age

The youth movement among our political leaders, especially among Democrats, is in full cry. On the whole, this looks to be a positive inflection point in our political leadership, empowering a new generation of leaders advocating needed changes in the government’s relationship with its constituents.

But in some particulars it’s misplaced. As the smoke from the recent party primaries clears, it’s proper to take stock in what we’ve lost, alongside what we may gain from a changing of the guard.

For example, take Rep. John B. Larson (D-Conn.), 78, who was turfed out of his seat in his state’s Aug. 11 primary by his Democratic challenger, former Hartford Mayor Luke Bronin, 47.

Given that Larson is in his 28th year as a member of congress, it sounds reasonable to suggest that it’s his time to go. But that means overlooking Larson’s most important role in the House, as a member of both the majority and (currently) the minority. And that’s his persistent campaign to preserve Social Security — indeed, to enhance it so it serves today’s workers as well or better than it has served Americans since its enactment in 1935.

There doesn’t seem to be much risk that Bronin’s election, which looks likely, will undermine the progressive faction in the House.

Connecticut’s 1st Congressional District, which Larson represents, is perhaps the bluest district in a blue state, and Bronin’s policy positions tick all the appropriate progressive boxes. But it will probably take years for Bronin to acquire the credibility on Social Security that Larson possessed, even assuming that he wishes to do so.

Larson’s instrument has been the Social Security 2100 Act, which he first introduced in 2017. The act has never passed, but in its draft versions it has embodied several principles that remain fundamental to the Democratic approach to Social Security.

Among them: augmenting benefits to the lowest-wage workers; providing coverage to those whose work has been outside the system, such as family caregivers; and raising Social Security taxes on the rich, who have increasingly avoided paying their fair share of the costs of this all-important antipoverty program. More on that in a moment.

Larson’s loss didn’t result from his championing Social Security. The thrust of Bronin’s campaign was almost entirely that Larson had grown too old in the job, and the path should be cleared for new blood (i.e., himself).

Nothing is new about the drive to bring fresh faces and fresh ideas into the political mainstream. Youth movements arise regularly in politics, especially in times of partisan discontent.

George Orwell, whose observations about the politics and mores of his time remain relevant to the present, wrote (in 1932) of the youth movement that erupted in Britain in 1918.

“At that time,” he wrote in “The Road to Wigan Pier,” his classic about class and economics, “there was, among the young, a curious cult of hatred of ‘old men.’ The dominance of ‘old men’ was held to be responsible for every evil known to humanity, and every accepted institution from [Sir Walter] Scott’s novels to the House of Lords was derided merely because ‘old men’ were in favor of it.”

Orwell traced the phenomenon to Britain’s experience in World War I, which he wrote “had been conducted mainly by old men and had been conducted with supreme incompetence. By 1918 everyone under forty was in a bad temper with his elders, and the mood of anti-militarism which followed naturally upon the fighting was extended into a general revolt against orthodoxy and authority.”

Today’s youth movement, which is concentrated among Democrats, has an analogous origin. It’s rooted in distaste for a politics that has impoverished a generation while filling the pockets of the wealthy.

In some cases, the need to usher superannuated politicians out the door is indisputable. A prime specimen was Sen. Dianne Feinstein (D-Cal.), whose mental and physical incapacities became manifest as she neared the end of her life; in 2023 she died in office at 90.

On the other hand, Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-San Francisco), led her Democratic caucus with a firm hand as Speaker until she yielded the gavel in 2023 at age 82, having notched one of the most successful speakerships in history. (She’s not running for reelection this year.)

Joe Biden, whose apparently faltering faculties became a political talking point during his 2024 presidential reelection campaign, when he was 82 and was in the process of returning the U.S. economy to its pre-pandemic strength when he lost to Donald Trump — who at the age of 80 has been systematically dismantling Biden’s economic policies to the disadvantage of middle-class and working Americans.

Meanwhile, has anybody heard recently from Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.), age 84? He hasn’t been seen in public since mid-June. At the moment, he’s regarded as one of those politicians determined to hold on to their seats with what Orwell (him again) described as their “prehensile bottoms.”

As I wrote in 2023, when the age issue was all the rage, “concern-trolling about the advanced age of government leaders hasn’t always been a path to political success.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt cited a “hardening of the judicial arteries” in announcing his 1937 scheme to pack the Supreme Court, which involved shifting the politics of the court to the left by trying to force justices to retire when they reached the age of 70, or adding a justice to the court for every sitting justice who refused. FDR’s plan collapsed after it provoked widespread opposition, the most significant political failure of the New Deal.

That brings us back to the Social Security 2100 Act. The measure, which was introduced in the Senate by Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.), isn’t perfect. In fact it has been revised at least three times, typically to address political wavelets that come and go.

In all versions, over time it would eliminate the cap on payroll taxes, which are currently limited to 12.4% on wage income up to a maximum of $184,500. That’s a maximum tax of $22,878, divided 50/50 between workers and their employers.

Because of the cap, the effective payroll tax rate on someone with income of $1 million falls to about 2.3%; in reality it’s even lower, because unearned income such as capital gains, interest and dividends, which constitute half or more of the income of wealthy households, isn’t taxed at all.

Originally, the bill called for raising the payroll tax rate by one-tenth of a percentage point a year, to an employer/employee combined 14.8% by the 2040. On the other hand, Larson would reduce the income tax on Social Security earnings, returning a bit to middle- and lower-income workers. Social Security’s actuaries calculated that Larson’s bill would ensure the program’s solvency for at least 75 years, but in practical terms into the almost limitless future.

The rate increase was dropped in subsequent versions, but it was supplanted by a 12.4% tax on net investment income for taxpayers with income over $400,000. That would guarantee the system’s solvency into the 2060s, the actuaries calculated.

Social Security’s advocates plainly could see Larson’s defeat coming. The day before the Connecticut primary, three of them published an op-ed calling Larson an “irreplaceable” asset to their cause. “When it comes to fighting for Social Security,” they wrote, “no one has worked harder than Rep. Larson.” They pointed out that the “Social Security 2100 Act earned in the last Congress support from over 90% of House Democrats, representing all corners of the Democratic coalition.”

Bronin hasn’t said anything specific about Social Security, beyond a campaign pledge that he’ll work for “strengthening” the program. I asked his campaign whether he had any details to offer, but didn’t get a reply. Larson, for his part, has reacted to his defeat with a gentlemanly call for all Democrats to come together to defeat Trump.

Unlike Republicans, who have spent decades slandering Social Security as an undeserved “entitlement” and suggesting that it’s responsible for federal budget deficits (impossible, as a matter of law) and sluggish economic growth (untrue, as a matter of fact), Democrats have worked to preserve it, if not always effectively.

In coming Congresses, Republicans will be offering all sorts of nostrums to “save” Social Security. History says that these will aim to impose benefit cuts on workers to protect the rich from higher taxes.

Will the Democrats stand fast against this long GOP campaign? With Larson’s defeat, they’ll be short one leader. Let’s hope the rest of the party keeps the faith.

Growing up in a hiking family with a history along the Appalachian Trail, I became obsessed this summer with 91-year-old Dale “Greybeard” Sanders’ attempt to recapture his record as the oldest person to complete the more than 2,190-mile trek across 14 states. Known as “thru-hikers,” these backpackers walk the entire trail within a 12-month period. Each week, I’d search online for videos showing Greybeard’s journey, a pep in his step or the grueling grind across the miles. The current recordholder, M.J. “Nimblewill Nomad” Eberhart, who knew my parents, achieved this feat at age 83 in 2021, taking the honor from Greybeard, who set a record at age 82 in 2017. I wasn’t surprised to learn the two men were close friends; they even look alike, with their long white beards and sparkling eyes.

But Monday morning this week, with only 142 miles remaining, Greybeard announced he was heading home for rest in Tennessee. He’d spent a night in a Maine hospital due to complications from a fall and then learned his mother-in-law had died. “When it rains unfortunate incidents, it seems to come in buckets,” he wrote in a Facebook post.

These age-defying records and pivots felt personal.

It wasn’t accidental how the Appalachian Trail became my family’s backbone.

When I was about 7, my parents brought my younger siblings and me to Springer Mountain in Georgia, our daypacks filled with cans of Vienna sausages, boxes of raisins, a change of clothes and a sleeping bag.

“If you continue on this trail, you can walk all the way to Maine!” my dad said, pointing northward.

The path felt like a magical forested portal far from coastal Alabama where we lived. As a child, I couldn’t imagine how hiking would shape my parents as they got older: their physical fitness, spiritual connection to nature and access to community — all assets in aging well, according to extensive research. But more importantly, the outdoors would help them, and ultimately me, learn to adapt to change. That’s a survival skill for us all.

With the trail name “Fairhope,” my brother Laurence became the first in our family to complete the Appalachian Trail in 1992, followed by my parents, known as “Annie and the Salesman,” in 1994. Then my sister married a thru-hiker from north Florida.

“Hiking is a walking meditation, a way to carry everything we need,” my mom told me. “We may not leave you much money, but our legacy will be lives of adventure.”

Pursuing a trifecta of long-distance hikes after the Appalachian Trail, my parents completed the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada and nearly half of the Continental Divide Trail when I had my own health crisis. An amniocentesis revealed a serious genetic defect in the chromosomes of the child I was carrying — years before the current extreme restrictions on abortion care. When my parents happened to call from a payphone near the trail, I shared my heartbreaking decision to end the pregnancy.

“We’ll find a way there,” my mom said.

I don’t remember much discussion about abortion when I was younger, and I believe the community of young hikers over many years helped shape my parents’ evolving mindsets on many issues (as well as my mom’s newfound comfort cussing with her Southern drawl).

Somehow they hitchhiked to find a rental car and drove cross-country to Warren Wilson College in western North Carolina, where I still live and teach environmental education. This is a work college where all students hold jobs on campus like farmer, fiber artist and genetics lab tech. Like the trail, it’s a place with steep learning curves.

“Sometimes you have to change course,” my mom said, “when you sense the right path to take.” While she spoke, she held my 3-year-old, who would stay home with my dad while we drove more than five hours to a hospital in Virginia.

More than a month after returning to the Continental Divide Trail, my mom came down with a severe stomach virus, which my father caught a few days later. Much like Greybeard’s pivot, they decided to pause the hike. “The trail will still be here, but mom had a feeling it was time to go home,” my dad said.

Less than a year later in 2003, my mother, 58, was killed in a cycling accident, hit by a teen driver in Fairhope, our hometown. With time and a few trial runs, my dad returned to hike for a month on the Continental Divide Trail without her.

“I was never lonely, but I missed her every day,” he said.

In 2005, wearing a reflective vest and biking on the shoulder of the road, my dad, 64, was hit and killed by another teen driver. At their gravesites, we placed two metal sculptures, the “Final Blaze,” gifts from the Appalachian Trail community, many members of whom came to shovel earth upon the graves.

Since then, I’ve corresponded with Nimblewill Nomad, the record holder and caretaker of a hostel at Flagg Mountain, the start of the Pinhoti Trail in Alabama. There he has dreams to create a community where elders who are hikers can live together in the montane longleaf pine ecosystem.

“Your parents’ heart was years ago divinely placed in trust, in a chest — yours,” he wrote to me years after their deaths.

