am not living with a man, but with a monument." Many women have tried to live with the monument who, as the greatest living artist, was bound to make it a monumental task. Françe was his fourth long-term mistress, escaped becoming his second wife. Now, twelve years after the end of the affair, Françoise recollects in tranquillity-something she rarely had with Picasso-with the aid of the Paris art correspondent for the Christian Science Monitor...
Picasso was a collector of people as well as things. He constantly visited Françoise predecessor, Dora Maar, who responded by conventionally snubbing Françe when they met. It did not bother him a bit that his first wife, Olga, trailed Françe around the streets. He even kept an entire apartment in Paris, where he had lived with Olga, intact. His suits were still there, moth-eaten to the seams; paintings were slathered with inches of dust. But Pi casso regarded it as a kind of album of his first marriage. Taken to see it, Fran...
...wrote the excellent script of John Huston's movie version of Moby Dick; and his novel Dandelion Wine was a firm, straightforward remembrance of a youth in Illinois. His science fiction, however, has drawn him into a world he never dreamed of entering. Ingmar Bergman corresponds with him. Fran?ois Truffaut is writing the scenario for the movie version of his novel Fahrenheit 451. Christopher Isherwood has compared Bradbury to Edgar Allan Poe. And Ilya Ehrenburg says that he is one of the five most popular American writers in the Soviet Union, along with Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck and Spillane...
Nutty, Naughty-Château is a house divided between Director Roger Vadim and Novelist Françoise Sagan. On the framework of Sagan's first play, Château in Sweden, which enjoyed a long run in Paris, Vadim and an associate script carpenter have slapped together a film comedy that deserves to be condemned, and probably will be. It is synthetic, flimsy and obvious. Yet through the cracks in the walls one can still glimpse the work of a wry, precocious playwright who knows how to make decadence amusing...