empire

No one goes to Cannes expecting to be frightened by a film about a long-dead British writer. Unless, of course, that writer is George Orwell.

When Raoul Peck’s documentary “Orwell: 2+2=5” premiered at the festival in May, the crowd reacted with the startled tension of a horror screening — gasps, murmurs, a few cries — before finally breaking into thunderous applause.

What they saw on screen felt both familiar and terrifyingly current. Peck builds the film entirely from Orwell’s words, delivered in a low, steady burn by actor Damian Lewis (“Billions”), repositioning the dying author of “Nineteen Eighty-Four” in his final tubercular days on the Scottish Isle of Jura, into today’s world. His vision of power, propaganda and language as a weapon meets a barrage of torn-from-the-news imagery: refugees adrift on boats, authoritarian leaders twisting the truth, AI hallucinations blurring what’s left of reality. The film, to be released nationwide on Friday by Neon, plays less like a documentary than a séance in which Orwell’s ghost watches his own warnings play out: urgent, relentless, immersive as a nightmare.

Peck says the Cannes reception didn’t surprise him.

“I knew it would touch a nerve,” Peck, 72, says over Zoom from New York. His calm, French-accented voice — he’s based in Paris but travels frequently — carries the quiet fatigue of someone who’s spent decades watching history repeat itself. “It’s not just a problem of the U.S. — it’s everywhere. We have all sorts of bullies and there’s no reliable sheriff in town. Even the most powerful institutions are on shaky ground. I knew the film would either break people or energize them. If you’re a normal citizen, a normal human being, you must ask yourself questions when you come out of it.”

There are no talking heads in Peck’s film, no experts spelling out the relevance of an author who died in 1950. Instead, he draws from the writer’s letters and diaries, as well as the longer-form works like the barnyard political allegory “Animal Farm” and the dystopian novel “Nineteen Eighty-Four.” He also weaves in fragments from past screen adaptations of Orwell’s titles, including the 1954 animated “Animal Farm” and Michael Radford’s stark, desaturated adaptation of “Nineteen Eighty-Four” starring John Hurt, cross-cutting them with current images of drone wars, surveillance and algorithmic control.

A scene from the documentary “Orwell: 2+2=5.”

(Velvet Film)

“Raoul has been unbelievably thorough,” says narrator Lewis via Zoom from his home in London, where he regularly rides his bike past one of Orwell’s former residences. “The film is dense in the best way, thick with ideas and images. You come out of it feeling like you’ve been through something important.”

Lewis, who delivers Orwell’s words with a steely intensity that builds toward alarm, says his warnings have only grown more urgent.

“I read recently that about 37% of countries in the world are now categorized as not free,” he adds. “That’s getting dangerously close to half the planet. What Raoul’s film captures — and what Orwell saw so clearly — is how authoritarian ideas don’t arrive overnight. They creep up on us, little by little, as words like ‘democracy’ get redefined to mean whatever those in power want them to mean.”

Peck’s filmmaking has long blurred the line between art and activism. Born in Haiti, he fled with his family from François Duvalier’s dictatorship in 1961 and grew up in what was then the Republic of the Congo (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo), where his father worked for the United Nations. After studying engineering and economics in Berlin, he returned home to serve as Haiti’s minister of culture in the 1990s. His breakthrough, the Oscar-nominated 2016 film “I Am Not Your Negro,” channeled James Baldwin’s words to examine race and power in America and the country’s uneasy reckoning with its past. He continued that exploration in HBO’s “Exterminate All the Brutes” (2021), tracing the myths of empire and white supremacy that shape the modern world.

“If I can’t mix politics and art, I probably wouldn’t make a project,” Peck says. “That’s what Orwell himself said — ‘Animal Farm’ was the first time he was really trying to link politics with art. And that’s what I’ve been trying to do all my life as a filmmaker.”

Few writers have been more quoted — or misquoted — than Orwell. Decades after coining ideas such as Newspeak (state-controlled language) and doublethink (the ability to hold two contradictory beliefs at once), he’s been claimed by every side: Fear-mongering politicians cite him, pundits weaponize him, partisans wield “Orwellian” as shorthand for whatever offends them most. Even President Trump recently praised Orwell in the same breath as Shakespeare and Dickens at a state banquet at Windsor Castle.