Now 60, I have outlived my mother, and I’m also surrounded by young people — my two daughters and my students — just as my parents were on their long-distance adventures. My undergrads are rightly fearful about the climate crisis but working in community to find their way. They’ve read the research documenting how the outdoors, including urban green spaces, improves cognition, social connection and physical strength, while decreasing depression and anxiety in all ages, but especially seniors. Nature helps humans adapt to change, and not everyone has proximity to it.

My students also know the Trump administration has cut funding for and even decreased the size of our public lands. They’ve met alums with careers in conservation whose federal jobs no longer exist. And we’re still recovering here from Hurricane Helene, a devastating climate disaster almost two years ago.

But what I know for sure, I tell them, is we must join with others to protect both people and places, even when we don’t know how this path will end. That’s my parents’ legacy to me.

While prepping for classes this week, I checked updates from Greybeard, who was home under the care of his physician for exhaustion after the rugged southern mountains in Maine — but he was cleared to hike again and intended to complete the trail. Regardless of the record-breaking deadline of Sept. 6, he’s adapting to a new “finish plan” and shared this truth for us all: “Together we will conquer this seemingly impossible task.”

Mallory McDuff is the author of several books, including “Our Last Best Act: Planning for the End of Our Lives to Protect the People and Places We Love.” She teaches environmental education at Warren Wilson College.

JON Cypher, the actor who played Prince Charming in the original TV production of Cinderella, has died at the age of 94.

A family announcement said the thespian died at his home in Central Point, Oregon, on August 3.

His wife of 40 years Carol Rosin was by his side.

The cause of death has not been disclosed.

Jon will perhaps be well-known as the ambitious police chief Fletcher Daniels on the long-running Hill Street Blues.

He appeared throughout the acclaimed TV drama.

Jon also had a prominent role as General March Craig on Major Dad.

He, though, had a long list of credits including Dynasty, Knots Landing, Walker, Texas Ranger, Law & Order, As the World Turns, Santa Barbara and JAG.

Jon first appeared on the small screen alongside Julie Andrews in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s live 1957 CBS broadcast of Cinderella.

At the time, Jon was a virtual unknown,

The big-budget production aired live and in color on CBS in March 1957.

It attracted an audience of more than 107million, more than 60 per cent of US households tuning in.

He went on to play Man-At-Arms in the 1987 film Masters of the Universe.

Jon also made regular appearances on Broadway, with credits including Man of La Mancha, The Great White Hope, Big, Coco and 1776.

Dory Funk Jr., a pro wrestling icon and one of three members of the Funk family to be inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, has died at age 85.

Marti Funk, Funk’s wife of 40 years, told Florida’s Ocala Gazette that her husband died Tuesday while in hospice care. No further details were given.

Born on Feb. 3, 1941, in Hammond, Ind., Funk was the oldest of Dory and Dorothy Funk’s two sons. Spending most of his childhood in Amarillo, Texas, Funk grew up admiring his father, a professional wrestler and promoter who once wrestled in Canada as a heel named the Outlaw who hailed from the fictitious location Double Cross Ranch. As wrestlers, Funk and his brother, Terry, often were billed as being from there as well.

“As a kid, I used to dream I could do all the things my father could do,” Funk said during a 2007 interview for World Wrestling Entertainment. “I wanted to be just like him.”

Funk played offensive and defensive line on the West Texas State University football team (now West Texas A&M) from 1959 to 1962 — he was inducted into the university’s athletics Hall of Fame in 1990 — and went straight into professional wrestling. His 50-plus years in the business included stints in a number of associations across the U.S. and Japan.

He was the National Wrestling Alliance heavyweight champion for more than four years uninterrupted (February 1969 to May 24, 1973). In 1986, Funk and his brother joined WWE (then known as WWF) as a team and defeated Tito Santana and Junkyard Dog at WrestleMania 2.

Funk’s involvement in wrestling also expanded into promotion. In addition, he and Marti owned and operated the Funking Conservatory, a wrestling school where he trained a number of future WWE superstars including Kurt Angle, Christian, Edge, the Hardy Boyz, Mark Henry and Mickie James.

“He was such a good guy,” Marti told the Ocala Gazette, “such a good guy!”

The Funk brothers were inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 2009. Dory Funk Sr., who died in 1973 at age 54, was inducted posthumously to the hall’s Legacy Wing in 2025. Terry Funk died in 2023 at age 79.

WWE chief content officer Triple H announced Funk’s death Tuesday afternoon on social media.

“From the Double Cross Ranch to the @WWE Hall of Fame, Dory’s style inspired countless performers in our industry” Triple H wrote. “Whether it was at WrestleMania 2, WCW, ECW, or the dozens of NWA-affiliated promotions, his travels across North America and Asia were a part of the early blueprint that helped build this business into a global phenomena.

“A hard-nosed and fierce competitor, his rugged in-ring style was only eclipsed by the decades he spent training athletes to perform in the squared circle he loved so much. My thoughts and those of the entire @WWE Universe are with his loved ones during this difficult time.”

Mixed martial arts fighter Allan Nascimento has died at the age of 34, says the UFC.

According to MMA’s leading promotion, the Brazilian flyweight was found unresponsive on Monday morning after suffering an apparent heart attack in his sleep.

“Despite the efforts of the responding medical team, he was pronounced deceased at the scene,” added a UFC statement., external

“Our thoughts and deepest condolences are with Allan’s family, friends, team-mates and loved ones during this incredibly difficult time.”

Nascimento had been with the UFC since 2021 and his last fight was a split-decision loss to Mitch Raposo in June.

That left Nascimento with an overall MMA record of 22 wins and seven losses, with a 4-2 record in the UFC.

Former New York Sen. Jacob K. Javits, an apostle of progressive Republicanism for more than three decades and widely regarded in his time as one of the most brilliant people in Congress, died Friday night in West Palm Beach, Fla., after a lengthy illness. He was 81.

Javits, who lost his Senate seat in the conservative tidal wave of 1980, had suffered since 1979 from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a progressive muscle and nerve disorder also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease that reduced him from a human dynamo to a wheelchair-bound invalid.

He died at Good Samaritan Hospital in West Palm Beach after being brought in earlier in the day, a nursing supervisor said.

Javits was remembered Friday night by political colleagues as a tough and courageous fighter who, in President Reagan’s words, “was known for his intellect, for his integrity, for his dedication.”

“Especially in foreign relations–his chief abiding interest–Sen. Javits served our country with tremendous insight and skill, proving a staunch advocate of freedom around the world, and a particular friend of the brave state of Israel,” Reagan said in a statement released by the White House.

“He was a truly great American leader, courageous, committed, compassionate,” Sen. Edward M. Kennedy (D-Mass.) said of his close friend. “To the very end, he taught us with his own inspiring example to care about those less fortunate than ourselves.”

Sen. Patrick J. Leahy (D-Vt.) called Javits “one of the greatest intellects ever to serve in the U.S. Senate.”

“Perhaps his greatest contribution to us was his demonstration of courage in refusing to surrender to his illness,” said New York Gov. Mario M. Cuomo.

Before his illness, Javits usually worked 16 to 18 hours a day after several sets of tennis or a strenuous workout in one of the congressional gyms. When he finally went home at night, he nearly always took a stack of paper work with him.

“Idle time is something he never learned to live with,” John Trubin, Javits’ former law partner, best friend and campaign manager, said of him. “He had an agenda for everything–even relaxation. He wasn’t a guy who could sit around and schmooze (a Yiddish word for idle chatter).”

With his penchant for constant involvement, Javits made himself an expert on practically every major issue before Congress, from civil rights to foreign policy, from high finance to labor relations.

“Just name any important, significant area and Sen. Javits was a leading expert in it,” Sen. William Proxmire (D-Wis.) said.

It was not uncommon for Javits to pop in and out of half a dozen Senate hearings in a single morning, pausing long enough to pepper a witness with a few tough questions after getting a quick briefing from an aide monitoring the proceeding. If television cameras or a lot of reporters were present, Javits lingered a bit longer than otherwise.

Marriage Suffered

Although Javits’ compulsive work style undoubtedly benefited his career, it did not help his married life. He was always sensitive about his marriage because his wife, Marion, refused to live in Washington. Marion Javits, who was 20 years younger than her husband, was interested in the theater and the arts and found Washington “dull.” She and the couple’s three children once briefly tried life in the capital, but it did not work out.

“Javits was at the office from 8 in the morning until 11 at night so she just gave up,” said Patricia Shakow, a Washington lawyer-journalist who worked for Javits for years.

Jacob Koppel Javits was born in a tenement on Manhattan’s Lower East Side on May 18, 1904, one of two sons of impoverished Jewish immigrant parents. He later called his birthplace the “urban counterpart to a log cabin–a janitor’s flat in a tenement.”

His father, who died when Javits was 14, got a basement flat free because he was the janitor. His mother, who was illiterate until she was 55, helped out by peddling household goods from a pushcart. Javits later credited his fondness for public speaking to his days as a youngster helping his mother hawk chinaware.

No Embarrassment

“I never felt the least embarrassment or shyness about getting up in front of a crowd, even a hostile political one,” Javits wrote in his memoirs, published in 1981. “Public speaking is enjoyable for me, often exhilarating–something like the thrill a poet or a painter or a composer gets when his work is well done.”

It was a characteristic remark. Humility was not among Javits’ virtues. Although articulate and a skilled debater, he was no spellbinder as a public speaker. He had a patronizing style of speaking that frequently annoyed his Senate colleagues.

Yet even his critics, of whom there were many, agreed that Javits was a remarkably skilled and innovative legislator who had a talent for compromising diverse viewpoints.

“There isn’t another colleague of ours who has left his imprimatur on more pieces of legislation than Jack Javits,” said Sen. Claiborne Pell (D-R.I.), who served on two committees with Javits.

For his escape from poverty, Javits gave almost total credit to his late brother, Benjamin, 10 years his senior, who financed his own way through law school at night by working as a debt collector. Prodded by his brother, the younger Javits followed the same path.

Bankruptcy Law

After receiving his law degree, Javits joined his brother in the firm of Javits & Javits, which developed a highly lucrative practice specializing in bankruptcy cases. Both brothers eventually became millionaires.

After serving in World War II as a lieutenant colonel in the Army’s chemical warfare service, Javits decided on a political career. That year, 1946, was a good one for Republicans and Javits was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from a normally Democratic district on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

After four House terms, Javits ran for state attorney general in 1954 and defeated one of New York’s most famous political names, Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr., son of the late President. Two years later, Javits ran for the Senate and defeated another big Democratic name, Robert F. Wagner Jr., then mayor of New York City.

In the Senate as in the House, Javits was far out of the mainstream of his conservative party.

But Javits found the Senate the ideal forum to expound on subjects about which he felt passionately–defense of Israel, civil rights and the need of more progressives in the Republican Party.

Javits’ alienation from his party’s conservatives became almost total in 1964 when he refused to support Sen. Barry Goldwater (R-Ariz.) for President. But time mellowed both men and they later became good friends. “One of the nicest things that has happened to me lately is the ripening of my friendship with Barry Goldwater,” Javits said in 1980.

