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One of the best action blockbusters of the past few years has just been added to Netflix just in time for an adrenaline-fuelled weekend viewing

Netflix has just added an exhilarating action film starring two of Hollywood’s greatest stars that you won’t want to miss.

Both leads are featuring in some of the most highly anticipated films of 2026, while the director is one of the most prominent action filmmakers in recent years.

The Fall Guy stars Ryan Gosling as stunt performer Colt Seavers, who reluctantly agrees to a comeback after a life-threatening injury when his ex-girlfriend Jody Moreno (played by Emily Blunt) lands her first gig as the director of a major studio film.

However, the pair soon find themselves wrapped up in a complex conspiracy when the movie’s lead actor, Tom Ryder (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), goes missing.

When Colt is covertly hired to go after the people the producers suspect are responsible for his disappearance, he leaps at the chance to win back his ex by saving her debut. But he quickly realises he’s in over his head.

Both megastars are poised to rule the box office over the coming months. Gosling is about to return to the big screen for the bombastic space opera Project Hail Mary, while Blunt is also tackling extraterrestrial threats in Steven Spielberg’s new sci-fi thriller Disclosure Day.

She is also returning to one of her most iconic roles in The Devil Wears Prada 2, along with Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway. With The Fall Guy available to stream on Netflix, now is the perfect time to revisit one of their best films ahead of their must-see cinematic experiences.

Fans have been raving about the film since its release, and it received an impressive 82 percent Rotten Tomatoes score from critics, with 84 percent from audiences.

One five-star review from an RT user gushed: “A truly phenomenal film! It’s fun, but locks in when seriousness is needed. I love it so much!”

Someone else described it as “Pure adrenaline popcorn perfection that delivers unfiltered chaos candy!”

The stellar reviews continued on IMDb, where one viewer called The Fall Guy “Pure entertainment” and said: “While watching this movie, I found myself smiling nearly the entire time. If you are looking for pure, unfettered fun (in the form of romcom action of course), then this is the movie for you.

“The plot was fun, the acting was solid, the situations that the characters found themselves in were hysterical, the action was on point, the cinematography was nice, and the romance was entertaining.”

And a final fan wrote: “The Fall Guy is insanely fun, with incredibly cool action scenes, romantically charming elements, and a captivating world of stuntmen.

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“It’s full-on entertainment, especially for film enthusiasts, with meticulously crafted action sequences in both real and fake movies that look fantastic, grand, and impressively complete.

“Both Ryan Gosling and Emily Blunt have impeccable chemistry, and the portrayal of the stuntman profession is sharp. The film cleverly satirizes the Hollywood industry with excellence.

“Watching this movie in theaters is an absolutely delightful experience. Director David Leitch nails every aspect of the film, truly delivering on the action-packed excitement.”

The Fall Guy is available to stream on Netflix.

For the latest showbiz, TV, movie and streaming news, go to the new **Everything Gossip** website.

In 2020, “We Bare Bears” creator Daniel Chong came to Pixar leaders with an idea.

He had seen documentaries in which robotic animals with eyeball cameras captured footage of natural habitats. But what if that technology was so good that no one could tell the difference? And to make it even more zany — what if someone went undercover in that animal body?

That idea became the basis of Walt Disney Co. and Pixar’s new animated movie, “Hoppers,” which debuts this week. The film is Pixar’s latest attempt to break through at the box office with an original story, something that has been a struggle for the storied animation studio since the pandemic.

The pressure of Pixar’s legacy can be a little overwhelming and coming up with an original idea is difficult, said Chong, who directed “Hoppers” and also serves as a writer on the film.

“For a Pixar movie, it’s very high stakes,” he said. “But I just felt like I had a really funny idea, and I thought as long as we made it really funny and had characters you loved, to me that’s the key to every Pixar movie — really awesome characters that really connect emotionally with people.”

Recent theatrical success for Pixar as well as other animation studios has come from sequels, such as 2024’s “Inside Out 2,” which grossed $1.7 billion globally. But the reputation of Emeryville-based Pixar is built on its string of blockbuster originals, including 1995’s “Toy Story,” 2001’s “Monsters, Inc.” and 2004’s “The Incredibles,” making new stories crucial to the studio’s future.

People like coming back to familiar characters like Woody and Buzz from “Toy Story,” but the studio can do only so many sequels, said Pete Docter, Pixar’s chief creative officer. And some films don’t lend themselves to new chapters, he said, noting the studio’s efforts to look at “Monsters, Inc.”

