.png)
For tis a tale of Sexual Panic, Institutional Cowardice, and the Pathology of Respectability! The Unguarded Moment (1956), directed by Harry Keller and starring Esther Williams, George Nader, John Saxon, and Edward Andrews, is a peculiar object within the landscape of 1950s American cinema, simultaneously functioning as crime melodrama, psychological thriller, film noir derivative, and feverish catalogue of middle-class sexual anxieties. What initially appears to be a relatively conventional narrative concerning an attractive schoolteacher pursued by an unstable adolescent rapidly mutates into something considerably uglier: a study of institutional cowardice, patriarchal hysteria, repressed sexuality, and the almost pathological eagerness of respectable society to place a woman on trial for the desires of men.
Lois Conway, played by Williams, is introduced as a music teacher in a small American town already contaminated by violence, since a woman has recently been murdered before the principal drama properly begins. This murder is not merely an incidental thriller mechanism; it contaminates every subsequent interaction with the possibility that ordinary masculine desire may conceal something predatory, lethal, and socially protected.
The film wastes little time before subjecting Lois to anonymous letters from an admirer, and the letters progressively abandon adolescent infatuation for intimidation and menace. Her suspicion initially falls upon Sandy, but the eventual confrontation reveals Leonard Bennett, the school's celebrated football player, as the threatening figure who has converted adolescent fantasy into stalking, trespass, and physical aggression.
.png)
.png)
.png)
After Leonard attacks Lois near the school lockers, she escapes but loses her purse, after which Lieutenant Harry Graham becomes involved in the case and urges her to press charges. Lois instead hopes that the situation might disappear if she refuses to escalate it, a decision that appears naïve but also reveals the impossible position in which the film places her: confrontation threatens scandal, while silence merely gives aggression room to mature.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
The institutional response is particularly contemptible, and the film deserves credit for displaying that contempt with surprising clarity. Principal Pendleton protects Leonard because the boy is a valuable athletic asset, effectively revealing that institutional morality becomes conveniently negotiable when reputation, school prestige, and masculine sporting achievement are placed on the scales against a woman's testimony.
Pendleton's demand that Lois produce evidence is superficially reasonable only if one ignores the grotesque imbalance of credibility already established around her. The institution does not neutrally investigate competing accounts; it immediately gravitates towards preserving its prized athlete, thereby transforming bureaucratic caution into a mechanism for discrediting the person who reports harassment.
.png)
The school then becomes a machinery of gossip, suspicion, and reputational execution, as rumours circulate that Lois has somehow been pursuing Leonard. The aggression directed against her is therefore doubled: she is first harassed by the student, and then socially harassed by a community that finds the fantasy of a predatory female teacher more exciting and convenient than the documented possibility of male violence.
Here the film's sensationalism becomes inseparable from its social critique, whether or not its creators consistently understood the distinction. One contemporary viewer may dismiss the picture as trashy melodrama, but its very trashiness allows it to expose a culture obsessed with policing women while simultaneously eroticising the circumstances under which those women are threatened.
.png)
As I would formulate the matter myself, “La respectabilité devient monstrueuse lorsqu’elle protège l’agresseur et interroge la victime.” The sentence translates the film's moral architecture with greater precision than the hesitant institutional actors within the narrative ever manage, because almost every supposedly respectable man initially approaches Lois's experience through the lens of suspicion, management, or paternalistic correction.
.png)
Leonard's father, Mr Bennett, represents the most diseased expression of this pathology, and Edward Andrews's performance is repeatedly identified in the supplied reception material as the film's most disturbing achievement. Bennett has constructed an authoritarian psychological world around his son, teaching him that women are dangerous while projecting onto him the wounds produced by his own wife's departure.
His misogyny is not subtle enough to be mistaken for wisdom, yet the character behaves with the terrifying confidence of a man who has mistaken private grievance for universal philosophy. Women, in his imagination, are not individuals but contaminating forces, and Leonard is accordingly educated to interpret attraction not as a feeling requiring maturity but as an assault upon masculine sovereignty.