Proudest Moment

Javits’ proudest moment came in 1973 when Congress overrode a veto by President Richard M. Nixon and enacted the War Powers Resolution that for the first time restricted a President’s authority to send U.S. troops into combat without the consent of Congress. Javits initiated the resolution. In 1980, Javits was defeated for renomination to the Senate by Alfonse M. D’Amato, a conservative. Javits subsequently ran in the general election as the Liberal Party candidate, and D’Amato again won.

Javits insisted the defeat wasn’t his biggest disappointment.

“My biggest disappointment was in not having been a candidate for President,” he said in an interview with The Times. “The one thing I didn’t go for was the gold ring, and I think I could have gone for it. It would have been a historic opportunity.” In his memoirs, he seemed more wistful of what might have been had he been reelected.

“After 24 years in the Senate minority, having become the ranking minority member on the Foreign Relations Committee, I was dismissed in the year that my party became the majority in the Senate, when I would have become chairman of the committee–a lifelong dream. I was shown the promised land but was not permitted to enter it.”

Alone and engulfed in the darkness of a Madrid cinema, Javier Bardem watched Martin Scorsese’s 1991 psychological thriller “Cape Fear” after learning he’d be starring in an episodic reimagining of the crime saga for Apple TV — the series finale is now streaming.

He arranged the private screening to symbolically request Robert De Niro’s blessing to play the dangerously charismatic Max Cady, an ex-con parched for revenge against those who had a hand in his imprisonment. De Niro received an Oscar nomination for that role.

“It was my way of honoring the work he did back then and, at the same time, to detach myself from that performance and ask his permission to create my own take,” Bardem tells me in Spanish while sitting at a restaurant inside a Beverly Hills hotel.

His informal getup, a T-shirt and shorts, contrasts with the elegant environment primed for business lunches and ostentatious dinners. He exudes an easy-going air. A quintessential cool dad casually sipping on an iced Diet Coke as he shares anecdotes about his passion for acting.

Bardem, 57, agreed to play Cady because the version of the character that the show’s creator, Nick Antosca, envisioned was not only decidedly distinct from those embodied by De Niro and Robert Mitchum, the latter of whom starred in a 1962 film adaptation, but also tailored to him as a Spanish man.

Had it been a standard remake, Bardem would have passed. Still, like the films, the show also “drinks from the fountain” of John D. MacDonald’s 1957 novel “The Executioners.” What remains intact across all versions of Cady is a devilish sense of humor and a lack of self-importance. In any of his iterations, he has nothing to lose. That makes him lethal.

In “Cape Fear,” Bardem’s Max Cady is distinct from the versions of the character played by Robert De Niro and Robert Mitchum in earlier films.

(Apple)

The cerebral Cady that Bardem inhabits spent nearly two decades in prison convicted for his wife’s murder. When the discovery of new evidence results in Cady’s freedom, his new mission is to torment Anna (Amy Adams) and Tom Bowden (Patrick Wilson), the attorney and prosecutor on his case, who are now married and have two teenaged children.

Cady turns their lives into a trap of paranoia and, indeed, fear, while procuring plausible deniability to avoid consequences. It’s a malicious and relentless barrage of the mind.

“He’s a 2026 Max Cady. It’s a different way of approaching violation of privacy, and the intrusion of the characters’ psyches. The digital world has made everything very different now,” he explains. “We are hyper-aware of what is said and written about us. We are inundated with so much information that, at times, we can’t tell what is true and what is false.”

While in the 1991 film the audience is aware that De Niro’s Cady committed sexual crimes making him “an absolutely despicable character,” Bardem says this new version portrays a complex person who’s suffered at the hands of the American justice system.

“Here we understand that he was imprisoned for something he didn’t do. He may have done other things, but he says, ‘You turned me into this monster.’ It’s true. From that point on, a vengeful and destructive mindset developed,” Bardem says of his Cady.

The final episode shows the public unmasking of Cady, just before he learns he is responsible for his own son’s death. Bardem describes him as a “dying beast” who has lost control of the narrative that he so meticulously orchestrated to rebuild his image.

The character was written to account for the actor’s Spanish accent. This Cady grew up in Spain until he moved to North Carolina at 13 and learned English on the streets. Bardem worked with renowned dialect coach Tim Monich to infuse his speech with a hint of a Southern drawl, aware that his character didn’t have to sound like a native speaker.

“I’m not bilingual,” Bardem says. The statement is somewhat shocking, considering he’s worked in the U.S. for decades in numerous English-language productions.

“Acting in English is easier for me because the dialogue is set,” he says. “But when the time comes to improvise, I find it difficult. That still doesn’t come naturally to me in English.”

The Spanish actor says acting in English is easier for him but that improvising is more challenging.

(Erik Carter / For The Times)

There’s a freedom to working in English since words have less emotional significance, the Oscar-winner believes. “I can be more daring in English. I can say the words or verbalize the thoughts with much less inhibition, because I am not as emotionally attached,” he explains. “But when you speak in your mother tongue, your body tenses up a bit because you think, ‘I understand the full emotional spectrum of what I’m talking about.’ ”

At this stage in his lauded career, Bardem is interested only in roles that explore “contradictions with an underlying humanity.” He’s played one-dimensional parts in the past, but the cost of being away from his loved ones is too high.

The job has to measure up to the trade-off of precious time he’s surrendering.

The “Cape Fear” production structured the schedule for Bardem to work for two weeks followed by five or six days off, allowing him to travel back to his family, which includes his famous and just as in-demand wife, Penélope Cruz, and their two teenaged children, Leo, 15, and Luna, 13.

“Cape Fear” filmed in Atlanta and Savannah, Ga. That’s a long trip back to Spain but manageable and certainly worthwhile, he says. “One of the few things I ask for contractually is time with family, and that has always been respected; Penélope and I have always managed our projects in such a way that one of us is always present for our kids.”

Thanks to his award-winning turn as an unnerving killer in “No Country for Old Man” and the dapper cyberterrorist in “Skyfall,” audiences might associate Bardem with sinister characters (his Cady joins the ranks). And they are satisfying to portray, he says.

“It’s true that characters with that kind of darkness are very attractive to play,” he says. “The villain is always more compelling than the hero. The hero is perfectly upright. A good villain has many cracks, which is what makes him more human.”

Bardem on playing sinister characters like Max Cady: “The villain is always more compelling than the hero. The hero is perfectly upright. A good villain has many cracks, which is what makes him more human.”

(Apple)

In recent years, however, Bardem made a deliberate effort to work on projects that his children could watch, particularly when they were younger, namely the fantasy musical “Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile” and the live-action remake of “The Little Mermaid,” in which he played King Triton.

“I needed my children to see what I do,” he says. “They knew I’d leave home for two weeks and then come back, and I’d tell them about it and show them photos, but they hadn’t been able to watch any of my movies yet because they were geared more toward adults.”

Cruz and Bardem have always encouraged their children’s creative pursuits. It wouldn’t surprise them if they eventually pursue a life in the arts. “I don’t see them becoming scientists or lawyers, which makes sense. I don’t know if they will become ‘nepo babies’ or not, but we are conscious that children always feed on what their parents do,” Bardem says.

Every time either Bardem or Cruz gets an offer for a new role, the couple discuss it and then bring their kids into the conversation. It’s important, Bardem believes, that Leo and Luna know how fulfilling acting is for both of their parents.

“They know we feel immense gratitude for being able to make a living from our passion. And they understand that the way we try to live up to that gift is by doing our absolute best and giving it the full attention it deserves,” he says.

When they were younger, the kids weren’t interested in seeing their parents on screen, but that’s changed. “They have seen ‘The Invite’ three times. They love it. And they’ve watched ‘Volver’ and ‘Bandidas,’” he says. “They’ve watched me in ‘F1,’ and Leo is watching ‘Cape Fear.’ ”

In June, Bardem became part of Hollywood history when his hands and footprints were added to the entrance of TCL Chinese Theatre. The ceremony included directors Michael Mann and Denis Villeneuve and producer Jerry Bruckheimer.

“I missed my mother so much at that moment because there are so many footprints of classic actors and actresses there. I imagine my mother seeing my hands and feet next to Gary Cooper, who was one of the loves of her life,” he says.

In June, Bardem’s hands and footprints were added to the entrance of TCL Chinese Theatre: “I missed my mother so much at that moment because there are so many footprints of classic actors and actresses there.”

(Erik Carter / For The Times)

It felt surreal, Bardem says, to have Mann present at the event. They worked together on “Collateral” over two decades ago. “I was crazy about ‘Miami Vice’ in the ’80s,” Bardem says. The suit he wore in the photo shoot for this piece, he adds, reminded him of that emblematic series and film.

Bardem’s latest collaboration with Villeneuve, “Dune: Part Three” hits theaters in December. He recalls the joy of shooting the film’s opening sequence, a battle where the cast was covered in mud. It reminded him of childhood play. “Denis would laugh and say to me, ‘But why are you laughing?’ And I’d say, ‘This is what I used to do in the schoolyard, but now it’s for real. Now I look to my right, and I have 50 guys under my command,’ ” he says.

“I was lucky enough to shoot some scenes with Timothée [Chalamet]. I saw him playing a Paul who is very different from the Paul in the second film,” Bardem continues. “Years have passed, and Paul is now wielding power and is a victim of that power.”

Outspoken about the ongoing plight of Palestinians, Bardem wishes more people could apply the lessons they mine from fiction they consume to the world in turmoil.

“We root for the rebels in ‘Star Wars’ and want them to defeat Darth Vader, or we side with the Fremen in ‘Dune.’ We always take sides in fiction. Yet, when we witness oppression, abuse and the violation of the most fundamental rights by an oppressor in real life, we seem to struggle to stand with the oppressed,” Bardem explains. “That cannot be.”

Even while attending matches at the recent World Cup, where Spain won the title, the actor advocated for an end to the carnage. A viral video shows him engaging with a Palestinian man at a match. “Existence is resistance,” Bardem tells him. On social media he’s shared images of Lamine Yamal, one of his national team’s stars, waving the Palestinian flag.

“The impunity Israel enjoys regarding these crimes, both legally and in terms of international support, creates a profound sense of powerlessness,” he says.

Bardem admits he’s been asked, whether directly or indirectly, to tone down his vocal support. But he doesn’t fear backlash. On the contrary, he’s never felt more support from everyday people who share his mindset.

“If I’m so privileged to have a good life where I work doing what I love and can provide my family with stability and security, how could I not use that privilege to denounce those things that I think are wrong?”

Jared Leto faces allegations of criminal sexual conduct by several women who allege the sexual incidents with the musician and Oscar-winning actor occurred when he was in his 30s and 40s and they were teenagers.

In a BBC documentary titled “Jared Leto: Hollywood’s Dark Secret,” multiple women spoke about their experiences with the “House of Gucci” star and Thirty Seconds to Mars frontman, detailing allegations of inappropriate text messages, sexual assault and statutory rape from 2002 to 2016. Among the allegations, one woman said she was 17 years old when Leto sexually assaulted her in a motel bathroom. Another woman alleges Leto continued to sexually pursue her in Los Angeles despite knowing she was 17 years old, younger than the age of consent in California.

Leto, in a statement shared with The Times on Wednesday, denied the allegations raised by the BBC documentary: “I have never sexually assaulted anyone in my entire life,” he said. “These claims are absolutely and categorically false.”