Asked what Orwell would make of that, Peck gives a small, mirthless laugh.

“He would probably faintly smile,” he says. “Because that’s exactly what he wrote about — how thought corrupts language and language corrupts thought. We’re living doublespeak now in an exponential way, the bully using the words of justice and peace while bombing people at the same moment. It’s so absurd. That’s why I feel so close to him. Coming from Haiti, I learned very early that what politicians were saying never matched my reality.”

George Orwell, author of “1984” and “Animal Farm,” whose warnings about power and language echo through the timely documentary “Orwell: 2+2=5.”

(Associated Press)

Peck came to the project warily. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch Orwell,” he admits. “Where I come from, Orwell had been turned into a kind of Cold War mascot.” Raised under Mobutu Sese Seko’s U.S.-backed regime in what became Zaire and later educated in America and Europe, he was keenly aware of how Orwell’s legacy had been co-opted, from the CIA’s funding of the 1954 animated “Animal Farm” to the deployment of his books as Cold War propaganda.

“That was not something that interested me,” Peck says. “I grew up deconstructing everything I was getting from the West, including Hollywood movies.”

Then came a call from his friend, Oscar-winning documentary filmmaker and producer Alex Gibney (“Taxi to the Dark Side”), who was involved with a project that had secured the rights to Orwell’s complete body of work and wanted Peck to direct it.

“How could I say no?” he recalls. “For a filmmaker like me, who loves to dig deep into someone’s mind and work, it was an incredible gift.”

What Peck found wasn’t a prophet or a symbol but a man full of contradictions: a writer wrestling with class, illness and empire, trying to fuse politics and art before his own time ran out. That realization deepened when he came across a photograph of Orwell as a baby in the arms of his Burmese nanny, a white child of the British Empire cradled by the colonized woman charged with his care. Born into what he called the “lower-upper-middle class,” Orwell gradually recognized his own complicity in the system he opposed and came to despise his role as a kind of middle manager in the machinery of oppression.

“His own biography — born in India, sent to Burma as a young soldier, doing what he did there and being ashamed of it — drew him closer to my own experience,” Peck says. “We were from the same world. We saw the same things.”

To embody Orwell, Peck turned to Lewis, also known for “Band of Brothers” and “Homeland.”

“I knew I was telling a story, not making a traditional documentary,” Peck says. “So I needed a great British actor, someone with real stage experience. I knew Damian could bring the presence I wanted — to be Orwell, not imitate him. That was the main direction I gave him: to work from the interior.”

“If we don’t bring rules around AI very rapidly, we won’t be able to put the paste back in the tube,” says filmmaker Raoul Peck. “AI is an instrument and should stay an instrument. That means we’re using it. It’s not using us.”

(Justin Jun Lee / For The Times)

Lewis, who had previously voiced Orwell for the international Talking Statues project — an app that lets passersby scan a QR code to hear historical figures “speak” — approached the feature-length performance with similar restraint.

“His language, the rhythm of his prose, dictates the rhythm of delivery,” he says. “Raoul was very clear that it should sound intimate and conversational, not overly formal. That’s what we tried to aim for — something direct, specific, detailed and personal.”

Much of “Orwell: 2+2=5” unfolds like a fever dream, Orwell’s words colliding with scenes from the present, including bombed-out streets in Gaza and Ukraine. “There were too many conflicts to include,” Peck says. “So I had to find the connections — what repeats, how bodies are treated, how power behaves.”

In one of the film’s most charged moments, Peck turns Orwell’s warning about political language into a montage of modern euphemisms: “peacekeeping operations,” “collateral damage,” “illegals” — and then, pointedly, “antisemitism 2024.” He knows the inclusion is provocative but says that’s the point: to show how words can be twisted or emptied of meaning, including in debates over Israel’s war in Gaza.

“Every word is precise,” Peck says. “I don’t say the Jews, I don’t say Israel, I say the Israeli administration. But even then, there’s a reflex — you can’t touch this.”

At Cannes, that moment drew applause. One of Peck’s closest friends — a Jewish writer who, he notes, agrees with him on nearly everything politically — told him later that while she was deeply moved by the film, she’d felt a jolt of fear as the audience clapped.

“We talked about it,” Peck says. “In France today, you can’t touch that term. And for me, that’s the beginning of the end — when you can’t speak your mind.”

