40 Amazing Photos of Kurt Russell as Elvis Presley on the Set of “Elvis” (1979)

Kurt Russell’s portrayal of Elvis Presley in the 1979 TV movie Elvis was a significant turning point in his career, marking his first collaboration with director John Carpenter. The film aired on ABC and was so successful it was later released as a theatrical feature outside the U.S.

To inhabit the King, Russell didn’t just rely on the iconic jumpsuits; he underwent a rigorous process to capture Presley’s essence only two years after the singer’s death. Russell spent months studying Elvis’s speaking patterns and stage movements, though his singing was dubbed by country artist Ronnie McDowell. Legendary costume designer Miller Drake painstakingly recreated Elvis’s stage wear, while Russell gained weight and used prosthetics to mirror the different eras of Elvis’s life.

The Carpenter-Russell duo birthed one of cinema’s most productive partnerships. Carpenter, coming off the success of Halloween, brought a moody, cinematic feel to the standard TV biopic. Russell’s father, Bing Russell, actually played Vernon Presley (Elvis’s father) in the 1979 production, adding a layer of real-world family dynamic to the performance. In a strange twist of fate, Russell’s film debut as a child was in the 1963 film It Happened at the World’s Fair, where he famously kicked the real Elvis Presley in the shin. Despite its near three-hour runtime, the film was shot in just 30 days.

Elvis was a massive ratings success, even beating Gone with the Wind and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in the Nielsens on its premiere night. It earned Russell an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Lead Actor. The film is widely considered one of the best Elvis portrayals ever put to screen, and it helped transform Kurt Russell’s image from a Disney child actor into a serious dramatic performer. It laid the groundwork for his iconic collaborations with John Carpenter, including Escape from New York (1981) and The Thing (1982).

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Jean-Louis Guégan: Capturing the Golden Age of French Couture

Jean Louis Guégan was a prominent French fashion photographer who defined the visual style of the 1960s and ’70s. Best known for his extensive work with L’Officiel de la Couture, he captured the era’s most iconic designs, from Yves Saint Laurent’s pop-art raincoats to Pierre Cardin’s avant-garde "Space Age" aesthetic.

Throughout his career, Guégan collaborated with legendary houses like Chanel and Emanuel Ungaro, while also photographing major stars such as Sophia Loren. His photography remains a vital record of the evolution of French haute couture.

Slow down for a moment and enjoy the delicate beauty of Jean-Louis Guégan’s world in these glamorous photos below.

Model in two-piece wool dress with blouson top over straight skirt by Pierre Cardin, photo by Jean Louis Guégan, 1964

Model in silk evening gown, the bodice embroidered in sequins with mink trimmed sleeves by Yves Saint Laurent, coiffure by Alexandre, jewelry by Boucheron, photo by Jean Louis Guégan, 1964

Model wearing a Hindu-inspired necklace of pearls, emeralds, rubies and diamonds by Cartier, gold lighter and cigarette holder also by Cartier, photo by Jean Louis Guégan, 1964

Tamara Nyman in double-breasted Opal EMBA mink jacket by Maurice Kotler, jewelry by Boucheron, photo by Jean Louis Guégan, 1964

Christa Fiedler (l) and model in chiffon cocktail dresses with collars and cuffs banded in sequins and pailettes by Pierre Cardin, photo by Jean Louis Guégan, 1965

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Candid Photographs of Eric Clapton and Pattie Boyd During the 1970s

During the 1970s, the relationship between Eric Clapton and Pattie Boyd shifted from a desperate, unrequited obsession into a high-profile marriage. This decade-long journey, which saw them eventually wed in March 1979, became one of the most legendary sagas in rock history.

In the late 1960s, Clapton was one of Harrison’s best friends and became deeply enamored with Boyd. In 1970, he professed his love to her directly, but although her relationship with Harrison was becoming strained, she chose to remain with the Beatle. Clapton invited Boyd to an apartment in South Kensington, claiming he had a new song for her to hear. When she arrived, he played her the recording of “Layla” two or three times, watching her face intently the whole time. Boyd reportedly thought, “God, everyone’s going to know it's about me.”

Among the documents that later came to light is a love letter Clapton wrote to Boyd in 1970, when she was still married to Harrison. Signed mysteriously only “E,” Boyd initially thought it was from a “weird fan” and even showed it to Harrison. Boyd’s rejection of Clapton inspired him to write “Layla” and other love songs for Derek and the Dominos’ classic album Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. Clapton also descended into heroin addiction during this period.