Journalist and documentarian Jessica Sartenaer said in the segment published Wednesday that the BBC began its investigation into allegations against Leto after noting an Instagram story from a prominent DJ based in Los Angeles. In a since-expired Instagram story, DJ Allie Teilz, resurfaced a 2012 Facebook post in which she accused Leto of trying to “force himself” onto her backstage at a concert. Teilz captioned her repost: “Jared Leto was a creep then..still a creep now, going on 15+ years of being Hollywood’s most persistent predator,” according to the BBC documentary.

Numerous social media users reportedly responded to Teilz’s posts with their own claims about Leto’s alleged predatory behavior, many noting they were subject to Leto’s misconduct when they were teens. A woman identified as “Etta” told the BBC she was 14 when Leto approached her outside of a modeling agency and invited her to an Oscars party. Etta provided email correspondences to the outlet and said the “Morbius” actor encouraged her to stay in contact via text after the invite. Text messages turned into phone calls and conversations about her modeling career quickly turned sexual, according to the documentary. Leto allegedly asked Etta about her virginity, her kinks and sexual capabilities.

Etta said in the documentary that Leto’s legal team allegedly contacted her and urged her to sign a nondisclosure agreement about her relationship with the actor, though she never did.

The documentary portrays Leto as a celebrity who leveraged his fame to connect with young fans and control them. The woman who alleged she was sexually assaulted by Leto at age 17 in a motel bathroom told the BBC she met Leto in 2002 at a mall in Las Vegas. Leto would have been in his early 30s at the time. He invited her to meet him at a nearby motel. She waited in the room while he stepped into the shower, but he eventually called her over and began kissing her, according to the BBC. The woman, identified as “Isabelle,” accused Leto of forcing her hand to his genitals and using her hand to masturbate. Isabelle pulled away and moved to leave the room, but Leto allegedly looked outside the motel room for any potential bystanders before letting her out, she recalled to the BBC.

The BBC also published allegations by “Clara,” the woman who said Leto knowingly had sex with her when she was 17 — he was 34 at the time — at his house in California. Clara said she connected with Leto after his associate requested her phone number. She and her friend were invited to spend time with the band at the Chateau Marmont in Hollywood, where the age of consent of California became a topic of conversation. Leto, who allegedly shrugged off the conversation, invited Clara and her friend back to his home and told the friend to wait in another room while he had sex with Clara. Clara visited Leto’s home a total of three or four times, according to the BBC. She also alleged that Leto often requested that she call him “daddy” and that she pretend to be a little girl.

Leto in 2013 allegedly invited another woman, named Alex, to his band’s concert at London’s O2 and to an after-party. She was 19 at the time but told Leto she was younger out of a need to protect herself, the BBC reported. Leto allegedly replied: “Age is just a number, and anyway, we’re in Europe.” Alex alleges Leto threatened to sexually assault her in a hotel room later that evening.

The BBC also spoke to men who who worked closely with Leto’s band, Thirty Seconds to Mars. One man said Leto was often texting girls to invite them to spend time with the band. Leto also allegedly asserted control by ignoring the girls he invited and speaking to them rudely. The man also recalled that Leto took one fan, who was dropped off by her parents, “off to the bedroom.” Afterward, she called her parents to pick her up.

Leto has long faced quiet scrutiny for his alleged behavior with women and girls. In 2005 the New York Post published a story accusing the actor of “aggressively pursuing many” teen models. Last year Air Mail published accusations against Leto of impropriety by nine women, though he denied those claims at the time.

Still, the actor-musician has moved on from those allegations seemingly unscathed. Leto, who won his Oscar in 2014 for “Dallas Buyers Club,” most recently appeared in “Masters of the Universe” and is set to tour with his band next year.

Twenty-five years after “Is This It,” the Strokes are as big as they’ve ever been — and not just among old heads eager to relive the wasted glamour of the early-2000s garage rock revival. Go to a Strokes gig these days — they’re playing arenas and headlining festivals like next month’s Just Like Heaven in Pasadena — and you’ll find teens and twentysomethings in the audience; open up Instagram and there’s frontman Julian Casablancas dispensing viral hot takes on the New York City subway. On Spotify, the band’s most-streamed song isn’t the Giuliani-era “Last Nite” but “The Adults Are Talking,” which came out at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic — a feat of cultural endurance unmatched by any of the Strokes’ Gen X or millennial peers.

So what better time to drop a new album full of arcane jokes, baffling vocal affects and light conspiracy theorizing?

The group’s first LP since 2020’s Grammy-winning “The New Abnormal,” “Reality Awaits” is easily the nuttiest entry in the Strokes’ catalog, with a spooky opening track, “Psycho S—,” in which Casablancas, his voice slathered in AutoTune, ushers the listener “past the hall of judging dead into the bed of nightly dread.” (Sexy!) “Falling Out of Love” is a lilting robo-country ballad about dancing alone under acid rain; “Liar’s Remorse” is a voice-and-guitar lament about submitting to artificial intelligence that Casablancas croons for some reason in a terrible Caribbean accent.

Then there’s “Lonely in the Future,” in which Casablancas name-drops John Legend and Josh Groban, appears to ding Harry Styles for cribbing the beat from the Strokes’ “Hard to Explain” and informs Anthony Fantano, the popular internet music critic, that he “would not recognize art in any age.”

Philosophically, “Reality Awaits” feels less like a Strokes album than like a Casablancas solo record or an effort by his other band, the Voidz, which he’s used for the last decade or so as a kind of finsta for his harder-edged sociopolitical musings. “Going Shopping,” the LP’s lead single, casts a condescending eye on anyone insufficiently troubled by what the singer views as the creeping tyranny of a super-rich ruling class: “The worse reality gets, the less you want to hear about it / Solidarity can be difficult when you got cool stuff to lose.” That “Going Shopping” is the album’s jauntiest cut — with a music video that restages Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al,” no less — only sharpens the critique.

Yet every now and then the Strokes, who absolutely ripped at Coachella in April, lock into a groove with the springy precision that’s been the band’s signature since the beginning. “Dine N’ Dash,” “Going to Babble On,” “Lonely in the Future” — it’s pure pleasure to hear the guitars in these songs slashing away over a rhythm section as crisp and nimble as this one. For all they’ve absorbed from their forbears, the Strokes don’t sound like anybody else, even when they seem to be trying to, as in “The Fruits of Conquest,” which suggests early Maroon 5 having a go at the Rolling Stones’ “Miss You.” (Obviously, I mean this as a compliment.)

You can view the indelibility of the Strokes’ style as the reason the band makes so many wacky decisions on “Reality Awaits”; looked at differently, the band is taking advantage of its persistent success to spend a bit of creative capital. Either way, Casablancas doesn’t actually seem worried at all in “Going Shopping” when he voices some anxiety about how long he can continue to matter. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to say,” he sings, “But I’m an old man now — at least that’s what they tell me anyway.”

Last things first: Eve Babitz is a major minor L.A. writer who died five years ago at age 78. She spent nearly a quarter-century as a recluse, having suffered in 1997 a shocking and disfiguring accident while striking a match to light her Tiparillo. Her thin Indian skirt caught fire searing her panty hose into her flesh, leaving her with third-degree burns over more than half her body. She never published again, though many championed her gifts, including me. At the time of her misfortune, I was book editor of the Los Angeles Times. I had long admired her, especially the rollicking and indispensable “Slow Days, Fast Company,” first published in 1977, a charming and insightful series of stories bursting with pluck and sass. I recommended to John Carroll, the then-editor of the paper, that he make her a columnist and urged Babitz to write him directly. She did, and that letter from October 2000 is the last included in “Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were),” a book of letters expertly edited and chosen by Lili Anolik. Babitz tells Carroll that “what the paper needs is some writers that cause such an uproar, people will have to read it in order to stay abreast of the edge.” Babitz knew what she was talking about. She’d been living on that edge since she was a teenager at Hollywood High in the late 1950s.

The posthumous resurrection of Babitz’s writings is most welcome. Yet there is a risk of overpraising her merits. She was an unabashed booster of the glossy L.A. that became synonymous with a rising creative elite whose élan and narcissism she found irresistible.

Lili Anolik makes the case in her perfervid introduction: “The letters are everything you could want” and often “profound” and “frequently brilliant, invariably amusing.” She says they deserve to be put on the short shelf next to Virginia Woolf’s imperishable “A Room of One’s Own” for they are “every bit as candid, every bit as lucid, every bit as brutal, every bit as delicate as Virginia Woolf’s celebrated manifesto.”

If only.

“Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were)” by Eve Babitz

(New York Review Books)

Regrettably, Anolik, who is almost singlehandedly responsible for Babitz’s literary exhumation, has so fallen in love with her subject as to almost blind her to Babitz’s defects, both with respect to her writing and to the life. With two previous books — “Hollywood’s Eve” (2019) and “Didion and Babitz” (2024) — prompted by Anolik’s riveting March 2014 Vanity Fair profile, Anolik has become Babitz’s greatest champion. Now with “Too L.A.,” a title taken from Babitz’s own over-oxygenated writing, she has gathered and edited a trove of letters. They brilliantly reveal Babitz’s eye for the deep shallow as well as explore the porous boundary between the largely self-inflicted injuries of her private life and the glittering sheen of her public persona. Babitz herself, on the strength of these 197 letters, only 30 of which she ever mailed, understood in a way Anolik doesn’t the limitations of her talents, even as she strives to slip the shackles of a mansplaining culture which at almost every turn tried to blunt her ambitions, both artistic and writerly, even as her editors and admirers sought (often with her ardent encouragement) to slip between her sheets.

Eve Babitz was born in 1943 to Hollywood neo-royalty. Her Brooklyn-born father, Sol, was first violinist for both the Los Angeles Philharmonic Symphony and then the 20th Century Fox Studio Orchestra. Sol would ultimately marry Lily Mae Laviolette, a beautiful Cajun Catholic shiksa willing to convert to Judaism. Eve’s godfather was Sol’s good friend Igor Stravinsky. When puberty burst upon her at age 14, Babitz’s blossoming made her a prime candidate for induction by the fast-track girls at Hollywood High who called themselves the Thunderbird Girls and cruised the Sunset Strip in their cool cars, looking for the main chance.

From left, Sol Babitz, Mae Babitz, Mirandi Babitz and author Eve Babitz gather at a launch party for her book “Slow Days, Fast Company” in 1977.

(Photograph by Paul Ruscha; courtesy of Mirandi Babitz / The Huntington Library)

At 20, Babitz posed nude playing chess with the fully clothed Marcel Duchamp to promote Duchamp’s retrospective exhibition at the Pasadena Art Museum. At the time, Babitz was having an affair with the museum’s 32-year-old married director, Walter Hopps, which perhaps explains Babitz’s reluctance to have her face photographed so as not to give the game away to Mrs. Hopps, who attended the opening. A month later, Babitz confides in an (unsent) letter: “Everything’s so fabulous for me now I can’t believe it. There’s nothing like two boyfriends to do it for you every time. There are such fabulous boys around and they take you out on dates and to movies and I feel just like a teenager. (I’m recapturing my lost youth.) I get to get dressed up and I flirt outrageously and put people on and I do things like look soulfully out the window and man it’s just too hoozie for words. … If only all of this could last forever — not that it will, but I can.”