He recalls being in New York after 9/11, unable to voice unease about the flag-waving and rush to war. “I cried like everybody else,” he says. “But when, after five days, you’re asked to wave a flag, that’s using your humanity for war. The point is the same — to shut down conversation.”

Peck carries Orwell’s warning into the digital present. The writer’s words play against AI-generated images and voices, echoes of the future he once imagined.

“He wrote about it without knowing it would be called AI,” Peck says. “He said someday you’d be able to write whole books and newspapers with artificial intelligence — exactly what’s happening now.”

For Peck, the technology is the next front in the battle over truth and power. In his film, every AI-generated sound, image and piece of music is clearly labeled with onscreen text.

“There should be transparency about that,” he says. “If we don’t bring rules around AI very rapidly, we won’t be able to put the paste back in the tube. Profit is the only guideline right now — nobody’s controlling its impact, not on energy, not on children, not on schools. AI is an instrument and should stay an instrument. That means we’re using it. It’s not using us.”

Even as “Orwell: 2+2=5” reaches theaters, Peck is already working on two new documentaries, including one about the 2021 assassination of Haitian President Jovenel Moïse.

“It’s an incredible geopolitical mess,” he says. “Every day I discover more. I need to go back to fiction for a while — documentaries are exhausting. But I can’t complain. I wish everyone could be as passionate about their work as I am.”

For all its darkness, Peck insists on leaving a sliver of light. He points to Orwell’s line in “Nineteen Eighty-Four”: “If there is hope, it lies in the proles.”

“The civil society is always the one who saved the day — the civilians, the students, the churches, the alliances,” he says. “Like the civil rights movement. Blacks, Jews, whites, churches, everybody sat down around the table and decided to have a strategy. And unfortunately, that’s the only thing we have. It’s long and it’s hard, but that door is still open. It’s us, individually and collectively, who have to make that choice.”

What keeps him going, he says, isn’t optimism so much as duty.

“If I lived completely engulfed in my own bubble, I’d probably be desperate,” he says. “What keeps me grounded is that I still have friends in Congo. I still work with Haiti every day. I talk with journalists who risk their lives in Gaza. So I can’t afford to look at those people and say, ‘I’m tired.’ They’re still doing the work.”

He pauses, his voice tightening. “People laugh at the latest stupidity from the president, as if it’s funny,” he says. “But that’s a dictatorship coming. He’s attacking every institution — newspapers, academia, justice, business. It’s the same playbook. They change the laws first, because most people would rather obey the law than say ‘No, two plus two equals four.’ That’s what authoritarian leaders count on.”

He sits quietly for a moment. “People are waiting for miracles,” he says finally. “But there are no miracles.”

TV chef Jamie Oliver raked in £28.5million last year as he continued to bounce back from his restaurant chain collapse.

Jamie Oliver Holdings’ bumper 2024 income came from TV shows, book sales and restaurants.

It also covered his cookery school and fees for promoting Tesco.

Jamie’s Italian chain collapsed in 2018, with debts of £83million.

But he now has international brands and a restaurant in Covent Garden, central London.

Revenues were up from £27.1million in 2023, Companies House files show.

But profits took a slight dip to £4.6million last year, from £5.2million.

The chef and his wife Jools, both 50, received dividends of £3million.

A report said: “The principal drivers of this decrease in profitability were reduced revenue from the effects of the cyclical nature of long term partnerships contracts, partially offset by savings in central staff costs (excluding Owned and Operated sites)

“We have delivered new Jamie Oliver titles in both book and TV formats during the year and there has been continued strong performance from back catalogue book titles and our international television content distributor.

“The Board recognises that the Jamie Oliver brand is a key asset of the Group and is confident that the night controls are in place to protect its value.”

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NICOLE Kidman and Keith Urban’s lawyers have a big job ahead of them in splitting the couple’s mammoth property empire after their bombshell split.

Nicole, 58, and Keith, 57, have called it quits after 19 years of marriage, with the Babygirl actress filing divorce papers on Tuesday, September 30.

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The couple, who share two daughters, have reportedly been living separately since the beginning of summer.

Just days ago, Nicole was seen still wearing her wedding ring and in good spirits at Cle de Peau’s event in Los Angeles as she appeared as their new brand ambassador.

The pair will have to spend time dividing their assets after almost two decades of marriage.

