ALASTAIR SIM: SCHOOL FOR LAUGHTER - Blu-ray (ABPC/Ealing, 1947-1960) StudioCanal/Film Movement

In the annals of British cinema, few stars burned as bright as Alastair Sim. The Edinburgh-born youth, whose true gifts as a treasured character actor did not emerge until well into his middle-age – a time, when most careers are, in fact, winding down – and, whose definitive portrait of Dickens’ beloved curmudgeon, Ebenezer Scrooge in 1951’s Christmas Carol continues to reign down each festive season as the standard bearer, irrefutably is, and quite simply, the most easily identifiable, quick-witted bon vivant of the post-war generation. That his aged bald pate, tinged in a fringe of wispy locks, and droopy-eyes, always to spark with more than an ounce of petty larceny, seemed to convey the lovable warmth usually afforded a beloved basset hound in need of a friendly pat or deft snap across the backside with a newspaper, was all part of Sim’s unique beguilement. The Scottish thespian was, in fact, a main staple on London’s West End almost from his beginning to his passing in 1976 – his foray into pictures in 1935, leading to a long and happy screen life and immortality as an artfully situated devil-may-care ever since. Though classically trained as a dramatic actor, Sim’s métier often lent itself to seemingly feather-weight comedies, laced with underpinnings of a more deceptive and menacing ploy at work.

It was hardly joy galore for Sim, who found his lack of matinee idol ‘good looks’ often suggested to others he might best be suited as a general laborer or civil servant. Indeed, on the counsel of his father, Sim studied analytical chemistry at the University of Edinburgh – his schooling interrupted by conscription during WWI. At war’s end, Sim informed his family he intended to pursue a career on the stage – an announcement so ill-received, Sim left home as a result of it, drifting aimlessly into jobs of no account before recognizing his strengths as a verse-speaking orator, for which he earned public recognition and several prominent awards. Sim, more a lover of the arts – particularly poetry – and his fastidious attention to diction, eventually resulted in his establishing a private school for elocution and drama, co-founded by playwright, John Drinkwater. He also taught elocution at the college in Dalry from 1922 to 1924, and went on to become a Fulton Lecturer at the university for 5 more years. He met his future wife, Naomi Merlith Plaskitt, when she was barely 12 and he was already 26. They would marry 6 years later.

From this rather inauspicious debut, the couple would have one of the most enduring and heartfelt unions while Sim concentrated his ambitions to act professionally. He marked this turning point with a lowly appearance as ‘the messenger’ in 1930’s production of Othello, toggling between high-drama and lowbrow musical/comedy revues to fill in the gaps and gain experience. Referenced in a review as “a marvelous mixture of soap and vinegar” Alastair Sim began to garner critical interest and the respect of his peers in tandem – his alliance with playwright, James Bridie, lasting until Bridie’s passing in 1951, and elevating Sim’s craftsmanship to an enviable level. By the mid-1940’s Sim had successfully translated his acting skills to the movie screen, appearing in Green for Danger (1946) and The Happiest Days of Your Life (1950). The four films culled together in Film Movement’s School for Laughter Blu-ray are an odd duck assemblage at best. Only 2 of the offerings, The Belles of St. Trinian’s (1954) and School for Scoundrels (1960 – and Sim’s farewell to the movies) show off Sim’s rare qualities, while the remaining two features, 1947’s Hue and Cry – an exceptionally dark and delicious crime/caper aimed at the kiddie sect, and, 1951’s Laughter in Paradise – a frankly tepid and disposable comedy of errors, offer scant highlights as ensembles for which the focus is decidedly NOT on Sim or the characters he plays. Worst of all, Laughter in Paradise is a woefully undernourished remastering effort, culled from disastrously careworn second-generation elements in desperate need of a quality restoration. More on this, later in this review.