She spent the rest of her life torn between the excitements of everyday life — cruising the hangouts du jour (Barney’s Beanery in the early 1960s where she met many of L.A.’s up-and-coming artists — Ed Kienholz, Billy Al Bengston, Laddie Dill, Peter Alexander, and the Ruscha brothers, Ed and Paul, both of whom she’d bed, Paul becoming an on-again, off-again boyfriend whose bisexuality made for a sometimes tenuous connection; and after seducing Jim Morrison before he became famous and later the Troubadour in the late 1960s which was a happy hunting ground — Steve Martin, Glenn Frey, Don Henley, J.D. Souther, Country Joe Mcdonald, Jackson Browne, to name only a few, and then Ports restaurant where she anchored a corner table) — and the seductions of drugs — uppers, acid (which she seemed to ingest with an alarming frequency), pot, of course, and then by the mid-1970s, tragically, an Everest of cocaine. She had entered what she aptly called the era of “squalid overboogie.”

Eve Babitz and her frequent companion Paul Ruscha celebrate the 1977 release of Babitz’s seminal “Slow Days, Fast Company.”

(Photograph courtesy of Mirandi Babitz / The Huntington Library)

The name-dropping is relentless and if, like me, you have an insatiable appetite for hoovering them up, this volume will not disappoint. Still, there are many pages of vapid jottings — “I cleaned the house, did the laundry, and vowed to quit smoking” — that suggest why Babitz was a failure as a novelist (see her dud “Sex and Rage”) and a superb writer of short stories and essays that stylishly plumbed the depths of her own sensibility precisely in the degree to which she was uninterested in other people.

Nearly 30 years after she stripped to please her married lover and startle the unsuspecting Duchamp, the father of Dada, and eight years after she joined AA in 1982 — the year her beloved father died of Huntington’s disease at age 70 which ultimately would also kill her — and gave up drugs and alcohol and (almost entirely) writing as well, which had always been seen by her as enabled by dope of one kind or another, she boasted that, looking back, “Everybody wanted to be me — they looked at me with yearning faces, and said, ‘Boy, you sure had fun.’ ” She was not entirely wrong. She had struck many admirers both then and now, as the quintessential California girl, a daughter of Dionysus, whose devotion to pleasure was free of misgiving or regret. She detested the East Coast avatars of apocalypse, like Nathanael West, who saw only doom and gloom in sunny L.A. Babitz, by contrast, saw things sunny side up. If Joan Didion was unsettled and made anxious by the hot Santa Anas that regularly kicked up, Babitz luxuriated in them, recalling how she and her sister would as young girls rush to embrace them, spinning madly round and round. In a 1977 unsent letter to Joseph Heller, who had championed her work when she had sent him an unsolicited fan letter after having read “Catch-22” when it was first published and she was barely 20, she declares proudly: “I’m a gossip storyteller who likes L.A. rather than hates it.” She refers to her “shallow nature,” writing that “I feel like an upstream salmon, determined to reach the shallow water, no matter how fast the river is running the other way.”

Eve Babitz, the ultimate Hollywood reveler, on Sunset Boulevard in 1980.

(Los Angeles Times)

On the evidence of these letters, she had two great loves: Ahmet Ertegun, a principal founder of Atlantic Records, and Tom Dowd, renown recording engineer and producer who worked for Ertegun. Of the two, Ertegun had the edge, if for no other reason than he came with buckets of dough, making possible assignations at his regular bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with limo pickup and dropoff services, and the best champagne and other assorted stimulants. Ertegun was effortlessly elegant and erudite, and there was no one he didn’t know and who wouldn’t return his calls. He was married, age 45, 20 years older than Babitz, when they fell for each other in 1969. She began sleeping with him even as she agreed to profile him for Jann Wenner’s newly launched Rolling Stone. The writing didn’t go well. Wenner wanted a tougher piece than she was willing to write. Ultimately, she abandoned the assignment, claiming (not unreasonably) that she didn’t see how she could write objectively about a man she loved.

Babitz courted danger with heedless bravado and exemplary recklessness. She once had the moxie to rid herself of a would-be rapist: When told not to scream, she said with unimaginable sangfroid: “Why not?” The man bolted. It might be said of Babitz, as Oscar Wilde said of his life, that she spent her talent on her writing and reserved her genius for her life. Sculpting her natural gifts of wit and brazenness into a living artwork dazzled all who came within her orbit. Her lust for life was palpable. The letters are proof. She came at people without fear. She left them without apology. She was the boss of herself. She was the girl who seemed to have it all. The only thing she lacked was inexperience.

Wasserman, a former book editor of the Los Angeles Times, is publisher of Heyday Books, a nonprofit, independent publishing house founded in 1974 in Berkeley. He is the author of “Tell Me Something, Tell Me Anything, Even if It’s a Lie: A Memoir in Essays.”

Samantha Morton didn’t mean to start humming during that scene in “The Odyssey,” the scene everyone is talking about, when, as the sorceress Circe, she turns Odysseus’ men into pigs, literally molding them into their true savage selves.

It wasn’t in the script. It just happened. And when Morton was done, she looked over to director Christopher Nolan, waiting for him to say something like, “Maybe try it without the humming, Samantha.”

But Nolan didn’t say anything, so Morton did it again and the music that was swirling inside her head, which she remembers now as a symphony of glass harmoniums and theremin, kept coming out as Circe went about her witchy business, altering her gluttonous guests, who are busy slurping and gulping down her stew.

“These are sounds that can make you go mad, apparently,” Morton, 49, tells me, reclining on her bed at the Hotel Chelsea in New York. “So to transform the men, the magic came not just from my hands but from my sounds.”

Samantha Morton as Circe in “The Odyssey,” directed by Christopher Nolan.

(Melinda Sue Gordon / Universal Pictures)

Morton unabashedly believes in magic. How else, she asks, can you explain how a girl who was shuttled between children’s homes and a dozen foster families, only to be living on the streets of Nottingham, England, at the age of 14 with a criminal record, be here talking with me now, sipping green tea at the Chelsea?

“That’s got to be guardian angels and love — and not that I suddenly became good at acting and got a job,” says Morton, a veteran who’s been at it for 35 years, dazzling audiences and stealing scenes for the likes of Steven Spielberg, Jim Sheridan and, now, Nolan. “I’ve always believed that anything is possible and there’s no doubt in here,” and she pats her heart, “because I’ve always felt this immense love for me from another entity.”

When Morton heard that Nolan wanted to meet her for “The Odyssey,” she says she wept. If that sounds dramatic, she makes no apologies. She likens it to being an athlete who qualifies to represent their country at the Olympics. She’d spent decades honing her craft for that phone call. When it came, she flew to Los Angeles in January 2025 during the wildfires, embarking on what would become the best job interview of her life.

I ask her what she remembers about that meeting.

“I think it went really well,” Morton answers, laughing.

Morton told Nolan she hadn’t read “The Odyssey,” which, when you quit school at the age of 12, makes sense. Flying back home to England — she and her husband live in East Sussex with their children, 18-year-old daughter Edie and 12-year-old son Teddy — she recalled that, yes, she knew a bit of “The Odyssey” from having seen it parodied on an episode of “The Simpsons.” (“We’re ‘Simpsons’ mad in our house,” she says. “Like, mad.”)

But Morton doesn’t believe in bogging herself down in research, not since starring in a British TV production of “Jane Eyre” when she was 19 and carried around a heavily highlighted copy of the Charlotte Brontë book, despairing whenever the adaptation deviated from the novel. From that point on, she stuck to the script and her own imagination.

“That’s got to be guardian angels and love — and not that I suddenly became good at acting and got a job,” says Morton of her career. “I’ve always believed that anything is possible.”

(Ebru Yildiz / For The Times)

Thinking about Circe, Morton recalled going to the library with her dad (“We had nothing and were beyond poor, but he always had a library card,” she says) and finding the Howard Pyle fairy-tale book “King Stork.” She remembers being mesmerized by the story’s wicked witch. She recalls other witches from folk tales like Baba Yaga, frightening characters but also, she says, “women possessing an innocence that had been eroded over the years by the harshness of life.”

Morton does a playful verbal evasion when discussing the nuts-and-bolts aspects of shooting the scene where Circe transforms Odysseus’ men, saying that back in the day when behind-the-scenes features were prevalent on DVDs, she routinely declined to participate.

“I didn’t mean to be tricky, but it was like: This is my private moment. This is for me,” she says. “I do like the idea of a little mystery.”

But then a beat later, she laughs it off and dives in, remembering that her husband showed her an Instagram post from Nolan’s set revealing how the movie’s Cyclops was, in fact, a puppet.

“Oh my gosh — I love puppets!” Morton raves, and off she goes, telling me how much she adores Jim Henson and how “The Dark Crystal” is one of her all-time favorite films.

What she will say about her “Odyssey” scene is that there were no digital effects. Everything was real and “in camera” and that she was so in the zone that she barely remembers any of it, only flashes.

“That’s not CGI,” Morton says. “That’s human brilliance and a connectivity of me as a performer, almost dancing and feeling one. And not to say that it was sexual, but I wanted it to be very sensual when she’s with the men and the animals, just like, you know, that she’s almost one with them.”

“What was lovely about that,” Morton begins and then stops, wondering if she should draw back the curtain on the creative process. She goes ahead. “There was a day on set when Chris was like, ‘OK,’ and he put his hand in because I was a little scared. It’s like that scene in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ where he puts his hand in the thing, and you’re like, ‘Oh no!’ I was a little nervous, but Chris did it first. I think he actually cut his finger.” She giggles. “You know, he’s going to go in first, like getting into the cold water in the sea. I felt protected and supported in that whole process.”

When Odysseus’ men arrive at Circe’s home, hungry, asking to be fed, Circe seems frightened — understandably so. She’s alone, and these soldiers have a history of pillaging and taking what they want. And yet, she’s a powerful sorceress. Is Circe really scared or tricking them to lure them in?

“I played that like she was genuinely frightened because she was caught off-guard,” Morton says. “I also wanted to play somebody that was all ages, so I played her like a 16-year-old girl in that scene. And then in other scenes, I’m playing her as a 90-year-old woman or a 49-year-old woman or a sister or a mother, a grandmother. I just wanted her to be ageless.”

Morton, looking out for Circe, stresses that transforming Odysseus’ men was not purely vengeful.

“It’s not just hate,” she says. “It’s not just harm. It’s not just anger. It’s almost like a Zen master within the goddess role of the teaching as well. ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ gluttony, greed, all of these things.”

There’s a righteous feminist rage underneath the scene as well, a modernization that brings “The Odyssey” fiercely and disturbingly up to date. It’s another reason why people leave are leaving the theater talking about Morton.

“In some weird way, the film lived or died over that character,” says director Nolan of Morton’s Circe, a creation of pure acting and no digital sorcery. “She was the fulcrum.”

(Ebru Yildiz / For The Times)

Nolan thinks “The Odyssey,” in some weird way, “lived or died over that character — she was the fulcrum.” He told The Times that “after one of her takes, the crew gave her a great round of applause.” Emma Thomas, Nolan’s producing partner and wife, later recalled that the last time that had happened was with Heath Ledger on “The Dark Knight.”

Morton makes a point of telling me how much Ledger meant to her, having been cast opposite him (and Odysseus himself, Matt Damon) more than 20 years ago in Terry Gilliam‘s 2005 fantasy adventure “The Brothers Grimm.” Miramax chief Harvey Weinstein overruled Gilliam, dropping Morton from the film because, in his eyes, she wasn’t attractive enough.