.png)
The father-son relationship therefore supplies the film with its most compelling psychological material, an aspect several viewers in the supplied reviews recognise even when they disparage the screenplay as lurid or ridiculous. One review explicitly argues that the picture would have been stronger had it concentrated more fully on Bennett and Leonard, since the father's combination of repression, possessiveness, disappointment, and domination is far more sinister than the conventional romantic material surrounding Lois and Graham.
Leonard's behaviour should consequently be understood not as something excused by paternal influence, but as aggression produced within a recognisable ideological system. He stalks, threatens, lies, breaks into Lois's home, manipulates adults, and exploits the social instinct to doubt her, yet the film also insists that his father's corrupted worldview has furnished him with the language through which he understands women and power.
.png)
The fingerprints discovered in Leonard's locker provide the material evidence that the school administration had effectively demanded before granting Lois credibility. Graham's acquisition of this evidence is narratively satisfying precisely because it humiliates the evasions of those who treated Leonard's athletic status and denial as though they somehow constituted meaningful counterarguments.
.png)
The obscenity of this sequence lies not in sexuality itself but in the speed with which male observers convert ambiguity into female guilt. They do not require evidence when accusing Lois, although they previously insisted upon evidence before accepting her accusation against Leonard, and this asymmetry is so glaring that the film practically screams its indictment at the audience.
.png)
The film's police romance is considerably less interesting, although Graham does at least occupy the unusual position of being one of the few men who takes Lois's danger seriously. Some of the supplied commentary rightly questions the professional propriety of an investigating detective becoming romantically involved with the woman at the centre of an active case, and the romance sometimes operates as though the narrative cannot imagine female security without eventually placing a benevolent man beside her.
.png)
This issue becomes especially conspicuous because Esther Williams arrived at the film with a star persona overwhelmingly associated with aquatic spectacle, glamorous costumes, and MGM musical entertainment. The Unguarded Moment (1956) was her first film after the termination of her MGM contract and her first substantial non-swimming dramatic role since The Hoodlum Saint (1946), making the very act of casting her a calculated violation of audience expectation.
Williams herself later recalled being surprised that Universal offered her a "dry" psychological thriller, particularly because her public identity had been so strongly connected to swimming pictures. The production history is even stranger because Rosalind Russell, working with Larry Marcus and initially writing under the pseudonym C. A. McKnight, had originally conceived the material as a possible vehicle for herself before the screenplay passed through numerous revisions and working titles.
.png)
John Saxon's casting adds another layer to this industrial context because he had not yet become an established screen figure, and the studio reportedly hoped that he might occupy some of the cultural space left by James Dean's death. This attempted manufacture of youthful male volatility is perfectly suited to Leonard, whose attractiveness, athletic prestige, instability, and resentment combine into a figure designed to oscillate between adolescent vulnerability and genuine menace.
.png)
The Technicolor cinematography intensifies this contradiction because The Unguarded Moment (1956) is not visually organised like the monochrome noir that its threatening subject matter might suggest. Instead, its vivid colour, polished interiors, attractive performers, and seemingly wholesome school environment create an aggressive clash between surface normality and psychological ugliness, as though repression itself has been lacquered in bright studio colour.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
Several viewers describe Keller's direction as plodding, but even unsympathetic responses acknowledge moments of effective shadow play, suspense, and mounting tension. The opening has been described as Hitchcockian in tone, and while such a comparison risks flattering the film beyond reason, it accurately identifies its attempt to graft psychological unease onto an otherwise glossy Universal production.
.png)
The final movement removes any remaining ambiguity about Mr Bennett, who enters Lois's home, conceals himself in her closet, and physically assaults her. Leonard, meanwhile, finally admits that he wrote the letters and entered her apartment, but the father's attack demonstrates that the son's behaviour has always existed within a larger structure of misogynistic obsession rather than appearing from nowhere.
Bennett's death is appropriately grotesque: fleeing Graham, he returns home, finds himself locked out, climbs a trellis towards his son's room, fails to gain entry, falls, and dies. The man who has spent the narrative trying to control domestic boundaries, sexual boundaries, and his son's psychological boundaries is finally destroyed while attempting to force his way back into the very household he has poisoned.