“We’ve been trying, struggling for a long time to get somewhere with that, and we’ll see in the future how things go, but it’s been an uphill battle,” he said. “For whatever reason, that movie seems to be self contained and doesn’t want to go forward without repeating some of the same themes, which I think would be disappointing.”

Opening weekend expectations for “Hoppers” are wide-ranging, from $25 million to $40 million, on a production budget of $150 million. So far, the reviews have been strong, with a 96% approval rating on aggregator Rotten Tomatoes.

“If we don’t continue to do originals, we’re going to run out of stuff,” Docter said. “If ‘Hoppers’ can really catch on, it could show that audiences still want original movies. They’re still excited to see things that surprise them, that are not just following through on characters and worlds that they’ve seen before.”

It’s been a tough time for original animated movies — and new films in general. As the theatrical market continues to find its footing after the pandemic, audiences still largely have gravitated toward familiar fare, including sequels and reboots, even as they profess to want new stories.

Pixar’s previous original film, 2025’s “Elio” cratered at the box office, partially beset by the tough climate for new animated stories as well as strong competition from other kids’ movies such as live-action adaptations of Universal Pictures’ “How to Train Your Dragon” and Disney’s “Lilo and Stitch.”

The pandemic played a major role in Pixar’s recent track record with originals. When COVID-19 hit, original films like 2020’s “Soul,” 2021’s “Luca” and 2022’s “Turning Red” all were sent straight to the Disney+ streaming service to give families something to watch during the stay-at-home orders. But that also got audiences accustomed to waiting to watch Pixar films at home, and as theaters started opening up again, families were some of the last groups to return because of concerns about health and safety.

“There had been a conditioning process,” said Heather Holian, a professor of art history at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. “It was challenging to turn the ship around a little bit, or getting people to rethink how they engage with Pixar films and getting them back to theaters.”

To connect with audiences, Pixar films need to feel familiar in some way, but with a surprising twist — something that is incredibly difficult to do, Docter said. “Hoppers” also involved extensive, early stage collaboration with the studio’s story artists. Chong would give them a rough idea of his thoughts, which the artists would then use to develop dialogue and other details that expanded on his vision. That’s a bit of a departure from Pixar’s typical process, which involves writing pages and giving them to the artists, who then go to work..

Chong worked as a story artist at Pixar before he went on to create Cartoon Network’s “We Bare Bears” and then returned to the studio in 2019.

“Hoppers” could get strong tailwinds from the success of Sony Pictures Animation’s “Goat,” which was produced by Golden State Warriors star Stephen Curry and tells an original story set in an all-animal world about an undersized “roarball” player who pushes to make it in the big leagues.
That film has netted nearly $75 million in the U.S. and Canada, with a global total of more than $131 million..

The two movies are the beginning of a potentially big year for animated films. After “Hoppers,” Nintendo and Universal Pictures’ sequel “The Super Mario Galaxy Movie” is out in April, followed by Pixar’s “Toy Story 5” in June and Universal Pictures and Illumination Entertainment’s “Minions & Monsters” in July. In the fall, Warner Bros. Pictures Animation plans to release “The Cat in the Hat.”

High-performing years at the box office traditionally are anchored by strong family movies, said Shawn Robbins, director of movie analytics at Fandango and founder of the site Box Office Theory.

“A lot of us are so optimistic about what the box office can do overall this year because of the animated releases,” he said. “When there is appealing content out there, families are a big driver for this industry.”

Los Angeles has a secret magic to which you have to earn access, and the way you earn it is by making it, becoming a contributor to the city’s misapprehended culture of spectacle and soul, diversity and monolithic elitism. It’s a get-in-where-you-fit-in or get-edged-all-the-way-out kind of city, wherein a deceptively laissez-faire game of musical chairs can determine your fate. Kahlil Joseph has a private magic to which you have to earn access, and you earn it by resonating with the untapped nerve centers of Black culture that animate this city, and even then you might be denied.

Joseph is like the city (Los Angeles, not Hollywood), and the city enforces confidentiality, drive, wit, style and devotion often mistaken for diva-ism. The filmmaker and video artist moved to Los Angeles from Seattle for university, and was quickly followed by his brother, the painter Noah Davis, who would found the Underground Museum, a venue and near-speakeasy with West Coast casual gravitas and pan-African rigor and breadth, which became as important to the zeitgeist of Black Los Angeles as both brothers have.

Movie still from Kahlil Joseph’s film “Blknws: Terms & Conditions.” Funmilayo Akechukwu (Kaneza Schaal) channels a 93-year-old W.E.B Dubois, 200 years in the past.