“And Heath fought for me with such kindness and compassion,” Morton says. “He’s up there with Philip Seymour Hoffman for me. There’s something otherworldly personal about what they gave, such sincerity and vulnerability and an absolute dedication to craft. They leave a mark on your heart.”

It’s not the first time Morton has invoked the heart in our conversation. She brought her son, Teddy, to New York for the premiere of “The Odyssey” because she wanted to show him the place where her creative spirit was born. Morton first came to New York as a teen to do press for “Emma,” returned a year later to promote “Jane Eyre” and then couldn’t bring herself to leave, “sofa-surfing” at friends’ apartments so she could immerse herself in the city.

“New York stole my heart,” Morton says. It’s where she first got into literature, devouring Charles Bukowski, roaming the aisles at the St. Mark’s Bookshop, checking out movies from Kim’s Video and gobbling hash browns and eggs over easy at the Waverly Diner.

Not long after, Morton scored the role that would land her the first of two Oscar nominations (for now, at least), playing the mute laundress in Woody Allen’s “Sweet and Lowdown.” The production put her up in a Greenwich Village apartment and when it ended, she moved to the East Village.

Only the diner remains but Morton still plans on touring the Village with Teddy, showing off all of mom’s old haunts and, yes, having a cup of soup at the Waverly.

“Life is good right now,” Morton says, smiling. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll indulge in some hash browns.”

SAN FRANCISCO — Every election produces a campaign strategist whose victory bestows upon them, for at least a little while, the unofficial title of reigning political genius.

James Carville, Karl Rove, David Axelrod and Stephen K. Bannon have all worn the crown.

For many years, and many election cycles, California’s reigning political genius was Clint Reilly.

In an age before the internet, before social media, before the cable-TV chat shows and before Carville and the like, Reilly came as close to celebrity as a political operative possibly could. He was the subject of fear, admiration, contempt, envy and lengthy newspaper and magazine treatments.

His cherry-red Jaguar, Italian suits, designer eyewear and seaside mansion made Reilly an influencer before there even was such a thing. (A connoisseur of the finer things, he served visitors coffee in bone china when they called on his San Francisco office.)

“It used to be that political consultants and political mechanics were something that only a handful of people thought about,” said Eric Jaye, one of generations of campaign strategists who were trained or inspired — directly or indirectly — by Reilly. “Clint was the original star consultant who made news himself and shaped the political discussion.”

Reilly, a working-class product of Oakland who crossed the Bay and scaled the heights of San Francisco business, culture and politics, died earlier this month at age 79.

For someone who never held political office — a 1999 bid for San Francisco mayor was a notable flop — Reilly wielded considerable influence.

A list of the many Democrats he helped elect — among them Nancy Pelosi, Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer — reads like a scroll of modern California history. At one time, the sitting mayors of both San Francisco and Los Angeles were clients of Reilly.

He wasn’t flawless as an election strategist. Like any political operative, he had his share of defeats.

Reilly’s particular genius lay in the methodology — vertical integration — he brought to campaigns. Typically, one consultant would handle television advertising, another direct mail, another polling, another big-picture strategy, and so on.

“Everything was in-house with Clint and, at least in San Francisco, he was the first to do that,” said Jerry Roberts, who was a scruffy reporter for the city’s alt-weekly when he met a shaggy-haired Reilly more than 50 years ago. At the time, campaigns were a sideline for Reilly, who supported himself selling doodads and other salvaged wares in a movable flea market he operated on Fisherman’s Wharf.

“It was a smart business model,” said Roberts, who went on to lead two major California newspapers.

It made Reilly very rich.

In 1988, he managed what, at the time, was the most expensive political campaign in California history, a $64-million effort by the insurance industry to beat back a Ralph Nader-inspired reform initiative. Reilly lost, but his firm cleared at least $6 million on that contest alone — or about $17 million in today’s dollars.

“So that’s where our premiums went,” one guest observed with a low whistle as he arrived at the state-of-the art headquarters Reilly built not long after the Proposition 103 campaign. (Naturally, he threw an open house; for all his affluence, Reilly never did entirely shake the proletariat chip on his shoulder.)

A onetime seminarian — he left three years shy of being ordained a Catholic priest — Reilly was no saint.

He was hot-tempered, profane and egotistical. He embraced the nickname “Satan,” which a former client affixed after Reilly went to work for an archrival, as a reflection of his reputation for intimidation and mastery of the political dark arts.

In one fit of pique, Reilly took the unheard step of firing a client — Feinstein — via faxed press release because, he said, the former San Francisco mayor lacked the requisite fire to run for governor. The two eventually reconciled, though Feinstein stuck with members of the team that replaced Reilly and helped guide her to successive terms in the U.S. Senate.

If Reilly was at times overbearing — and known for being the kind of hellacious boss who gave employees night sweats — he was also generous and a genuine bleeding heart.

Before his career took off, Reilly volunteered for the United Farm Workers and lived an ascetic life, sheltering in church halls, as he ministered to the poor. Once he established his high-end consulting firm, Reilly retained his political staffers at no small expense, even during the lull between campaigns, rather than hiring and firing them as seasonal workers, which was the norm.

After leaving professional campaign consulting in the mid-1990s, and making a substantial fortune in real estate, Reilly gave prolifically to various charities and assorted civic caucuses. He started a charitable foundation of his own, Bay Scholars, which helps poor and underserved youth attend Catholic high schools throughout the area.

In 1987, when Reilly arguably resided at the height of his power and influence, he took on Pelosi as a client.

She was running for a rare open congressional seat in San Francisco and, though well known in political circles as a prodigious Democratic fundraiser and high-level activist, Pelosi was a blank slate to many voters. Reilly came up with a slogan that played on Pelosi’s Washington connections and many important friendships: “A voice that will be heard.”

More than that, he made a key tactical decision in the waning days of the campaign.

Pelosi was one of 14 candidates, several of them well-known Democratic officeholders. Ignoring Pelosi’s objections, Reilly sent out a mail piece to the city’s vastly outnumbered Republicans suggesting that a Democrat was bound to win the congressional seat and arguing that Pelosi was the best — or, at least, not the worst — of the bunch.

On election day, Pelosi lost the Democratic vote to Harry Britt, who succeeded Harvey Milk on the Board of Supervisors after Milk’s assassination. Still, Pelosi prevailed, by less than 4,000 votes out of nearly 108,000 cast. The winning margin was her Republican support.

The rest, as they say, is history.

As EastEnders’ king-hearted teen Barney Mitchell lands himself in hot water, let’s take a look inside the life of actor Lewis Bridgeman.

EastEnders has aired shock scenes for the teenagers of Walford this week, and Barney Mitchell could be hiding a very dark secret.

Actor Lewis Bridgeman arrived on the BBC One soap in the summer of 2024, alongside his dad, Teddy (Roland Manookian), and Harry (Elijah Holloway), and drama quickly followed.

It was soon revealed that self-confessed bookworm Barney is the product of an affair between his mum, Nicola (Laura Doddington), and Zack Hudson (James Farrar), leaving both Barney and Teddy devastated by the truth about his paternity.

Sweetheart Barney appears to be an innocent extension of the Mitchell family with a passion for friendship and education, but the schoolboy is now taking center stage, as he may be hiding a sinister side following a violent incident involving Joel Marshall (Max Murray).

In recent episodes of the BBC soap, Joel returned to Walford following a six-month prison sentence for violently attacking his step-mum, Vicki Fowler (Alice Haig), who was determined not to live under the same roof as the tearaway teen.

He soon realised he was not welcome in the Square and planned to leave without saying goodbye to his dad, Ross Marshall (Alex Walkinshaw). However, before Joel left the Square, he was attacked by Walford’s teenagers who tied him to a fence and soaked him in beer while making fun of him.

Lily Slater (Lillia Turner), Avani Nandra-Hart (Aaliyah James), Amy Mitchell (Ellie Dadd), Nugget Gulati (Juhaim Rasul Choudhury), Ricky Branning (Frankie Day), Denzel Danes (Jaden Ladega), and Barney Mitchell (Lewis Bridgeman) later went back to free Joel after Will Mitchell (Freddie Phillips) ordered to let him go.

But when they returned, Joel was found unconscious on the floor with a serious head injury. On Thursday (July 23), the group was sickened by the sight of his body, and the police soon arrived at the scene.

DC Craig Ingram (Matthew James-Bailey) assured the teenagers were not under arrest as their parents gathered at the station, though they were all witnesses to the assault.

The group later gathered in The Arches to get their story straight as Joel received treatment in the hospital, but Barney looked visibly sheepish.

Harry Mitchell (Elijah Holloway) arrived and told them to leave, saying that the garage owner, Phil Mitchell (Steve McFadden), would be furious if he knew they’d used his premises as a meeting point. It then transpired that Barney had taken his spare key.

With everyone gone, Barney asked his brother if he’d found anything. Harry pulled a carrier bag from his coat that contained a hammer and said he needed to know everything. Did Barney attack Joel?

Who plays Barney in EastEnders?

Barney Mitchell is played by actor Lewis Bridgeman. The 19-year-old actor was born in Maldon, Essex, and attended Plume School with aspirations to become a drama teacher or an actor from a young age.

In 2021, Lewis joined the National Youth Theatre, which allowed the soap star to participate in workshops and stage productions and opened up opportunities for professional acting contracts.

The young actor has since appeared in various theatre productions, including The Wind in the Willows and Goodnight, Mister Tom.

Lewis’ talents do not stop at acting, as the soap star is also very intelligent. At the age of 12, he took Mensa International’s acceptance test and passed, indicating an IQ above 132 and placing him in the top 2% of the world’s population.

Lewis has been diagnosed with autism and dyspraxia, and his mother, Jayne Bridgeman, was worried he would struggle at school.

“Lewis has wanted to become an actor since the age of six,” proud mum Jayne told Maldon Standard in 2021.

“He adores everything to do with theatre and film. I’m very proud, I love the theatre, and we geek out together on Star Wars and Marvel things.”

Lewis went on to achieve four grade 9s and studied drama at A-Level whilst attending Chelmsford Drama Centre at weekends.

He landed the role of Barney Mitchell in EastEnders in 2024, with his first scene airing the same summer.

EastEnders airs Monday to Thursday on BBC One and iPlayer

Coronation Street’s Betsy Swain has taken centre stage this week as the ITV soap tackles the silent dangers of non-fatal strangulation in a powerful stroke awareness storyline

Coronation Street’s Betsy Swain is currently part of a hard-hitting storyline.

The hit ITV soap is tackling the silent dangers of non-fatal strangulation in a powerful stroke awareness storyline. Only recently, Ryan Connor discovered an unconscious Betsy, where she was rushed to hospital.

Doctors confirmed that she had suffered a stroke caused by a blood clot which was the result of neck artery damage from a temporary loss of circulation.

Once stabilised having suffered a second stroke, an embarrassed and vulnerable Betsy eventually managed to reveal that her boyfriend Dylan Wilson strangled her during consensual sex, despite both believing the pressure applied was minimal.