.png)
Commercially, the film failed, although John Saxon's performance attracted favourable attention and critical responses to Williams were divided between admiration for her dramatic experiment and disappointment that she had abandoned her familiar milieu. Later assessments have frequently classified the picture as a B film, while Turner Classic Movies has reportedly emphasised Andrews's ability to overwhelm the nominal star with an atmosphere of malice and menace.
The supplied audience reviews are even more revealing because they oscillate wildly between contempt and fascination, describing the picture as trash, hokum, camp, suspenseful entertainment, dated melodrama, and an unexpectedly compelling study of sexual repression. This instability of response is not a weakness in the film's cultural afterlife but almost its defining feature, since The Unguarded Moment (1956) is difficult to regard as either simply good or simply bad without flattening what makes it so revealing.
.png)
ts dialogue can be absurd, its romance conventional, its plotting rickety, and its psychological explanations painfully blunt, yet dismissing the film as mere rubbish would be intellectually lazy. Beneath its sensational machinery lies an ugly and surprisingly persistent proposition: when male desire becomes threatening, institutions may prefer to scrutinise the woman who inspires that desire rather than the men who fail to govern themselves.
THE UNGUARDED MOMENT and its shocking aftermath!
Co-starring the exciting new personality JOHN SAXON
THE PRETTY TEACHER AND THE BOY WHO GREW UP TOO FAST!
... now - after school - in the deserted halls, they faced each other!
The SHOCK of It Rocked the Town!
TERROR only a woman can know!
A school scandalized as suspense...and fear silenced her shame.
The Boy Defied the Teacher to Tell - and she dared not!
.png)
For this reason, The Unguarded Moment (1956) deserves to be approached less as a failed prestige thriller than as a cultural document whose contradictions expose the ideological nervousness of its decade. It condemns stalking while eroticising attractiveness, criticises misogyny while demanding saintly compassion from its heroine, exposes institutional cowardice while resolving danger through masculine police intervention, and mocks repression while remaining completely fascinated by it.
The film's final significance therefore resides in its refusal, intentional or otherwise, to allow respectable surfaces to remain respectable. The school principal, the admired athlete, the paternal household, the protective father, the romantic detective, and even the apparently harmless small town are all compromised, leaving behind a world in which social order is revealed as astonishingly fragile once sexuality, reputation, and male authority collide.
.png)
What makes The Unguarded Moment (1956) genuinely memorable is not refinement but excess, not psychological subtlety but the almost violent visibility of its contradictions. It is lurid, unstable, occasionally ridiculous, and at moments strikingly perceptive, a film whose very lack of elegance forces the viewer to confront the sexual panic and institutional hypocrisy that a more tasteful production might have politely concealed.
MORE at Cinema Soujorns.
With Esther Williams’s spectacular MGM career effectively exhausted, The Unguarded Moment [1956] performs the perversely fascinating task of removing Hollywood’s most famous aquatic goddess from the controlled exhibitionism of the swimming pool and depositing her inside a provincial nightmare of sexual intimidation, misogynistic paranoia, and institutional cowardice. The transition is brutal, almost comic in its symbolic obviousness: the glittering swimsuits disappear, the earth-toned schoolteacher dresses arrive, and the woman previously celebrated as an immaculate object of spectacle becomes a target whose attractiveness is treated by almost everyone around her as incriminating evidence.
.png)
Harry Keller’s film belongs unmistakably to the cycle of 1950s American cinema preoccupied with juvenile delinquency, generational alienation, and the supposedly terrifying instability of postwar youth. Yet where Rebel Without a Cause [1955], Bigger Than Life [1956], and Blackboard Jungle [1955] locate social disturbance primarily within masculine crises of authority, The Unguarded Moment [1956] aggressively reroutes the same cultural panic through the conventions of the woman’s picture and late-period film noir.
.png)
Lois Conway, played by Williams, is a single music teacher whose past is hinted at but never tediously anatomised for the audience. She is intelligent, spirited, independent, and capable of considerable resolve, yet the screenplay immediately saddles her with an almost catastrophically misplaced maternal compassion toward students who repeatedly demonstrate that they have not earned it.
.png)
Lois’s decision to attend this meeting alone is unquestionably foolish, and the film takes considerable satisfaction in ensuring that everybody reminds her of it. The more disturbing issue is that this questionable decision rapidly becomes a means by which the narrative itself edges toward victim-blaming, as though entering the locker room somehow diminishes the responsibility of the young man who planned the encounter, concealed his identity, threatened her, and physically attacked her.