Hue and Cry is a fairly fascinating ‘dark’ thriller, ironically aimed at children, merely singed by Sim’s brief comedic respites as the author of some spurious pulp fiction that appeals to London’s wayward youth. The movie is notable for being set in the then ‘present’ and showing the devastating ravages of post-war London, with whole portions of the city still in bombed out ruins. Following church choir practice, one such delinquent, Joe Kirby (the exceptional gifted, Harry Fowler) reads aloud to the rest of his disenfranchised lot, collectively known as The Blood and Thunder Boys from ‘Trump’ – a lurid comic book, alas, missing some vital pages to continue to the story. Curious to know the ending, Kirby buys his own copy so he can follow the adventures of its fictional detective, Selwyn Pike. Alas, life appears to be imitating art when Kirby stumbles upon two rough-hewn blokes carrying 3 wooden crates into Mr. Jago’s (Paul Demel) fur shop. Deciding to investigate further, as the story suggests dead bodies are being concealed in the crates, and, rather uncannily, the license plate on the truck - GZ 4216 – matches the getaway vehicle in the Trump story, Kirby is found out by Jago, who summons Inspector Ford (Jack Lambert) to press charges. Instead, Ford encourages Jago to let Kirby go. Ford even gets Kirby a legitimate job to fill up his leisure, working for Covent Garden grocer, Nightingale (Jack Warner).

As Kirby still believes something criminal is underway, he and a small contingent of his pals, to include his best friend, Alec (Douglas Barr) attends comic writer, Felix Wilkinson (Alastair Sim) at his flat. Kirby informs Wilkinson he believes his stories are being manipulated as code to conduct illegal activities. Kirby tries to tell this to police too. But no one believes him. However, Kirby finds a friend in Norman (Ian Dawson), who helps him crack the code, revealing a robbery to take place inside the Oxford St. Dept. Store. Determined to thwart this crime, Kirby and his boys instead attack the undercover police, already tipped off about the crime. Barely to escape incarceration, Norman now tells the boys about Rhona Davis (Valerie White) whom they bind and gag while Kirby phones Nightingale. Instead, Nightingale arrives and frees Davis. Indeed, Kirby has no idea the criminal mastermind behind the whole affair is Nightingale. Now, Kirby gets Wilkinson to concoct a new Trump caper to bring all the criminals together at Ballard’s Wharf for a sting operation. Still unaware Nightingale is the man he is working against, Kirby tells all about their plan – then, realizes what a grave error in judgment he has made when Nightingale’s license plate and the one depicted in the previous story in Trump perfect match.

Back at his flat, Nightingale and Davis review the latest Trump story, mildly amused at Kirby’s cunning to bait them until Nightingale realizes Kirby has set a trap for him at his own warehouse. Kirby and Nightingale arrive at the warehouse at the same moment, intercepted by the crooks who have come for their big payoff. Nightingale is knocked unconscious by one of the crooks for not knowing the password. Now, everyone heads for their rendezvous at Ballard’s Wharf – the criminal class, outnumbered by the boys who intercept and foil their smuggling operation. Nightingale is pursued by Kirby into the ruins and eventually subdued. The next day at choir practices, the boys arrive with various sundry bruises, cuts and blisters, incurred from their previous day’s roughhousing. Hue and Cry is a rather fascinatingly executed crime/caper. Indeed, the picture today is sorely underrated. But as a movie pitched to Alastair Sim fans, it never allows Sim much opportunity to distinguish himself among its many grand delights.

The results are even more off-key for Sim in Laughter in Paradise – an ensemble piece to afford him one good scene, exceptionally well-played as the put-upon author of lurid mysteries who, in reality, is the hen-pecked fiancée of a dowdy police women to whom he has been engaged for almost ten years. Again, the crux of our tale is not situated on Sim’s comedic genius, but rather Jack Davies and Michael Pertwee’s rather ridiculously concocted and mostly forced scenario about four relatives forced to jump through hoops to inherit £50,000 each from a well-known, and newly deceased practical joker, Henry Russell (Hugh Griffith). It seems even in death; Russell is determined to hold his family accountable for their shortcomings. Thus, his sister, Agnes (Fay Compton) who frowns upon manual labor and treats her maid, Ethel (Charlotte Mitchell) with utter disdain, is herself forced to attain work as a domestic for 28 days. Alas, she falls prey to Gordon Webb (John Laurie), a ruthlessly brittle old stick in the mud, pretending at his own invalidism to deprive his only daughter, Joan (Veronica Hurst) of her happiness and freedom. After Gordon suspects Agnes of being up to no good, he hires a private investigator, Roger Godfrey (Anthony Steel) to skulk around for clues. Instead, Roger begins to fall in love with Joan, a romance encouraged by Agnes, whose heart continues to soften the longer she remains in service.