In the coming months, viewers will witness Betsy’s challenging recovery journeys as she transitions from hospital to home, navigating significant life changes. With Betsy taking centre stage, soap watchers are keen to learn more about actress Sydney Martin’s life from her real age to her normal job before Corrie fame…

Real age

Sydney shot to fame when she joined the ITV soap as Betsy, daughter of fan favourite DS Lisa Swain, played by Vicky Myers.

In the soap, Betsy’s age is 18 with the character having been born in September 2007, meaning she will turn 19 later this year. However, in real life, actress Sydney is in fact 24.

Back in October, Sydney celebrated her birthday, sharing a post on her Instagram revealing she was 24. Reacting to Sydney’s real age, soap fans were left floored at the time.

On a Coronation Street Facebook fan page, one person said: “Happy 24th birthday to Sydney Martin who plays Betsy Swain!“

Someone else declared: “Never knew she was 24!” A third chimed in and quipped: “I need a moment! She’s 24 What?!” Echoing their thoughts, another person penned: “Def looks younger doesn’t she.”

Normal job before Corrie fame

Before landing her Coronation Street role, Sydney was working at supermarket Tesco and immediately handed her notice in after getting the life-changing call.

Previously talking to The Sun, Sydney recalled how she was watching the film Pitch Perfect 3 with flatmates in Manchester when she got the call to say she had won the role of Betsy.

The actress told the publication: “I just ran to the corner of the flat to answer the phone. I said, ‘It’s going to be a no, so keep watching the film’, and then my agent said, ‘Go hand in your notice’.

“I was doing six days at Tesco, so it’s quite the career change. My flatmate picked me up and we just cried. We didn’t finish Pitch Perfect. I could not have asked for a ­better first opportunity.

“My parents are my biggest fans. They are over the moon. I had my first picture in a magazine recently and they bought ten copies.”

Sydney admitted that she had previously auditioned for two smaller roles before landing Betsy and it was a two-month process before getting the job.

Coronation Street continues on weekdays at 8:30pm on ITV and ITVX.

Inductees into the National Baseball Hall of Fame by definition have plenty of marvelous memories when reflecting on the career accomplishments that led them to Cooperstown.

Bumps in the road were inevitable as well.

One big bump for Jeff Kent and Andruw Jones came with the Dodgers in 2008, Kent’s last of 17 MLB seasons and Jones’ first following 12 years with the Atlanta Braves.

Suffice to say neither will enter the Hall of Fame wearing a Dodgers cap.

Kent signed with the Dodgers ahead of the 2005 season fresh off a National League Championship Series Game 7 loss with the Houston Astros. Already recognized as perhaps the top power-hitting second baseman of all-time, he yearned for a championship ring to make his career complete.

Jones, a center fielder from the Caribbean island of Curaçao, signed a two-year, $36-million contract with the Dodgers at age 31 only three years removed from leading the National League with 51 home runs and 128 runs batted in. Already the winner of 10 Gold Gloves, he also was chasing a title after losing twice in the Fall Classic.

“It’s one of those things where we didn’t sign to make the Hall of Fame, we played this game because we love it and because we wanted to win championships,” Jones said Friday.

The Dodgers had high expectations in 2008. Joe Torre, with four World Series championships as manager of the New York Yankees on his resume, was in his first year in L.A. The roster was a blend of accomplished veterans (Nomar Garciaparra, Greg Maddux, Derek Lowe and midseason pickup Manny Ramirez) and budding stars (Matt Kemp, Russell Martin, Andre Ethier, James Loney and midseason call-up Clayton Kershaw).

Kent was the resident no-nonsense, old-school veteran whose bat remained potent at age 40. Near the end of the previous season he had gone public with his frustrations about the approach of some of the young players.

“A lot of kids in here, they don’t understand that … you hate to waste an opportunity, even if it’s one and even if it’s your first time,” he said at the time. “It’s hard to get them to understand that because they haven’t been there.”

By spring training in what he acknowledged would be his final season, Kent had gotten over it and was ready for a last try.

“So much is made of the idea that we should be hugging, that we should all go out to dinner, but more important is the translation of talent and knowledge, with the older guys showing what they know and the younger ones asking for it,” he said.

Jones was expected to lock down center field and provide leadership. But a poor start and a midseason knee injury torpedoed his performance. He batted .158 with three home runs and 14 RBIs in 75 games and suffered torn cartilage in his right knee that required surgery and landed him on the disabled list for the first time in his career.

Kent, as always, was consistent at the plate, batting .280, but he also sustained a knee injury that required arthroscopic surgery and sidelined him for all of September.

In what could have been a legit postseason opportunity, Jones did not play and Kent came off the bench to go 0 for 9 during an NLDS sweep of the Cubs and five-game loss to the Phillies in the NLCS.

Kent will wear a Giants cap into Cooperstown. His six seasons playing alongside Barry Bonds vaulted him into the conversation as the best-hitting second baseman of all-time. He drove in more than 100 runs eight times, was NL MVP in 2000 and finished his career with 55.4 wins above replacement (WAR).

In a video call with reporters Wednesday, Kent made it clear that his heart belongs not to San Francisco or L.A., but to Austin, Texas, where he lives on a ranch.

“I’m a boring guy,” he said. “I chase grandkids and chase cows and ride motorcycles. When I retired I kind of went into my hole in Austin and I like living in my hole.”

Jones will don a Braves cap. He made his debut at 19 in 1996 and hit 25 or more home runs in 10 consecutive seasons beginning in 1998, finishing his career with 434 homers and 62.7 WAR.

“When I came [to Atlanta] at the young age of 19, they welcomed me in,” he said. “I never moved from here. I made Atlanta my home.”

The Hall of Fame induction ceremony takes place Sunday, July 26 at 10:30 a.m. PDT. Outfielder Carlos Beltrán will be inducted along with Kent and Jones.

“It’s a bigger emotional deal than I ever thought it would be, absolutely,” Kent said. “I still tear up talking about it.”

Added Jones: “Thinking that this kid from Curaçao who came here chasing a dream, gets a chance to play a sport he loves and ends up in Cooperstown, is wild.”

July 16 (Asia Today) — The South Korean government is considering lowering the maximum age for exemption from criminal punishment from 14 to 13 for juveniles who commit violent, serious or repeated offenses.

The debate intensified after President Lee Jae-myung ordered officials Tuesday to reconsider an initial proposal that would lower the age by only one year and apply the change to limited categories of crimes.

Lee questioned whether the proposed change was substantial enough during a Cabinet meeting.

Under South Korean law, children younger than 14 cannot be held criminally responsible. Those ages 10 through 13 who commit offenses may instead receive protective measures under the Juvenile Act.

The Ministry of Gender Equality and Family presented the Cabinet with the results of a public consultation on the issue. It proposed making some 13-year-old offenders eligible for criminal punishment when they commit particularly serious or repeated crimes.

Cabinet members, however, raised concerns that applying different ages of criminal responsibility depending on the type of offense could create legal problems.

The minimum age of criminal responsibility has remained unchanged since South Korea enacted its Criminal Act in 1953.

A deliberative survey of 212 citizens showed that 46.7% supported lowering the age only for violent, serious or repeated offenses while 30.2% favored lowering it for all offenses.

Among participants who supported a reduction, 55.8% favored lowering the threshold by one year.

The government is expected to conduct a second public consultation to determine whether the change should apply only to specified offenses or to all crimes. The process also will consider whether the current threshold should be lowered from younger than 14 to younger than 13 or younger than 12.

The Ministry of Justice is expected to lead the second consultation because the proposal requires a detailed legal review.

Officials will need to determine which offenses qualify as violent or serious and whether applying different criminal responsibility standards according to the offense would conflict with the purpose of the juvenile justice system.

The second consultation could begin this month and conclude within one or two months.

The government said it would gather additional public input before reaching a final decision.

The Ministry of Gender Equality and Family also plans to pursue revisions to the Criminal Act and Juvenile Act while considering the creation of an interagency committee focused on preventing juvenile delinquency.

Officials said the government would strengthen post-offense management and rehabilitation programs designed to reduce repeat offenses regardless of whether the age threshold is lowered.

— Reported by Asia Today; translated by UPI

© Asia Today. Unauthorized reproduction or redistribution prohibited.

Original Korean report: https://www.asiatoday.co.kr/kn/view.php?key=20260716010006327

While every World Cup introduces viewers to new young stars, this tournament featured eight players who were older than 40 — one more than the number of over-40 players in the previous 22 World Cups combined.

Among them were Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo, 41, and Mexico’s Memo Ochoa, 40, who were playing in their sixth World Cups alongside Argentina’s Lionel Messi, a relative youngster at 39. No one has played in more men’s World Cups.

But while Ronaldo and Ochoa have gone home, Messi will be playing in his third semifinal in four tournaments Wednesday when Argentina, the reigning champion, faces England at Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta.

The newfound longevity of elite soccer players has been made possible by advances in sports medicine, diet and analytics that measure everything from biomechanics and heart rate to muscular output and sleep cycles, all in real time. And injuries that once ended careers can now be repaired through outpatient procedures.

Argentina star Lionel Messi holds his jersey up and celebrates with teammates after a World Cup quarterfinal win over Switzerland on Saturday in Kansas City, Mo.

(David Ramos / Getty Images)

“Over the past 10, 20 years, the sports science within the game has changed a lot,” said Liam Anderson, an exercise physiologist at the University of Birmingham in England, who has worked as an applied practitioner in top-flight professional soccer for more than a decade.

“Players are now definitely more aware of their bodies and I think the professionalism has changed quite a lot as well. But they’re also in tune with the things which are helping them recover, manage their training load and ultimately stay fitter and healthier for longer.”

Gone are the days when chain-smoking Dutch legend Johan Cruyff would light up a cigarette on the bench, French world champion Zinedine Zidane would smoke in the locker room and George Best would party and drink so hard he would disappear for days at a time.

“There’s a couple of reasons,” Dr. Michael Joyner, a specialist in the physiology of elite athletes at the Mayo Clinic, said of the growing lifespan of soccer players. “The first is that people just make a lot more money and as a result, there’s tremendous incentive to keep playing. The second is people are taking much better care of themselves.”

“You just don’t hear about people like George Best anymore,” said Joyner, speaking for himself and not the clinic where he works.

“Diet is huge,” Anderson added. “High-protein diets and fueling with carbohydrates for matches. Nutritional strategies have changed considerably in the last 10-15 years.”

And those diets are tailored by position since a midfielder, who may run more than seven miles in a match, burns more calories than a goalkeeper.

As the eldest player in Major League Soccer, Diego Chara has had to make some concessions to age.

“It’s a little detailed,” said Chara, a midfielder with the Portland Timbers. “Talking about recovery time, it maybe takes a little bit longer than before. Nutrition. Working in the gym, it’ll be longer than other players.”

But if Chara, 40, is an old man in a league where the average age is younger than 26, he would have been something of whippersnapper in this summer’s World Cup.

The Portland Timbers’ Diego Chará passes the ball under pressure from the Columbus Crew’s Wessam Abou Ali on Feb. 21in Portland, Ore.

(Amanda Loman / Associated Press)

Soccer isn’t the only sport in which 40 is the new 30.

Serena Williams returned to Wimbledon this summer at age 44 and at least half a dozen athletes 40 and older showed up at the Milan-Cortina Olympics last February hoping to medal. Four of them succeeded, including American Elana Meyers Taylor, 41, who became the oldest athlete to win an individual gold in Winter Olympics history in the women’s monobob.