By the early 1970s, the Harrison–Boyd marriage was falling apart. Both had affairs, and hard drugs and alcohol were increasingly prevalent in their lives. They agreed to split in 1974 and divorced three years later in 1977. After Clapton cleaned up from heroin addiction, he and Boyd began a romance around 1974, with Harrison’s blessing. Within weeks of her divorce from George being finalized, Pattie began a formal relationship with Clapton. That same period saw Clapton write his classic 1977 love song “Wonderful Tonight” about Pattie, composed while she was getting ready to attend Paul and Linda McCartney’s annual Buddy Holly party.

On March 27, 1979, Clapton and Boyd were married at Temple Bethel in Tucson, Arizona, the day before Clapton was scheduled to launch a U.S. tour. Only 40 guests attended the ceremony. George Harrison, remarkably, gave his blessing — his reaction to the news being the now-famous line: “I’d rather she was with him than some dope.” Harrison even lovingly referred to himself as their “husband-in-law” at their wedding reception.

Their relationship was turbulent from the start, with Clapton's spiraling alcoholism creating serious issues throughout its duration, and eventually pulling Boyd into a period of alcohol dependency as well.  The marriage ended in 1989.

Boyd later reflected that she suspected Clapton’s pursuit of her “had more to do” with the competitive aspect of his friendship with Harrison, believing that “Eric just wanted what George had.” Despite everything, Rolling Stone referred to Boyd as a “legendary rock muse,” and the Boyd–Clapton–Harrison love triangle has been described as “one of the most mythical romantic entanglements in rock ‘n’ roll history.”

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On February 3, 1947: The Lowest Temperature Ever Officially Recorded in Canada Was −63°C (−81.4°F) at Snag, Yukon

On February 3, 1947, the village of Snag, Yukon, set the record for the lowest official temperature ever recorded in Canada (and all of North America). The mercury dropped to a bone-chilling -63°C (−81.4°F). To give you an idea of how extreme that is, it is roughly the average surface temperature on Mars.

The alcohol in the standard thermometer dropped so low it fell off the scale. The weather observer, Gordon Toole, had to scratch a mark on the glass with a file so the instrument could be sent to a lab in Toronto for precise calibration.

Because the air was so dense and still, sounds carried over incredible distances. People at the Snag airport could clearly hear dogs barking in a village over 6 kilometers (nearly 4 miles) away. Exhaled breath didn’t just puff into a cloud; it supposedly made a “hissing” or “tinkling” sound as it froze instantly and fell to the ground as a fine white powder. People walking outside left “human contrails,” long streaks of frozen breath that would hang in the air for several minutes before dissipating.

The weather station at Snag operated from 1943 to 1966, and the record has never been broken. The name “Snag” itself comes from the Klondike gold rush era, when boats navigating the silty waters nearby would occasionally be punctured by submerged tree trunks.

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30 Vintage Photos Capture People Posing With Their Simca Cars

During the mid-20th century, Simca represented more than just French engineering, it was a symbol of newfound freedom and the burgeoning middle-class dream. Whether it was the stylish Aronde, the compact 1000, or the sporty 1200S, these cars were often treated as cherished members of the family.

In these candid captures, the proud smiles of owners leaning against polished chrome fenders tell a story of a simpler time, an era where a weekend drive was an event and a Simca was the perfect companion for the scenic routes of Europe. These vintage photos are not just about cars, they are a beautiful record of human connection, style, and the joyous spirit of the open road.

A middle-aged couple posing with a Simca 8 by the side of a road on a sunny day in spring. The car is registered in the French département of Charente, April 11, 1940

A lady in a double-breasted dress posing with a Simca 8 on the edge of a tree-lined road in summertime, circa 1940s

Three cheerful young ladies posing in a bi-colored Simca-Fiat 11 CV Cabriolet in front of a flat-roofed building, possibly in French Algeria, circa 1936

A lady wearing a black fur-collared coat and an extravagant hat posing with a Simca 5 on a bleak winter's day. The car is registered in the French département of Marne, circa 1938

A middle-aged fellow in a suit and tie posing at a picnic table in the countryside. The Simca 5 is registered in the French département of Rhône, circa 1938

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Portraits of Ndugu M’Hali, a Young Enslaved African Who Was the Personal Servant of Sir Henry Morton Stanley

Ndugu M’Hali (c. 1865 – March 28, 1877), widely known as Kalulu, was an enslaved African boy who became the close companion, servant, and adopted son of the famous Victorian explorer Henry Morton Stanley. Despite his short life, he traveled across three continents and became a minor celebrity in the Western world before his tragic death at age 12.