Meanwhile, law-abiding, ex-army officer, Deniston Russell (Sim) has been forced to write lurid crime novels under several nom de plumes to remain afloat financially. Upon learning of his inheritance, Den’ makes his rather prudish fiancée, Elizabeth (the marvelous Joyce Grenfell) a promise to be wed in a fortnight, only to discover he must first ‘fake’ a crime that will land him in jail – leading to yet another postponement of their marriage; one, the long-suffering Elizabeth refuses to entertain until Den’ lies to her about being in the ‘secret service’ and therefore, on a mission requiring his utmost and immediate attention.  Instead, Deniston makes several valiant attempts at entering into various criminal enterprises, guaranteed to get him arrested. Alas, he cannot bring himself to steal, rob or otherwise besmirch his reputation; that is, until Elizabeth catches him in an innocuous conversation with his secretary (Eleanor Summerfield), resulting in Deniston throwing a brick, disguised as a package, through the plate-glass window of a nearby storefront, for which he is arrested and sent to jail.

Meanwhile, Den’s younger cousin, milquetoast, Herbert (George Cole) is ordered under the will’s provisos to hold up the bank at which he is employed, thereby re-asserting he possesses the gutsy take-charge attitude of a suitor, suitable for Susan Heathe (Mary Germaine), his fellow bank clerk with whom he is in love. Alas, Herbert’s boss, Mr. Wagstaffe (Ronald Adam) is the imposing and curmudgeonly sort who chronically foils Herbert’s attempts to fulfill his role and get the inheritance. Instead, inadvertently, Herbert foils a genuine stick-up at the bank, barging in and waving his toy pistol to subdue the real burglars and win back the respect of his boss. By all accounts, Den’s other cousin, Simon (Guy Middleton) – a slick but insolvent womanizer – has the best chance at happiness, bade to marry the first women he comes in contact with straightaway after the reading of the will. While Simon barefacedly dallies with the cigarette girl (Audrey Hepburn) at his club, he pursues Lucille Grayson (Beatrice Campbell) – a woman he picks up on the side of the road after her car has stalled. Believing his ‘love ‘em or leave ‘em’ philosophy will ensure he continues to enjoy his bachelor’s lifestyle, even after he is wed, Simon instead falls madly for Lucille who, without much effort, reciprocates his ardor. At story’s end, all the participants reunite, only to learn from Henry’s solicitor, Endicott (Ernest Thesiger) there never actually was an inheritance. Henry was just trying to teach his family certain life lessons they now find quite amusing – the whole affair ending with one good chuckle shared by all.

For the briefest wrinkle in time, Alastair Sim rated very highly within the cycle of Ealing comedies, long since revered for their erudite black humor. Regrettably, Sim skirted appearing in two of the studio’s best offerings – 1949’s Whisky Galore! and, even more regrettably, as the devilish mastermind in The Lady-killers (1955) – a part, tailor-made for him, and for which Alec Guinness decidedly borrowed from Sim’s deportment and mannerisms to will his own delightful performance in the part. In The Belles of St. Trinian’s, Sim is cast as Millicent Fritton, the Teutonic matron of a decidedly dodgy school for impressionable brats, barely led by an even more spurious assortment of marms and minxes, and, Millicent’s chronic gambler of a brother, Clarence.  The school is in a bad way – a crumbling, drafty, old eyesore that residents from the neighboring village regard with painful disdain for the pint-sized hooligans it seems to produce with all the vigor of a carnival sideshow devoted to petty larceny. Besides, the various ‘educators’ are barely qualified to teach. Nevertheless, the Sultan of Makyad (Eric Pohlmann) wants his daughter, Fatima (Lorna Henderson) to attend there, as his prized collection of racing ponies are being groomed nearby. The school’s accountant, Miss Holland (Jane Henderson) explains that without the Sultan’s tuition the school is done for, leaving Millicent to entertain the girl, first by absconding with the hundred pounds ‘spending money’ her father has left in her care, but also by re-instating Clarence’s ne’er do well daughter, Arabella (Vivienne Martin) as a fellow student, eager to befriend Fatima to pump her for intel on the Sultan’s most celebrated race horse, ‘Arab Boy’.