They mainly resided with their daughters, Sunday Rose, 17, and Faith Margaret, 14, in Tennessee.

Nicole is also mom to Isabella and Connor, whom she adopted during her marriage with her ex-husband, Tom Cruise.

The couple has spent millions on a property portfolio now worth more than $250million, according to online real estate sites.

Their main 20-room mansion is located just outside of Nashville and was purchased in 2008 for $4.89 million, two years after they tied the knot.

They married on June 25, 2006, at Cardinal Cerretti Memorial Chapel, located on the grounds of St. Patrick’s Estate in Manly, a suburb of Sydney, Australia. 

MILLION-DOLLAR LISTINGS

The lavish abode has seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms, along with a fully-equipped gym, a large tennis court, and a swimming pool, which were installed by the couple.

During the same year, Nicole and Keith also snapped up a Beverly Hills home for $6.77 million that has five bedrooms and five bathrooms.

The estate was built in the 1960s and sits on a 1.25-acre lot with celebrity neighbors Adele and Jennifer Lawrence in the desired neighborhood.

Listings show it has a flat-top roof, a pool, and a second-floor wraparound deck. 

They also bought their Australian farmhouse in 2008 for $6.5million, called Bunya Hill, which is located in the Southern Highlands village of Sutton Forrest.

The 45-hectare black Angus cattle farm features a large Georgian-style house built in 1878.

The home has sandstone verandas, a cedar staircase, and 10 marble fireplaces.

It sits on a private hilltop and includes a guest cottage.

The property has been updated with a swimming pool, tennis court, and gym.

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Two years after buying their main properties, the couple splashed out $13.53 million for a Manhattan duplex in the upscale Chelsea neighborhood.

It’s located in a stainless-steel tower and includes three bedrooms, a “double-height great room with a cathedral ceiling,” and two terraces with views of the Hudson River.

One of its most appealing qualities is its private “sky garage” with an elevator for apartment-level parking.

They also reportedly own two penthouses that were combined in the Latitude Building in Sydney’s Milsons Point. 

The first was bought for almost $6 million in 2009, while the second was around $7 million in 2012.

They also snapped up four more apartments in the same building.  

Last year, they also bought yet another residence in the same complex for $7.7million.

In 2020, they added to their New York portfolio after snapping up a two-bedroom apartment in Tribeca for $3.5 million.

According to the New York Post, there are three separate entrances into the building for added privacy.

The residence offers a 75-foot indoor lap pool, rooftop gardens, and a 2,200-square-foot fitness center.

Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban’s Relationship Timeline

Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban have been one of Hollywood’s ‘It

January 2005 – Nicole and Keith were introduced by actor Geoffrey Rush during the G’Day LA gala ball.

February 2006 – The couple made their public debut as an item at the 48th Annual Grammy Awards.

May 2006 – Keith’s publicist revealed that he and Nicole were “very happily engaged.”

June 2006 – The twosome tied the knot at a chapel in Manly, Australia, surrounded by many famous guests.

October 2006 – Keith checked himself into rehab for drug and alcohol issues at the urging of his new wife.

December 2006 – Model Amanda Wyatt claimed that Keith had cheated on Nicole with her multiple times, leading up to their nuptials.

In January 2008 – Nicole’s rep revealed that she and Keith were expecting their first child together.

July 2008 – Keith and Nicole welcomed their first child, a daughter named Sunday Rose.

December 2010 – The duo introduced their second child, Faith Margaret, to the world, whom they welcomed via surrogate.

July 2015 – Nicole confessed to Vogue that she’d wished she’d met Keith earlier in life, so that they could’ve had more children together.

June 2016 – Keith opened up to Rolling Stone about how Nicole helped him get sober by insisting that he go to rehab a decade earlier.

October 2018 – Nicole gushed about her simple, quiet life in Nashville with Keith, and said that was the secret to their happy marriage.

June 2021 – Keith shared a sweet Instagram post, commemorating his and Nicole’s 15th wedding anniversary.

July 2024 – Keith, Nicole, and their daughters were seen enjoying the Gymnastics Women’s Team Final at the Paris Olympics.

April 2025 – Nicole referred to Keith as her “deep, deep love” during an interview with People, and said she was “lucky” to have the musician.

September 2025 – TMZ announced that Nicole and Keith had separated and were no longer living together.