M’Hali was born around 1865 in what is now Tanzania. As a young child, he was captured during a slave raid and sold in a market in Tabora. In 1871, the famous explorer Henry Morton Stanley “purchased” him (though Stanley later framed this as “freeing” him). Stanley gave the boy the name Kalulu, which means “young antelope” in the Swahili language, because of his perceived speed and grace.

Stanley grew deeply attached to Kalulu, though the relationship was inherently one of unequal power. Stanley took the boy back to Europe and America, treating him as a protégé, a valet, and a living symbol of his “civilizing” missions. Kalulu accompanied Stanley to London, New York, and Paris. He sat for professional portraits in expensive Victorian suits and attended prestigious dinners.

Stanley even wrote a fictionalized adventure book titled My Kalulu, Prince, King and Slave: A Story of Central Africa (1873), which turned the boy into a household name in England. For a brief period, Stanley enrolled Kalulu in a school in Wandsworth, London, hoping he would eventually return to Africa as a colonial intermediary.

In 1874, Kalulu joined Stanley on the Trans-Africa Expedition, a massive and brutal journey to map the Congo River.

On March 28, 1877, tragedy struck at the Livingstone Falls. Kalulu was in one of the canoes that was swept over a massive waterfall. He and five other crew members drowned. Stanley was devastated by the loss and renamed that specific stretch of water Kalulu Falls in his honor.

Historians view Kalulu’s life through a more critical lens today. While Stanley described their bond as one of father and son, modern analysis highlights the colonial exploitation at play. Kalulu was a child who was uprooted from his culture, renamed, and used as a prop for Stanley’s public image, only to die in his early teens serving the very man who “owned” him.

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Photos of Thérèse of Lisieux Dressed Up as Joan of Arc, ca. 1895

Thérèse of Lisieux (1873–1897), in religion Therese of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face, was a French Discalced Carmelite who is widely venerated in modern times. She is popularly known in English as the Little Flower of Jesus, or simply the Little Flower, and in French as la petite Thérèse (‘Little Therese’).

When reading accounts of the patriotic deeds of French heroines, especially Joan of Arc, Thérèse felt a great desire to imitate them. She sensed within herself the same burning zeal, and it was through this admiration that God helped her understand that her own glory would consist in becoming a great saint. This was no passing fancy. Thérèse wrote plays and poems about Joan of Arc, relating especially to Joan’s time in prison as Thérèse herself suffered from the illness that would eventually take her life.

Thérèse produced her first play for the Carmelite community on January 21, 1894: “The Mission of Joan of Arc, or The Shepherdess of Domremy Listening to Her Voices.” She then wrote a second, longer and more ambitious work: “Joan of Arc Accomplishing Her Mission,” presented for the prioress’s feast day on January 21, 1895. This longer play was greeted with general enthusiasm.

Sometime between January 21 and March 25, 1895, Thérèse’s sister Céline photographed her five times dressed as Joan of Arc in the courtyard of the sacristy, next to a small polychrome wooden statue known as Our Lady of Providence. Thérèse wore a brown wig over her Carmelite toque and a gold-paper costume over part of her habit.

This is where the story takes a deeply sad turn.

A man writing under the name Leo Taxil published a series of autobiographies featuring supposed Freemason conversions to Catholicism. The most popular featured a character named Diana Vaughan, whose fictional conversion was said to have been inspired by Joan of Arc. Diana’s story became wildly popular and even made its way inside the Carmel walls.

Thérèse, moved by “Diana’s” story, sent her a retouched copy of one of the Joan of Arc photographs, the image of herself as Joan and her sister Céline as Saint Catherine. But Diana Vaughan was a hoax. She did not exist. Leo Taxil, a con man, had invented her to ridicule the Church.

In April 1897, Taxil called a press conference before an audience of around 400 people and revealed that he himself was “Diana Vaughan.” The entire thing had been a ruse to demonstrate the gullibility of French Catholics. His prop that evening was a giant projected image of the photograph of Thérèse, used as a symbol of the naive religious person. Thérèse was dying of tuberculosis at the time. She would pass away just months later, in September 1897, likely aware of the humiliation.

And yet, the story doesn’t end in mockery. That same photograph, used to ridicule a dying nun, has since become one of the most beloved images in Catholic history. It hangs in homes, schools, and chapels around the world. The “naive religious person” Taxil sought to lampoon was canonized in 1925 and declared a Doctor of the Church in 1997.

Both Joan of Arc and Thérèse of Lisieux are now saints, the young warrior and the little flower, forever linked by devotion, suffering, and an unlikely photograph taken in a convent courtyard in the winter of 1895.