(Courtesy Rich Spirit / BLKNWS©)

In somewhat rapid succession, Joseph lost his father, Keven Davis, an accomplished attorney who represented the likes of the Williams sisters and Wynton Marsalis, in 2012, and his brother Noah in 2015. Joseph navigated those years in the wake with unadorned reverence, while starting a family of his own and directing some of the most transcendent music videos of the 2010s. As testament to his resilience and that of the community around him, grief sharpened Joseph’s purpose and became a kind of grace he transmuted into moving images so saturated with feeling, sans easy pathos, they offered new ways of seeing. The stakes were higher and layered with the existential absurdity of abrupt shifts, which he carried with an elegant, slightly seething temperament that has found its expression in the work. It’s relevant that he shares a birthday with Miles Davis — this is Los Angeles, where it’s customary for a person to request your cosmic DNA before asking your name — and it’s relevant that like Miles, Joseph’s vocal tone is whisper-pitched, toward the mode of retreat that begets echo; you lean in and hear him twice. His quiet tone is not shyness or false modesty but circumspection and a sense of boundaries that imply respect and love for real communication. You sense this in his work ethic and what it produces, an intimacy of form that implies an almost ritualistic attentiveness to the world around him on its own terms. In the 2012 Flying Lotus music video “Until the Quiet Comes,” directed by Joseph and set in Los Angeles, death and rebirth are addressed as a duet, companions in the expansion of collective consciousness instead of foils or adversaries, as a fallen child leaves his body and returns more alive than before he was bloodied on screen. And the violent scenes aren’t grotesque or didactic — think of Miles’ muted trumpet sound reconfigured as resurrection visuals, of his ability to play and stage ballads so well that their uptempo momentum moves into territories too macabre to mute. Like Miles, Joseph tests and stretches his range.

With the closure of the family-run Underground Museum, first in 2020 and then officially in 2022, the path uptempo was visited by more obstacles and disappointments, a shift, if temporary, in Joseph’s role in the local community, as he became more private and distant from public elegy. On the phone recently, Joseph and I discussed the trauma economy, how much of a trap it is for Black art and artists, especially in this post-BLM, post-Obama, post-neoliberal dominance, post-nonprofit industrial complex dominance territory we’re all in now, whether we face it or not. As antidote and balm to the market for repackaged abjection, Joseph adapted the sensibility that makes his music video landscapes so lush and transgressive for the art world with “Blknws,” which debuted in 2019 as an imagined syndication or television network, a nonlinear merger of digitized Black archival material pulled from the center to the margins and the radical academic avant-garde — an infinitely looping ensemble wherein Fred Moten enters into conversation with memes of ghetto-fabulous street gymnasts doing backflips into a fried chicken spot, for example, collapsing so-called high and low into an endless woodshed for an impossible concert.

The result was so compelling that the project was commissioned by A24 as a feature film sans script, then purchased from them by Rich Spirit and released last year as “Blknws: Terms & Conditions.” In this longer and more structured form, what began as an intentional scattering of ashes becomes an elegiac letter home mediated by shipwreck. Joseph weaves together an imaginary “Transatlantic Biennial” and W.E.B. Dubois’ “Encyclopedia Africana” — a project that Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Kwame Anthony Appiah transformed into a book, which Joseph’s father had given his brother before they passed. In this way, the film becomes a manifesto for alternate destinies within the Black experience, and a semi-formal goodbye letter to the delusional but politically expedient optimism of the 2010s, wherein the end of the neoliberal order becomes a gateway to renewed self-possession and agency. Since our grief is less of a ready-made commodity lately, we can reorient it around ourselves, a little safer and more sovereign from the gnawing public gaze. And we can be more honest about its paces and paths in that more autonomous landscape. “Blknws” arrives how a successful jazz album does, belligerently inconclusive about the next stylistic leaps the music might make but clearly in the process of launching in that unknown or unspeakable (perhaps secret) direction. The film is agitation made vivid and precise in the dialectic between theorized “Black Study” and practical applications of Black marronage, where we realize that big disembodied ideas are no more sophisticated than what can be danced and gestured at and spoken in our real and virtual conversations. Here, the multiverse becomes one transcendental, transatlantic consciousness where past and present, life and afterlife, blur the way they do in Joseph’s interpretation of “Until The Quiet Comes” to give us a film with a song-like hook and an album’s non-sequitur whimsy.

Movie still from Kahlil Joseph’s film “Blknws: Terms & Conditions.” The underwater study of Funmilayo Akechukwu (Kaneza Schaal) located in the hold of the ship.