There’s also a wine cellar with its own private dining room.

Since the couple’s split, their two children have been in Nicole’s care, and she is “holding the family together through this difficult time since Keith has been gone,” according to reports.

It is currently still unknown what led to the pair’s separation.

Sources claim that Nicole was “blindsided,” as she had been desperate to save their marriage, one of the longest in Hollywood.

Insiders also said that “Keith has acquired his own residence in Nashville and has moved out of their family home,” although this has not yet been confirmed.

The U.S. Sun has reached out to Nicole and Keith’s reps for comment but did not hear back.

Both Nicole and Keith grew up in Australia, but did not meet until 2005 at a gala.

Keith swooned over his wife in an interview with CBS News in 2016.

Nicole told Ellen DeGeneres in 2017: “I had such a crush on him, and he wasn’t interested in me.

“It’s true! He didn’t call me for four months.”

The actress has spent a considerable amount of time filming in England recently, which may have put strain on their relationship.

She has been shooting scenes for the Practical Magic sequel and reportedly shelled out $87,288 a month to stay at Boy George’s luxurious mansion – without Keith.

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Two days after solidifying control of his family’s empire, Fox Corp. Chief Executive Lachlan Murdoch touted the strength and newfound stability of their media business.

Murdoch spoke briefly Wednesday at the Goldman Sachs Communacopia + Technology Conference, a fireside chat cut short because of Murdoch’s late arrival in San Francisco thanks to a weather delay. Instead of speaking for about 40 minutes, Murdoch appeared for just about 10 minutes.

The session followed this week’s $3.3-billion settlement of the Murdochs’ bitter succession feud, which handed Lachlan the keys to the kingdom. Rupert Murdoch’s trust will be replaced with new ones that benefit his six children. In the coming weeks, the family’s controlling News Corp. and Fox shares will pass from Rupert to Lachlan, sealing the scion’s status as one of the world’s most influential moguls.

The 54-year-old executive already was overseeing Fox News, the Fox broadcast network and the free video service Tubi as CEO of Fox since 2019. As chairman of News Corp., Lachlan Murdoch is perched atop the publishing firm that includes the Wall Street Journal, New York Post, the Times of London, HarperCollins publishing house and newspapers in his family’s native Australia. Now his inheritance and legal standing is etched through 2050.

“It’s great news for investors,” Murdoch said of the family settlement. “It gives us a clarity about our strategy going forward — and shows that our strategy will be consistent.”

The settlement was reached after months of negotiations among representatives of Rupert Murdoch’s children. Three of his offspring — Prudence MacLeod, Elisabeth Murdoch and James Murdoch — had tried to block the elder Murdoch’s plan to consolidate Lachlan’s power — sending the dispute to a Nevada probate court.

Prudence, Elisabeth and James agreed to surrender their shares and abandon any future involvement in the companies in exchange for $1.1 billion apiece.

Analysts said they don’t expect major changes at Fox, particularly at Fox News, which will continue its conservative drumbeat and support of President Trump.

“We expect the strategy will likely stay the course,” Robert Fishman, a MoffettNathanson research analyst, wrote in a report. “Fox’s emphasis on its differentiated linear assets — namely sports and Fox News — should continue while at the same time balance a streaming push with its recently-launched Fox One and rapidly growing Tubi.”

During the Goldman Sachs conference, Murdoch sounded an upbeat note about last month’s launch of its latest streaming service, Fox One, which delivers news and sports to consumers.

“I don’t want to read too much into our success and our data of the last few weeks but suffice to say its take-up [rate] has exceeded our expectations,” Murdoch said.

Fox One will be part of a streaming bundle with ESPN next month. “We think it’ll be … the essential sports bundle for sports fans in America,” Murdoch said.

Murdoch has been running Fox since 2019 after Rupert Murdoch sold the bulk of the company’s entertainment assets to the Walt Disney Co., in a $71-billion deal which provided Murdoch’s children with a payout of about $2 billion each. At the time, Rupert Murdoch wanted to simplify his company and pave the succession path for Lachlan.

Murdoch noted that resolving the family control issue carried other side benefits, including smoothing the application process for state gaming licenses for the online sports wagering business, FanDuel. Fox has options to take a minority stake in that enterprise.

Rupert Murdoch sought to cement Lachlan’s control as a way to preserve the conservative leanings of his media empire after he is gone.