It isn’t unheard of for athletes to be golden in their golden years. Ted Williams hit .316 at 41 and Gordie Howe played 80 games and had 41 points in his final NHL season at 52. Nolan Ryan threw a no-hitter and pitched 173 innings at 44 while Tom Brady quarterbacked the Tampa Bay Bucs to a Super Bowl title at 43.

But if those age-defying performances were outliers, playing into your mid-40s and even early 50s may soon become, if not common, at least less unusual.

“People are just staying in better shape, taking care of themselves,” Joyner said. “Career-changing or career-ending injuries are no longer career-ending injuries. It just goes on and on, all of this stuff combined.”

American Serena Williams, 44, serves against Australian Maya Joint during a match at Wimbledon on June 30.

(Cameron Spencer / Getty Images)

State-of-the-art training centers and access to top-line sports medicine have also become more accessible, even in poor countries.

“The elite level has spread and really become global, as opposed to where there used to be pockets,” Joyner said. “The opportunities to compete are so great.”

Few team sports are as physically demanding as soccer, though, which makes both the growing number of seasoned citizens and their performances noteworthy. Messi has averaged nearly a game a week for club and country during the past 23 years, yet he entered the semifinals of this tournament tied for the scoring lead with France’s Kylian Mbappé, who is 12 years younger.

Ronaldo has played even more games yet he became the oldest player to score in a World Cup knockout game when his penalty kick helped eliminate Croatia and midfielder Luka Modric, who will be 41 in less than two months.

“They’ve probably lost a little bit off the top, but their experience and their mind make up for that,” said Scott Trappe, a professor of human bioenergetics at Ball State. “So the overall package of them as a sports person is really they’re contributing at a high level. I think we’re going to continue to see this movement.

Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo celebrates scoring a World Cup group stage goal against Uzbekistan on June 23 in Houston.

(Charlotte Wilson / Getty Images)

“They like playing the sport and as long as they can and contribute and they make these teams, they’re going to do it. I don’t see the trend going away.”

And that will not only change the way we think of sports and athletes, it will completely rewrite the record book. Messi, for instance, entered the semifinals of this World Cup as the tournament’s all-time leading scorer with 21 goals. But that was just one ahead of Mbappé, who could appear in another three or four World Cups.

“No question,” Trappe said. “You look what’s going on in pro cycling. We’ve got some guys in their upper 30s competing in the Tour de France, but we also have a teenager competing. So this lifespan, what used to be a five- to eight-year period for cycling at the at the highest levels is turning out to be, you know, double or triple that.”

Both Messi and Ronaldo have benefited from how they play as well, walking rather running for long stretches of the game to conserve energy for the burst they need to lose a defender. It’s a strategy Mbappé, Norway’s Erling Haaland and other young players have adopted and if they do that over enough games, the wear and tear it saves could add years to the end of their careers.

“We are expanding. The age will start moving up a little bit further up and players’ careers will definitely be longer,” Anderson said. “The sort of normal distribution of playing age will begin to move forward and that experience within the squad will be key.’

Argentina’s Lionel Messi dribbles the ball during the World Cup quarterfinal match against Switzerland on Saturday in Kansas City, Mo.

(Charlie Riedel / Ap Photo/charlie Riedel)

Consider Wednesday’s semifinalists. In its quarterfinal win, Argentina used six players older than 32 and two — Messi and defender Nicolas Otamendi — who are over 38. The spine of England’s team runs from goalkeeper Jordan Pickford through defender John Stones to striker Harry Kane, who are all 32.

“We’re coming up with new ways on how to improve and maximizing potential,” Anderson said. “God gave us what we are and it’s maximizing that, not necessarily changing that.”

That knowledge won’t stay in the stadiums and locker rooms for long, expanding to others who choose to adopt the same wellness discipline as professional athletes.

“It cycles down,” Trappe said. “We’re studying that in the lab at a pretty high level. This sort of healthy lifestyle in terms of functionality and extending into our later years and having a higher quality life, there’s data starting to emerge there.

“These types of things are going to trickle into that for sure.”

Jack White stepped in when Charley Crockett accidentally hired, then fired, a satanic doo-wop duo. Happens to everyone, right?

The outlaw country singer apparently thought the husband-and-wife duo known as Twin Temple were like Black Sabbath when he invited them to open two shows for him this week, a July 14 date in Troutdale, Ore., and another on July 18 in Paso Robles. With songs including “Satan’s a Woman,” “Lucifer, My Love,” “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” and “Burn Your Bible,” it’s anyone’s guess how Crockett missed the duo’s shtick.

“Today we were informed that Charley Crockett has decided to remove Twin Temple from his upcoming shows next week due to our Satanic imagery,” the musicians wrote on Instagram last week.

“Unfortunately, that means we will not be able to perform for you next week as planned. We are really disappointed as we were looking forward to getting back out and seeing you, and also what it meant as far as bringing different types of people and music lovers together. We are sorry to everyone who was planning to see us.

“We’re grateful for your support, not only of Twin Temple, but more importantly of artistic freedom. HAIL SATAN! 93/93”

Crockett, who dropped his 16th studio album, “Age of the Ram,” in April, posted his own since-deleted message on social media, writing, “Hail Satan? Not me Jack.”

Twin Temple, composed of married couple Alexandra and Zachary James, weren’t out of work for long. White, the former White Stripes frontman, who happened to be kicking off a world tour in support of his new album, “Frozen Charlotte,” caught wind of the debacle and stepped in.

“Twin Temple, Would you like to open my show in L.A. on September 29th at the Hollywood Palladium? Let me know,” White posted on Friday, adding, “Get in front of me Satan!”

The duo was quick to accept, commenting on White’s invite, “Unholy hell…. Sir Jack, you have no idea what this means to us. Lifelong fans- dead leaves on the dirty ground was one of the first songs I (Alex) ever learned on guitar. We were actually planning on coming to this show. It would be a most infernal pleasure to play the devils music with you.”

On Tuesday, Twin Temple announced their third record, “Doomed Lovers,” produced by Shooter Jennings (who also produced Crockett’s “Age of the Ram” and other recent albums). The album will drop Oct. 9 via their own Pentagrammaton Records. The duo told Rolling Stone on Tuesday that they were sad about the turn of events with Crockett but confirmed that their swanky Satan-loving doo-wop isn’t a sham.

“Satan’s the original outlaw, right? He’s a rebel angel,” Alexandra told the outlet. “He’s the one who questioned authority, fought for himself, refused to bow down or conform, and was like non serviam. That was a metaphor that resonated very strongly with me.”

She added, “It’s really fun to go shopping for a human skull and a Ronettes record in the same day, and we get to do that with our band.”

While Twin Temple has been booking shows and working on the album announcement, Crockett has continued to post about the drama from the road. “Well, now I know how it feels when they try to cancel you on the right AND the left,” he wrote on Facebook on Monday. “The thing is, I never subscribed. America can be a One Eyed Jack, but I’ve seen your other side.”

Emmerdale star Shebz Miah arrived in the village in 2025. Here’s everything you need to know about the actor.

Shebz Miah’s real age recently left Emmerdale fans surprised, as they thought the actor was much younger.

In March 2025, actor Shebz arrived in the village as Kammy Hadiq and caused a stir by stealing a quad bike from Moira Dingle’s (Natalie J Robb) land, with Ross Barton (Mike Parr) being blamed for the theft.

This incident introduced Kammy as a bad boy, and he soon caught Sarah Sugden’s (Katie Hill) attention when she found him struggling to start the stolen vehicle by the roadside.

Kammy was soon caught up in a love triangle with Sarah and Jacob Gallagher (Joe-Warren Plant) as both men tried to win her over. As fans know, Sarah and Jacob rekindled their romance, and have since gotten married and are surrogate parents to baby Leyla.

Meanwhile, Kammy caught the affection of close pal Vinny Dingle (Bradley Johnson), whom he had to gently let down, but revealed his true caring and loyal nature following Vinny’s violent attack.

In a devastating twist, Kammy recently confessed to being homeless, a revelation that left viewers in tears. He was living in a barn and explained that his family estrangement was directly linked to the difficult path his life had taken after tragedy struck in his family years ago.

“My dad died. Unexpected,” he told Belle. “I took it really bad, I didn’t look after my mum how I should have done”. Struggling to cope with his grief, Kammy started mixing with the wrong crowd and became involved in stealing cars.

This led Cain Dingle (Jeff Hordley) to welcome the mechanic into the family as his romance with Belle (Eden Taylor-Draper) blossomed.

Taking to Instagram earlier this year, Shebz, from Bradford in West Yorkshire, shared snippets for his time on the ITV soap so far and wrote: “One year bringing Kammy to life. Grateful for the journey, the incredible people behind the scenes, and everyone who’s welcomed the character into their homes…We’re only just getting started… “

Before his stint in the Dales, eagle-eyed fans might recognise Shebz from his cameo in a 2024 episode of Casualty, where he portrayed Noor Din, and from popping up in Doctors in 2023 as Reece Shaw.

How old is Shebz Miah?

Shebz recently celebrated his 29th birthday, which left fans ‘floored’ as they assumed he was much younger. One fan wrote on Facebook: “Happy 29th birthday to Shebz, who plays Kammy”, as another replied: “29!!! I’m shocked.”

A third chimed in: “I thought he was about 20!!”, as another echoed the sentiment: “Happy birthday, I thought he was only 20 years old, he doesn’t look 29.”

“I didn’t think he was 29, he doesn’t look it. Happy birthday,” exclaimed one person as another simply asked, “29?”

Soap star Shabz tends to keep his private life away from the spotlight and has yet to confirm a romance off-screen.

Emmerdale airs weekdays on ITV and ITVX

TAMERA Mowry fans couldn’t believe the star’s real age as she took to social media to mark her birthday.  

She and twin sister Tia are 90s sitcom icons after starring in the series Sister, Sister – which aired on Nickelodeon in the UK from 1994 until 1999. 

Today Tamera shared a clip on TikTok revealing the women are celebrating their 48th birthday, and fans refused to believe it. 

The clip showed her being presented with a cake decorated with ‘3’ and ‘8’ candles, before someone off camera switched the first for a ‘4’. 

After jokingly running away from the cake, Tamera stopped and pulled the candles from the cake before holding them up and smiling at the camera. 

She wrote: “We spend so much time running from our age. Well, this year, I’m dancing with it. 48 and grateful, because every year is a gift not everyone gets to unwrap.”

BACK AT IT!

Tia Mowry, 47, is dating hunky teacher Javon’e Armada, 35, after divorce

TWISTED SISTERS

Tia Mowry breaks silence on long-rumored feud with twin Tamera

Rushing to comment, one fan wrote: “Why did I think she’s actually 38? She looks amazing.”

Another said: “There is no way they’re 48!!!”

Someone else wrote: “Oh baby you look 28.”

And a fourth added: “Excuse me, 48? You don’t look a day over 20.”

It comes after Tia spoke out following long-running rumours of a feud between the two sisters.

Confirming there are issues between them, she told Entertainment Tonight: “Yes, there’s distance.

“But when something is important to you… you will make time for it.

“We’ve made a pact with each other that we’ll reach out once per week, and that’s on Sundays.”