(Courtesy Rich Spirit / BLKNWS©)

Over the last several months, I’ve discussed with Joseph what might become of the momentum propelling “Blknws: Terms & Conditions,” after the film’s run, as speculators enclose searching for clues and stake in his next project. He’s considered its potential evolution into a media company, a real paper, a production house, a series of related films, or a hybrid of all of these endeavors. Alongside his experience on all sides of the art world, he has an acute awareness of the wayward state of print and digital culture, writing and production, the constant closure or downsizing of veteran media outlets, the aftermath of diversity fever in the form of shrinking major magazines often starting with those who cover culture explicitly, the mass turn toward brand-name digital platforms that become extractive monopolies and diminish what can be covered and produced as writers and artists are overworked, understaffed and undervalued. Galleries are also closing and downsizing, and films that don’t oblige the content farm aren’t solicited as readily as influencer-helmed or easily digestible projects that can be played as background noise for scrolling.

After a screening last December of “Blknws: Terms & Conditions” at 2220 Arts + Archives, a space I co-curate, the rapt audience of local cinephiles seemed eager for some magic-bullet insight into Joseph’s path to creative breakthrough and relative creative freedom. Rather than hacks and shortcuts, he shouted out collaborators and inspirations — Wales Bonner, who hand-stitched garments for the film’s Ghana-based scenes; British composer Klein, who helped score the film; Joseph’s time in Brazil, where his father was from and where he went to high school. Sensibility and natural eclecticism, rather than unchecked ambition, is what propels Joseph; he has an innate knack for assembling bands and ensembles, good taste and good timing.

Kahlil Joseph with friends at the screening of “Blknws: Terms & Conditions.”

“I found the encyclopedia at the Underground,” he explains, of the DuBois work that became central to “Blknws.” “It seemed no one had looked through it, as if my dad and brother left it for me in the future.” And instead of ruminating on the weight of that inheritance, he integrates it into his film, whose refrain-as-question is do you remember the future? As if his father and brother are awake in some scenes, asking him to remember. Another resurrection. “I just want to make films,” Joseph reaffirms as a personal coda when the questions get too meta or abstract, never conflating the material conditions of the craft with the magical thinking that can unfold in scripts and on screen. Most everyone in attendance at 2220 seemed to be there to meet or support one of their favorite artists, one of the devout purists of our time who manages to remain that without getting smug, lazy or feral, all common pitfalls.

Last October, I gave Joseph a copy of Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast,” which I’d just finished reading myself for the first time. I was impressed to the point of restlessness with the authority of Hemingway’s memory, his recall; it’s one of those books you wanna throw at the wall and absorb word for word at the same time. Hemingway seemed to effortlessly savor and store every detail of his days, while remaining agile and present enough within them to focus on writing one true thing after another, in his daily sessions at the typewriter, as if possessing two coterminal minds and the capacity to access or silence both at will. A juggler too advanced for the circus, language’s great folk hero. Joseph is kind of like this, capable of intense simultaneous focus on both creative and mundane tasks without complaint, and he took to the book as I expected he might, sharing my sense of awe over the writer’s command of time and scene. They are both among the artists who have a polite way of making those around them feel like a team and want to work a little harder and little less aggressively (more communally) at the same time. Editors at his post-production studio have come from all over the country to work with him based on that leadership.

Joseph’s next feature, he suggests, will certainly be more narrative, more of a linear beginning-middle-end story, more Hemingway-esque in its commitments to the blunt daily reality that “Blknws” blurs with Black myth. He and his family have sacrificed unquantifiably in effort to defy stale archetypes and outdated patterns of art practice, and it might be his time or turn to be reciprocated for having endured those risks, time to give his family unequivocal and vivid afterlives on and off screen.

Gina Gershon considers herself a storyteller, first and foremost. When we connect via video call, Gershon admits this is the first interview she’s done since submitting the manuscript for her latest book, “AlphaPussy: How I Survived the Valley and Learned to Love My Boobs.”

“I don’t have my spiel yet!” she warns, inquiring for the first of a few times what I thought of it and whether I enjoyed it. Despite the many decades Gershon has been treading the boards, starring in indie films and Hollywood star vehicles, and stalking the stage as a singer-guitarist, she still really cares about what you think, even if it won’t change her own mind. Perhaps that’s the key to her professional longevity.