The 94-year-old patriarch has long viewed Lachlan as his natural heir, in part because his oldest son is the most ideologically in sync with him.

Rupert had become increasingly troubled by the more liberal attitudes of three of his older children, particularly James, who has been outspoken in his disdain of Fox News.

Rupert Murdoch and Lachlan Murdoch at the 2018 Allen & Co. Media and Technology Conference in Sun Valley, Idaho.

(Bloomberg/Bloomberg via Getty Images)

Fox shares have fallen about 8% since Monday when the settlement was announced, after the company said the Murdochs planned to price the shares they would sell at $54.25. Shares were trading at $52 on Wednesday.

Last week, Warner Bros Pictures released a new reboot of the Superman film series. The movie soared to the top of the box office and grossed an estimated $122m in the United States in its opening weekend. Though the industry is celebrating the film’s early box office totals, they are well below the earnings of comparable blockbusters from a decade ago. For example, in its opening weekend in 2016, Warner Bros’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice reaped a healthy $166m ($224m when adjusted for inflation).

Indeed, over the past few years, revenues from such films have steadily fallen, and the new Superman film is not an exception. In the 2010s, superhero movies regularly reaped more than $500m worldwide in box office totals. In recent years, far fewer have reached that high watermark – a fact that is causing unease in the industry. Last year, Hollywood trade magazine Variety warned that the genre was experiencing an “unprecedented box office drought”.

What made superhero movies fall off? According to Hollywood bigwigs, the reason is “superhero fatigue”, as Superman director James Gunn put it. Disney CEO Bob Iger opined that the prolific output of superhero movies “diluted [the audience’s] focus and attention”.

But their narrative — that consumers are simply getting “fatigued” with the genre — is reductive. As with all artistic genres, there are reasons why some rise or fall in popularity. Those reasons are intimately tied to politics.

Superhero boom and decline

Superhero fiction is a uniquely US genre, arguably invented in 1938 with the publication of the first Superman comic book. The first superhero comic adaptation was released in 1941 under the title Adventures of Captain Marvel. The genre was popular among Americans for decades, but it really took off following the 9/11 attacks in 2001.

Those attacks punctured the relative tranquillity (in the US, at least) of the post-Cold War era and put the US propaganda machine into overdrive. Americans were fed a cartoonish portrait of what a “supervillain” looked like, which fit easily into superhero movie narratives. These supervillains were — like America’s purported enemies — bent on global domination and opposed to liberalism and US hegemony.

The Pentagon played a prominent role in shaping propagandistic narratives in popular culture. As a longtime partner of Hollywood, the Department of Defense has long had the practice of loaning out military equipment to filmmakers in exchange for script approval rights. In the post-9/11 era, it had a say in the scripts of a number of superhero blockbusters, including Iron Man and Captain America. Captain Marvel was even used as a recruitment tool for pilots by the US air force.

As a result, many superhero movies depict the US military and superheroes working hand-in-hand to defeat supervillainy, jointly pushing a vision of Pax Americana: a world where the dominant global power is the US.

The protagonists are often portrayed as defenders of “American ideals” like democracy, inclusivity, and justice. Take someone like Captain America, who originated as a literal embodiment of the US cultural victory over fascism. Other popular superheroes of the past 20 years, like Black Panther, embodied liberal America’s multicultural, pluralistic ideals.

But in recent years, the political reality those heroes are meant to uphold has begun to fracture. A September 2024 poll asked Americans whether they agreed with the statement “my country’s leader should have total, unchecked authority”. An astonishing 57.4 percent of US respondents agreed.

Another poll conducted a year earlier found that 45 percent of Americans “point to people seeing racial discrimination where it really doesn’t exist as the larger issue”.

It increasingly seems that America as a liberal, pluralistic society — the way it is depicted in superhero films — is no longer a universal aspiration for many Americans.

There is also growing scepticism towards America’s moral authority and superpower standing in the world.

A 2024 poll from Fox News found that 62 percent of American voters described the US as “on the decline”. Only 26 percent thought it was rising. A 2023 poll from Pew Research — a year before Donald Trump was re-elected — reported that 58 percent of those polled said that “life in America is worse today than it was 50 years ago”.

Social cohesion collapsing

While public perceptions gradually changed in the post-9/11 period, there were events that accelerated this shift.