.png)
This is where The Unguarded Moment [1956] reveals its most poisonous cultural logic. Lois becomes the victim of threatening behaviour, yet the social world surrounding her almost immediately begins debating whether her appearance, independence, marital status, or behaviour somehow invited the violence.
As I would formulate the film’s ideological obscenity, “La respectabilité bourgeoise devient une forme de violence lorsqu’elle exige que la victime justifie son innocence avant que l’agresseur ne justifie son acte.” The town’s supposedly civilised institutions prove perfectly willing to scrutinise Lois while extending extraordinary patience to Leonard, because American respectability in this film is not a moral principle but a system for protecting men who possess social value.
Leonard possesses that value in grotesque abundance because he is the football star. The school administration consequently treats his athletic importance as though it were a mitigating circumstance, an attitude that transforms adolescent sport into a bizarre secular religion whose star practitioners must apparently be protected from the inconvenient consequences of their own behaviour.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
Yes the bad man is a bad man but who else is watching this?!?! YOU.
Principal Pendleton is particularly contemptible in this respect. When Lois reports Leonard, the principal responds not with meaningful concern but with evasive procedural caution, effectively demanding proof while simultaneously allowing gossip about the teacher to circulate with considerably lower evidentiary standards.
.png)
This hypocrisy is not incidental. The school requires evidence before believing that Leonard has attacked Lois, but almost no evidence whatsoever before entertaining the possibility that Lois has sexually pursued Leonard, producing an astonishing asymmetry that exposes the institution’s supposedly rational procedures as naked ideological prejudice.
The gossip eventually damages both Lois’s professional standing and her reputation. Her independence as an unmarried woman becomes inseparable from suspicion, and her history of romantic experience, however vaguely suggested, is treated as though adulthood itself constitutes evidence of sexual corruption.
.png)
WHY CAN'T WE STRANGLE A CLOTHED WOMAN?
The film therefore achieves something more disturbing than a conventional stalker narrative. It shows how sexual violence can be socially multiplied, since Lois is first terrorised by Leonard and subsequently punished by administrators, parents, students, and rumours for having become the object of Leonard’s obsession.
Yet Leonard is not the film’s ultimate monster. That distinction belongs decisively to his father, Mr Bennett, played by Edward Andrews with such concentrated malice that the performance threatens to expose the relative blandness of almost everything surrounding it.
Bennett initially appears almost aggressively ordinary, a bespectacled, middle-aged representative of respectable small-town masculinity. He is precisely the kind of man a bourgeois community congratulates itself for producing, outwardly conventional, economically stable, paternal, disciplined, and therefore assumed to be morally trustworthy.
.png)
The disguise deteriorates almost immediately. Bennett’s conversations drift with alarming ease from politeness into grievance, and his repeated invocation of the rheumatic fever he endured as a younger man reveals an individual who has transformed personal suffering into an inexhaustible moral credit account.
His wife abandoned him and Leonard years earlier, an injury he has converted into a totalising philosophy of female treachery. Instead of processing betrayal as an experience belonging to a particular relationship, he has taught his son that women as a class are dangerous, deceptive, sexually contaminating creatures whose presence threatens male stability.
Leonard has therefore been raised inside a domestic ideology of misogyny. His father has spent years poisoning his understanding of intimacy, instructing him to interpret vulnerability as humiliation and desire as a dangerous submission to women.
.png)
None of this excuses Leonard’s behaviour, nor should it. What it does is reveal that the boy’s stalking, voyeurism, deception, aggression, and sexual hostility emerge from a household in which pathological masculine resentment has been elevated into parental doctrine.
Andrews makes this pathology particularly repulsive because he refuses to play Bennett merely as a conventional lunatic. His menace grows from apparently banal gestures, clipped observations, smiles, pauses, and statements whose surfaces remain civil even as their implications become increasingly grotesque.
When Bennett surveys hormone-saturated high-school students and speaks approvingly of their energy, the comment acquires an unpleasantly voyeuristic charge. The man who claims to despise feminine sexuality is, of course, revealed to be fascinated by it, which is precisely how repression so often operates in the crude Freudian machinery of 1950s melodrama.