After assistant head/physics mistress, Ms. Buckland (Mary Merrall) introduces Fatima to the school’s mentors and her peers, the naïve girl settles into her surroundings. In short order, we meet the rest of the faculty: arts mistress, Miss Brimmer (Renée Houston), mathematics professor, Miss Wilson (Beryl Reid), Mlle. de St. Emilion (Balbina Gutierrez) - the French ‘teacher’, geography mistress, Miss Drownder (Hermione Baddeley), English-lit teacher, Miss Gale (Irene Handl), and Miss Waters (Betty Ann Davies), and Miss Dawn (Joan Sims). Meanwhile, aware of the counterfeit hobbies brewing at the school – literally – as, indeed, the girls’ primary vocation at St. Trinian’s is to perfect bootlegger gin to be sold under the radar, Barchester Police Superintendent, Kemp Bird (Lloyd Lamble), meets with the Ministry of Education’s Manton Bassett (Richard Wattis) in the hopes to put an end to the school once and for all. Alas, Bassett will do nothing. Even the two inspectors Bassett previously sent out to investigate have since vanished into thin air. Determined to get to the bottom of things, Bird arranges for his gal/pal, Sgt. Ruby Gates (the sublime Joyce Grenfell), to acquire a position as the school’s new games mistress, under the false identity of Chloe Crawley.

Witnessing the procurement of illegal alcohol, peddled by bootlegger, Flash Harry (George Cole), Gates is appalled, but remains silent for the time being. Meanwhile, fellow student, Florrie (Jill Braidwood), learns of the Sultan’s racing his prized pony the next day and prods Fatima for more details. At dawn, Arab Boy goes through his trial run, simultaneously timed by his trainer, Arabella and some girls from a rival school. The girls desire to know the weight of the jockey, Albert Faning (Michael Ripper). To this end, one of their own, Amanda (Belinda Lee) seduces Faning, calculating his weight and determining Arab Boy will win the race. At this juncture, the girls’ reason to ‘borrow back’ Fatima’s £100 to place a sizable bet, a plot kiboshed by Millicent, who then decides she will instead use the last of the school’s savings, £400, to win enough money to pay off its creditors.  Meanwhile, Arabella informs Clarence of the horse’s strength, sure to wreck his already placed bets against it. Arabella suggests they ‘nobble’ the horse. Clarence, however, thinks better on this suggestion. The next day, Clarence discovers a gaggle of St. Trinian’s worst ‘devils’ under a tree, enjoying a ‘French’ luncheon with Miss Drownder, and, Eric Rowbottom-Smith (Guy Middleton), the school's gardener, and Wilfred Woodley (Arthur Howard), its new fencing master.  Indeed, these are the former inspectors Bird sent to investigate the school.

A plan to kidnap Arab Boy until after the race, concocted by Clarence and his partner, Benny (Sidney James) is unearthed by Florrie. Clarence also learns Crawley is Sgt. Gates. With Faning’s collusion, Arab Boy is taken from his stable to the fourth floor at St. Trinian’s. Discovering what has become of the horse, Millicent orders Maudie (Marigold Russell) and the rest of her conspiring brood to return the pony.  The horse, however, remains within the dorm, leaving Millicent to put up roadblocks as the school prepares for ‘Parent’s Day’. Unable to smuggle Arab Boy back to his paddock, the girls create a diversion with smoke bombs that leave the attending parents flabbergasted by how inefficiently the school is being managed. Nevertheless, the girls manage to ‘sneak’ Arab Boy back to the racetrack where he wins the race – thereupon securing Millicent the necessary funds to pay off her creditors and keep the school open; a plan, chagrined when the dais collapse and Millicent is left to contemplate the theft of the school’s prized trophies.

The role of Millicent Fritton ought to have gone to another beloved of British cinema, Margaret Rutherford, who proved unavailable at the time, and more to Sim’s credit, as he plays the part of the matron as a woolly and very Rutherford-ian old beef in skirts, shawl and girdle – having a whale of a time in the process. The final movie in this collection, School for Scoundrels (1960) is, arguably, the best. Based on Stephen Potter's Gamesmanship book franchise, written throughout the 1950’s, the story here follows the author’s fictional counterpoint, also named Potter (Alastair Sim) who has established a College of Lifemanship in Yeovil for the re-education of young men desiring to succeed in life, whatever the odds and by whatever methods at their disposal. Interestingly, the project was first shown interest state’s side by Cary Grant. Although the main titles only sport credits for producer, Hal E. Chester and ‘writer’, Patricia Moyes, School for Scoundrels was actually co-written by Peter Ustinov and Frank Tarloff. As the original director, Robert Hamer was in the throes of another alcoholic binge at the time the picture went before the cameras he was promptly sacked by Chester, who completed the work himself with an uncredited, Cyril Frankel at his side.