“AlphaPussy” is neither a memoir nor a guide to self-betterment, but elements of both feed into Gershon’s stories. Each wittily titled chapter plunges readers into Gershon’s freewheeling 1970s childhood, defiant adolescence, burgeoning performance career and collaborations with some of the biggest names in film (including Sharon Stone, Paul Verhoeven and Tom Cruise). Most of the stories take place in the San Fernando Valley, where young Gershon was discovering weed, mushrooms and rock ‘n’ roll. This is not a titillating tell-all, and all the better for it.

“AlphaPussy” by Gina Gershon

(Akashic Books)

“This book realistically started during COVID,” Gershon explains from her New York home. “I’d told my book agent, a friend, some stories one day when we were drunk, and he kept prodding me to write a book. I was hesitant, though. I’m not a tell-all gal, that’s not my MO.”

She adds, “It was during lockdowns, and I think his mother was sick and he was having a hard time, so when he said, ‘Just write me stories to keep me cheered up,’ I started to write stories in no particular order, whatever bubbled up, because otherwise I figured I’d forget them one day.”

At the same time, Gershon had observed that young women weren’t feeling empowered to advocate for themselves in their personal relationships and workplaces.

“I noticed that especially with younger women friends of mine, they’d tell me about things they were going through on set or with their bosses, and I don’t know if it’s a millennial thing, but I said, ‘Why don’t you just look him in the eye and tell him to stop?’ and there was this sense [for me] of ‘Why can’t you do that? Because if you don’t, you’ll always be prey to these guys.’ ”

She clarifies that she means “annoying” men rather than abusive men.

“I’m not that tough,” admits Gershon. “But I’d learned how to maneuver a lot just from growing up in the Valley, and it was a crazy time to be living there. So I thought about the stories that led me to be able to steer myself through toxicity.”

In her new book, Gina Gershon recalls the industry vitriol toward her 1995 erotic film “Showgirls.”

(Evelyn Freja / For The Times)

And also to steer herself through well-intended advice, both personal and professional, to follow her instincts.

“Listen, it’s not like I’ve had the most normal career. I’ve done most of my projects despite warnings from other people and from my agents saying, ‘You can’t do this, you’ll ruin your career.’ I’m like, ‘Why? I like this project!’ ”

One of those projects, most infamously, was “Showgirls,” which gets plenty of mentions in the book.

As Gershon recalled, it was 1994, and an astrologer had predicted her major breakout role would arrive in October that year, testing the young actor and her ability to cope with notoriety. Great, thought Gershon, bring it on.

Months later, Gershon was hanging from the ceiling, dressed in bondage gear, reflecting upon her early acting goals to perform Chekhov, portray Medea and stun audiences into silence.

She was on the set of “Showgirls” (or “Survival of the Titties,” as she nicknames it), dressed in one of the many glittering, spangled, flimsy outfits that her character Cristal Connors parades about wearing as a veteran of Vegas striptease. That role, and the vitriol from within the industry toward the movie (a flop turned cult favorite), still stings.

“I was super excited going into ‘Showgirls.’ As I talk about in one of the chapters, it was just very different when I got there. It was a completely different show than I thought I was going to be doing. … I thought it was gonna be one of [director Paul Verhoeven’s] dark Dutch films.”

Realizing that it was something else, to say the least, Gershon pivoted.

“I learned how to deal with an insane environment while keeping focused on what it is that I was trying to achieve with the part, without getting swallowed up by the insanity, which is a valuable lesson, you know? I mean, it’s a good lesson to learn no matter what you’re doing.”

Last year, Gershon watched the movie for the first time in decades.

“I hadn’t seen it in a zillion years, and when I saw it, I understood it a little bit more. It made me feel tense, but I also thought, ‘Oh, interesting.’ Some scenes that I thought shouldn’t have been there and others that absolutely have to be there. I saw it with a different lens.”

She says, “Weirdly, I feel like I’m not supposed to be talking about ‘Showgirls,’ although I think I have five chapters about ‘Showgirls’ [in the book]. I did the ones that I thought were kind of funny and fun and had some sort of growth in it for me.”

Having recently wrapped filming on “an independent film, a trans love story” in Palm Springs, penned a script and midway through writing another, Gershon doesn’t intend on writing another book anytime soon. Still, “there’s so many stories I left out,” she concedes.

“I could write three more books with things, but I really wanted to stay on point with the themes of manipulation, survival, and moving around and being able to stand on your own two feet and know who you are and to have agency over your life, especially as a woman, especially as an actress, especially in this world.”

“I’m not that tough,” says Gina Gershon. “But I’d learned how to maneuver a lot just from growing up in the Valley, and it was a crazy time to be living there. So I thought about the stories that led me to be able to steer myself through toxicity.”

(Evelyn Freja / For The Times)