The precipitous drop in superhero movie box office totals began in 2020. Why that year? This was when the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated already growing societal divisions.

The sense of a cohesive national identity fully shattered with the onset of this unprecedented public health emergency. Widespread mistrust of the government’s ability to manage the crisis — coupled with a deeply individualistic streak in Americans that precluded any understanding of social obligations that would prevent mass death, such as social distancing or lockdown measures — fostered a furious and splintered American body politic.

The singular vision of liberal American righteousness suggested by superhero films could not resonate amid this factional political landscape.

A year later came the US withdrawal from Afghanistan. The decision to pull out upset the notion of the US as a “heroic” intervener — a sort of global superman – heavily projected after 9/11. In contrast to Iraq, Afghanistan was long presented as a potential “success story”, or as The New York Times put it in 2005: the “American-led intervention that could wind up actually making people’s lives better”.

Of course, we all know how that turned out: the US entered Afghanistan in 2001 and exited in 2021, having killed more than 100,000 people and spent $2.3 trillion to pause Taliban rule for 20 years.

With its military power failing abroad and tensions rising at home, the US did not seem like a place that anyone — superhero or mortal — believed in any more. Inevitably, the domestic ills ignored by the political elites came to the fore. Real wages had been in decline for 30 years, while income inequality had been increasing, and infrastructure – decaying.

Americans on both left and right began to question the fitness of the US political system, long portrayed as the best in the world.

Many on the left now believe that corporate interests have so thoroughly captured the Democratic Party that they have ceased fighting for real wealth redistribution or social programmes, and conspire against progressive candidates who do believe in these things. Meanwhile, the American right has grown more venal, racist and authoritarian — the result of failing to understand the true reasons behind the country’s socioeconomic crises.

In depicting America as, ultimately, a force for good, the superhero movie genre does not speak to either of these political lines. Hollywood elites do not seem to understand this, however.

Gunn, who directed the new Superman movie, described the feature as a metaphor for American values. “Superman is the story of America,” Gunn said in an interview with The Times of London. “An immigrant that came from other places and populated the country, but for me it is mostly a story that says basic human kindness is a value and is something we have lost.”

His words spurred a furious reaction from the American right. “We don’t go to the movie theatre to be lectured to and to have somebody throw their ideology onto us,” Kellyanne Conway, former senior counsellor to President Trump, said on Fox News.

The recent American tendency to hyper-politicise film and slot all movies into either “woke” or “anti-woke” categories does not bode well for these kinds of tentpole blockbusters that, in days of yore, would attract audiences of all political stripes.

Superhero movies are an optimistic as well as a nationalistic genre — their primary message is that America, and the liberal order in general, are worth defending. But Americans no longer seem optimistic about the future, nor particularly attached to these ideological values. Fewer Americans seem to even believe in liberal pillars like democracy and multiculturalism — the kinds of things that superheroes typically fight for.

If we cannot seem to agree on what American values even are, it is understandable that we cannot agree on what kind of hero would embody the national spirit. Given these dispiriting political conditions, perhaps it is not super-surprising that Americans are not flocking to the superhero genre like they once did.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

When Vogue tastemaker Anna Wintour announced late last month that she would be stepping down as editor in chief after 37 years, the news sent shock waves through the media business and fashion world.

Wintour, who will remain chief content officer for Condé Nast and global editorial director for Vogue, is a grand symbol of a magazine empire that includes Wired and Vanity Fair: a demanding, glamorous longtime chair of the Met Gala who has set fashion trends and made world-famous designers, some of whom she helped create, bow and tremble. She covers news, she creates news, she is news. Predictably enough, word of her changing status ignited frenzied speculation about who might take on the newly created role of U.S. head of editorial content for Vogue and eventually succeed her.

Condé Nast, which publishes enough other glossy magazines to fill a newsstand (if any still exist), remains very much alive, and it’s the subject of Michael M. Grynbaum’s new book “Empire of the Elite: Inside Condé Nast, the Media Dynasty That Reshaped America.” But as Grynbaum makes clear in his book, the Condé sway isn’t quite what it used to be. The company’s most powerful editors, including Graydon Carter (Vanity Fair) and Tina Brown (Vanity Fair and then the New Yorker), have stepped aside. More importantly, the rise of TikTok, Instagram and the like have created a world where almost anyone with an opportunist’s instinct can be an influencer.