Once again, the focus of the story is not Potter or his school for scoundrels, but rather, the meek and subservient, Henry Palfrey (Ian Carmichael) whose abysmal failures in sport and love lead him to reconsider what his life could be, if only he were more devious than the men who have presently taken advantage of him.  Unbeknownst to his peers, Palfrey enrolls in Potter’s School of Lifemanship and is promptly given object lessons in how to outwit the wicked and seduce and manipulate the innocent. In flashback we discover how Palfrey, having bumped into April Smith (doe-eyed and thoroughly fresh-faced and invigorating Janette Scott) aboard a public bus, suddenly found charming, and simultaneously bewitched by her, has nevertheless gone for the more slippery appeal of fair-weather cad, Raymond Delauney (Terry-Thomas, in a deliciously sniveling/seething, slick and sinister role). Worse, in his efforts to procure a viable means of flashy transportation to squire April, Palfrey has been swindled by used car con-artists, Dunstan (Dennis Price) and Dudley Dorchester (Peter Jones), who sell the not-so-swift Palfrey a known, and very gaudy lemon – the Swiftmobile.  Things are not much better at work. For although he is the boss, Palfrey is mainly disregarded by his staff, comprised of family, who look more affectionately toward senior clerk, Gloatbridge (Edward Chapman) for guidance. Gloatbridge, however, is extremely patronizing towards Palfrey.

Raymond steals the night away from Palfrey who planned to use the romantic surroundings to woo April. Instead, Raymond monopolizes the conversation, then hurries April into his sporty roadster. The next afternoon, he ruthlessly defeats Palfrey in a game of tennis, while casually tossing off pithy retorts that minimize April’s impressions of Palfrey while puffing out his own interests, despite the fact, these too are far from being altruistic. Deflated, though hardly defeated, Palfrey now appeals to Potter to mold his interests into a more viable solution to all of his problems. Indeed, over the next several weeks, Palfrey proves an amiable pupil, leaving Potter to accompany him on his ‘revenge’ scenarios. First stop – the garage where Palfrey was sold the atrocious ‘Swiftmobile’. Dunstan and Dudley marvel at Palfrey’s supposed pleasure at being the car’s owner. Palfrey suggests he was under-charged for the car which, upon closer inspection, not only performs beyond its supposed expectations, but also is considered a priceless ‘collector’s gem’ for which Palfrey hints he has just been offered a king’s ransom by Potter. Convinced of the car’s desirability, Dunstan and Dudley buy back the Swiftmobile, trading it to Palfrey for an Austin-Healey and 100 guineas. Departing in his new car, Palfrey bids the crooks farewell, moments before they realize the Swiftmobile is just as lousy a ride as ever.

Onto work, where Palfrey alters the ledgers to suggest Gloatbridge has incompetently managed the accounts. Shaken by the noted discrepancy, Gloatbridge is profusely contrite, allowing Palfrey to reestablish his authority as ‘boss’. Finally, Palfrey invites Raymond to the country club for a tennis re-match, plying his good nature to a short-cut to pick up April. Instead, he directs Raymond down a tight alley, wrecking the back fin of his sports car by inadvertently slamming it into a brick wall. Upon their arrival to the club, Palfrey plays fast and loose with his serves and volleys, easily winning the match and showing off to April who, as yet, he plans to deflower then dump as recompense for her preferring Raymond over him. After the tennis match, Palfrey shows off his new sports car, offering to drop April home in Raymond’s stead. As Raymond spies Potter quietly observing the whole affair, he now follows Potter, allowing Palfrey and April to return to Palfrey’s apartment. Plying the girl with a slippery glass of gin, guaranteeing she will spill the drink on herself, Palfrey offers April his robe while he washes out her dress, leaving it to dry by the electric fireplace, already too, having conspired to get his landlady to bear witness to a strange girl in his room. Alas, at this juncture, Raymond, with Potter in tow, exposes Palfrey’s little scheme. Rather than being insulted by it, April loves Palfrey even more, and he, having forsaken revenge upon her, now declares his undying love to her instead. As the couple embraces, Potter attempts to explain, by addressing the theater audience; none of this was part of his plan. As the credits begin to roll, we see Raymond getting off the train at Yeovil, heading for Potter’s school to inspire him.