.png)
His hatred of women ultimately reveals itself as a diseased fixation upon them. He polices Leonard’s sexuality, condemns Lois, watches her, invades her home, hides inside her bedroom closet, and becomes visibly excited by proximity to the very femininity he has spent the film condemning.
The closet sequence is therefore not merely another thriller set piece. It is the hideous fulfilment of Bennett’s psychological structure, because the patriarch who insists that women are morally contaminating finally becomes the voyeuristic intruder whose own actions demonstrate the obscenity he has projected onto them.
.png)
Williams undresses without knowing that Bennett is present, and Keller momentarily places the audience within his invasive point of view. The scene becomes uncomfortable precisely because the cinematic apparatus itself participates in the voyeurism, asking spectators to look while simultaneously presenting Bennett’s looking as pathological.
.png)
This contradiction runs through the entire film. The Unguarded Moment [1956] criticises the sexual objectification of Lois while repeatedly exploiting Williams’s beauty as a commercial and narrative attraction, demonstrating how easily Hollywood could condemn voyeurism while practising an aesthetically refined version of the same behaviour.
Williams’s casting makes the contradiction even richer. At MGM, films such as Dangerous When Wet [1953] and Million Dollar Mermaid [1952] organised her stardom around the spectacular presentation of her body, often transforming aquatic performance into a form of elaborate cinematic display.
Universal removes the swimming pool but hardly abandons the spectacle. Instead, Williams’s body becomes narratively dangerous, something watched, desired, discussed, invaded, blamed, and finally threatened within the supposedly respectable spaces of school and home.
Her dramatic performance remains controversial because Lois has been written as a maddening accumulation of contradictions. She can be forceful one moment and bewilderingly naïve the next, fiercely independent in one scene and almost embarrassingly deferential in another.
.png)
These inconsistencies are partly embedded in the screenplay rather than simply failures of performance. Lois repeatedly refuses to press charges against Leonard, sympathises with him after his aggression has become undeniable, and attempts to rescue him from consequences with a generosity that borders on self-destruction.
The film appears to regard this behaviour as proof of her moral decency. In reality, it frequently makes her seem trapped inside the 1950s fantasy that an admirable woman must respond to male aggression with endless emotional comprehension while everyone else is permitted anger, cruelty, stupidity, violence, and hypocrisy.
The romantic subplot with Lieutenant Harry Graham further compromises the film’s stronger material. George Nader’s policeman is one of the few characters who consistently recognises that Lois is genuinely endangered, but his rapid transformation into romantic protector drags the picture toward the most conventional possible resolution of female vulnerability.
.png)
Their increasingly public romance also produces an obvious professional absurdity. A police lieutenant investigating a serious case becomes romantically entangled with its central victim and then openly attends community events with her while continuing the investigation, behaviour so flagrantly compromised that the film simply bulldozes through the ethical implications.
This is characteristic of the screenplay’s broader indifference to plausibility. Characters routinely behave according to melodramatic necessity rather than recognisable human logic, creating the peculiar sensation that respectable Americans have been replaced by alien beings performing an imperfect imitation of social behaviour.
Rosalind Russell’s involvement in the project makes these contradictions particularly interesting. Russell and Larry Marcus originally developed the material as a potential vehicle for Russell herself, with an early screenplay completed in 1951 under her pseudonym C. A. McKnight.
.png)
Russell’s authorship helps explain Lois’s mixture of toughness, impulsiveness, verbal confidence, and romantic vulnerability. A younger Russell, particularly the performer capable of dominating His Girl Friday [1940], might have made the contradictions feel like the volatile dimensions of a single personality rather than inconsistencies imposed upon the character.
.png)
The production therefore represents both an attempted reinvention and a strange continuation of Williams’s established stardom. She escapes the swimming pool but not the industry’s determination to make her physical attractiveness narratively central.
John Saxon benefits more decisively from the film. His Leonard combines the familiar iconography of the handsome 1950s athlete with an unease that prevents the character from settling comfortably into either victimhood or villainy.