“The means of glamour production were brought to the masses,” Grynbaum tells The Times in an interview taking place after Wintour’s announcement. “If you look at TikTok and Instagram, a lot of people are re-creating the status fantasies that Condé Nast was notorious for: the real estate tours of somebody’s mansion that are right out of Architectural Digest, or the fit check and outfit of the day that ascended from GQ, Vogue and Glamour.”

The man most responsible for the Condé Nast that readers know today was Samuel Irving “S.I.” Newhouse Jr., better known as Si. The son of a first-generation American who built a massively successful newspaper chain and purchased Condé Nast in 1959, Si took the family’s rather sleepy and traditional magazine business and injected a shot of sex, celebrity and pizzazz. The Newhouses were for many years seen as arrivistes and interlopers, a perception tinged with antisemitism; New Yorker institution A.J. Liebling, himself Jewish, labeled the elder Newhouse a “journalist chiffonier” — a rag picker.

When Si took over as chairman of Condé Nast in 1975 — and then bought the New Yorker in 1985 — he set about to become a sort of outsider’s insider, obsessed with status and the good life and determined to shape a collection of magazines that represented aspirational living. And he insisted that his most valuable employees walk the walk. To work at the company at its peak was to live extravagantly by a journalist’s standards.

Grynbaum, who writes about media, politics and culture for the New York Times and grew up reading Condé Nast magazines, was struck hard by that extravagance. “I was writing about magazine editors who had 24-hour town car service, limousines that would drive them around to their appointments, wait outside at the sidewalk while they ate a giant lunch at the Four Seasons restaurant, and it all got expensed back to Condé Nast,” he says. “Empire of the Elite” is laden with comical examples of privilege. One of my favorites: the Vogue editor who “charged her assistant with the less than exalted task of removing the blueberries from her morning muffin; the editor preferred the essence of blueberries, she explained, but not the berries themselves.”

Author Michael M. Grynbaum, who writes about media for the New York Times, was struck by extravagant expense account spending at Condé Nast.

(Gary He)

The Condé Nast glory era really kicked off in the 1980s, as conspicuous consumption swept through the land. “The idealism of the 1960s was yielding to the materialism of the 1980s, a new preoccupation with the navel-gazing, ego-stroking life,” Grynbaum writes. But much of Newhouse’s approach now seems like standard operating procedure. When he bought the New Yorker, a set-in-its-ways magazine with a limited readership and articles that could take up half an issue, it had largely turned up its nose at the idea of soliciting new subscribers. He tapped Tina Brown, a brash Brit then serving as Vanity Fair editor, to run the magazine in 1992. This set off culture clashes that resonated throughout the industry — and yielded some piquant anecdotes.

For example: Some at the magazine were aghast when Brown assigned Jeffrey Toobin to cover the O.J. Simpson murder trial, a subject they saw as beneath the magazine’s standards. Critic George W.S. Trow actually resigned, accusing Brown of kissing “the ass of celebrity culture.” Brown responded that she was distraught, “but since you never actually write anything, I should say I am notionally distraught.”

Newhouse, who died in 2017, made FOMO fun. It should be noted that he also helped create Donald Trump. GQ featured him on its cover when he was, as Grynbaum writes, “a provincial curiosity”; of more consequence, Newhouse, as the owner of Random House, came up with the idea for “The Art of the Deal,” the 1987 Trump business manifesto ghostwritten by magazine journalist Tony Schwartz.

Wintour has been a powerful force in the Condé Nast machine; her turning over the daily reins of U.S. Vogue signals even more change for a company that has seen plenty of it. “I think it is an acknowledgment on her part that she won’t be around forever, and that there needs to be some kind of succession plan in place,” Grynbaum says. “It’s amazing how much the influence and power of Vogue is predicated on this one individual and her relationships and her sway.”

Condé Nast isn’t what it used to be, because print isn’t what it used to be. Like so many legacy media companies, it hemorrhaged money as it proved slow to adjust to the digital revolution. At times “Empire of the Elite” reads like an ode to the sensuous experience of reading a high-quality glossy magazine, and wondering who might be on next month’s cover and what (or who) they’ll be wearing. Condé Nast still means quality. But the age of empire is mostly over.