Only 3 of the 4 movies included in Alastair Sim: School for Laughter have been afforded the proper archival preservation and restoration efforts. The black sheep of this lot is Laughter in Paradise. What a shoddy effort it is too. Arguably, the original negatives no longer survive. So, Film Movement is working backwards from a first-generation print master that is in a perilous state of disrepair. Age-related damage is so egregiously represented it positively destroys all hope of one’s viewing enjoyment. We are not referring to a few light speckles and scratches. There are massive tears throughout this presentation, heavy speckling, deep scratches and hugely distracting gate weave and wobble. On top of this, vertical lines run along the right side of the frame for interminable stretches of run time. Contrast is anemic, leaving the overall image, fuzzy, soft and excessively grainy. Long-shots appear almost out of focus. Awful too – the 2.0 soundtrack, sporting a heavily muffled characteristic, further to distort and distract from the audibility of the dialogue. Junk – pure and simple. This disc is a Frisbee!

There is far better news for the remaining 3 movies in this set. For starters, each has been afforded the necessary restoration. So, virtually all of the image issues previously discussed have been eradicated on the remaining 3 movies which fare similarly. Therefore, comments made herein apply to all. The B&W images are refined, with excellent gray scale, good tonality, a slight smattering of film grain looking very indigenous to its source. The image is also beautifully contrasted. The Belles of St. Trinian’s and School for Scoundrels are both represented in 1.85:1 widescreen. Hue and Cry is framed in the traditional Academy ratio – 1.33:1. On all 3, the 2.0 PCM soundtracks has been properly restored and remastered, yielding excellent clarity in dialogue, music and SFX.

Extras are heavily placed on ‘St. Trinian’s’ – clearly considered the crown jewel of this set, although I personally preferred School for Scoundrels to it.  On St. Trinian’s, we get a 19-min. monologue with historian, Geoff Brown – dull, but chocked full of details, 13-mins. with UEA’s Melanie Williams, barely 5-mins. with Alastair Sim’s daughter, Merlith McKendrick, and 12-mins. with De Monfort prof, Steve Chibnall, plus a vintage 17-min. featurette on the ‘girls’ who inspired the cartoon series. School for Scoundrels contains only several noteworthy extras, a 14-min. address from The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw, nearly 11-mins. with Terry-Thomas biographer, Graham McCann, and 12-minutes with Chris Potter – the grandson of Stephen Potter. Laughter in Paradise has virtually NO extras – not even a trailer, while Hue and Cry contains barely 6-minutes, again, with De Monfort’s Steve Chibnall – a very truncated summation of the movie’s importance, followed by a rather pointless 9 min. tour of locations used in the movie, but as they appear today, hosted by historian, Richard Dacre, reduced to the role of a glorified tour guide.  Bottom line: I would have had more respect for this compendium if it had not whetted my appetite falsely as a treasure trove devoted to Alastair Sim. Sim’s most prominent role here is in The Belles of St. Trinian’s. A truer homage to Sim would have also included 1951’s Scrooge (a.k.a A Christmas Carol) and 1954’s An Inspector Calls, both features showcasing Sim in the driver’s seat and exemplars as to why he endures as a beloved among the classic English stars. Alas, Sim is barely visible in at least three of these outings, a mere appendage – nee, supporting player – who undeniably brightens each movie immensely, but does not command the screen in ways that warrant any of the aforementioned movies to be considered as Alastair Sim’s comedies. No, they are Ealing comedies, ably assisted by Alastair Sim’s name, sold as cache – though often, well below the title. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

The Belles of St. Trinian’s – 4

School for Scoundrels – 5+

Laughter in Paradise – 2.5

Hue and Cry – 4

 

VIDEO/AUDIO

The Belles of St. Trinian’s – 4.5

School for Scoundrels – 4

Laughter in Paradise – 1.5

Hue and Cry – 3.5

 

EXTRAS

3.5