Saxon’s subsequent career in films including Enter the Dragon [1973], The Electric Horseman [1979], A Nightmare on Elm Street [1984], and From Dusk Till Dawn [1996] would consolidate his durable screen presence. In The Unguarded Moment [1956], however, his relative youth actually strengthens the film’s psychological discomfort because Leonard looks sufficiently conventional to expose the inadequacy of judging danger through appearance.
.png)
Visually, the picture gains enormous strength from its widescreen colour photography. The aggressively polished Technicolor surface preserves the fantasy of prosperous 1950s America while allowing Keller to inject darkness, threatening interiors, and noir-derived shadow into the candy-coloured bourgeois environment.
That tension is more intellectually productive than the plot often deserves. Luxury cars, attractive houses, football rituals, cheerful teenagers, respectable schools, and tasteful interiors become the scenery of voyeurism, sexual aggression, domestic tyranny, and collective slander.
.png)
The later critical commentaries also illuminate what the original narrative often seems incapable of articulating clearly. Discussion of the film’s victim-blaming tendencies is particularly important because the screenplay continually engineers situations in which Lois’s decisions are scrutinised more intensely than the behaviour of the men who menace her.
Leonard, you have your mother's eyes... especially when you're telling a lie.
As I would put the matter a second time, “Le scandale du film n’est pas que les hommes désirent une femme, mais qu’une société entière transforme leur incapacité à gouverner ce désir en accusation contre elle.” That formulation identifies the film’s most durable cultural insight, however accidentally it may sometimes have arrived there.
The tragedy is that The Unguarded Moment [1956] possesses enough material for a far more ferocious film than the one Keller finally delivers. Its first hour establishes sexual threat, institutional betrayal, adolescent pathology, paternal misogyny, and the suffocating politics of small-town respectability with remarkable potential.
.png)
The ending therefore reduces something potentially substantial to melodramatic housekeeping. Bennett dies, Leonard confesses, the threat is neutralised, and the narrative seems desperate to restore order without adequately confronting the institutions that helped create the catastrophe.
There is no satisfying reckoning for the school administration that disbelieved Lois. The gossiping community is not forced into meaningful self-recognition, nor does the film truly interrogate a social structure in which a woman can lose professional authority merely because a popular male student chooses to desire and terrorise her.
This failure prevents The Unguarded Moment [1956] from attaining the ruthless clarity of its greatest contemporaries. It gestures toward the corrosive domestic criticism found in Bigger Than Life [1956] and the generational violence of Rebel Without a Cause [1955], but eventually retreats into the safety of conventional thriller resolution.
.png)
The film condemns male predation while eroticising its threatened heroine, condemns paternal tyranny while explaining Leonard through paternal trauma, condemns institutional cowardice while refusing to punish the institution, and celebrates Lois’s independence while repeatedly pushing her toward romantic protection. These contradictions make it an unstable work, but instability is often more culturally informative than coherence.
.png)
Edward Andrews finally prevents the entire enterprise from collapsing into respectable mediocrity. His Mr Bennett is so repellent, controlled, sexually frightened, domineering, and quietly deranged that he turns the film’s otherwise clumsy Freudianism into something genuinely disturbing.
His performance reveals the monster concealed inside the model citizen. That revelation remains the film’s most brutal achievement because Bennett is not frightening despite his bourgeois normality, he is frightening precisely because that normality has protected him.
The Unguarded Moment [1956] therefore survives not as a masterpiece but as something perhaps more fascinating: an ideologically confused cultural document whose glossy surfaces cannot contain the anxieties festering beneath them. It is lurid, morally contradictory, psychologically crude, sometimes ridiculous, intermittently perceptive, and much more revealing about 1950s American respectability than its makers may have intended.
Its ultimate subject is not adolescent delinquency but the adult world that manufactures, excuses, and then hypocritically condemns it. Beneath the football games, polished automobiles, attractive homes, school dances, and immaculate Technicolor lies a culture terrified of female autonomy and astonishingly prepared to ruin a woman before admitting that its respectable men might be dangerous.
.png)
The Unguarded Moment (1956)
Directed by Harry Keller
Genres - Drama, Mystery-Suspense, Thriller | Release Date - Nov 9, 1956 | Run Time - 95 min. |
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png){kind=link}