“It felt like a movie” — that’s what we all said in the days and weeks after Sept. 11, 2001, when a Michael Bay action film slammed uncomfortably into real life. But with the perspective of 25 years, what’s lingered for the most part aren’t the most literal depictions of the day, but oblique dramas that capture something more subtle: the free-floating anxiety of a nightmare. In our list, you’ll find titles that confront Sept. 11 directly, but others that bring to mind a deeper, broader canon of trauma.
‘Donnie Darko’ (2001)
Jake Gyllenhaal in the 2001 movie “Donnie Darko.”
(NewMarket Films)
Going to the movies in the fall of 2001 was a solace and escape for many New Yorkers, though the films themselves often had an eerie, unplanned timeliness that made them resonate in an unshakable way. You could ache for the cozy city of the past in “The Royal Tenenbaums” or grapple with the schism of everything suddenly feeling different in “Mulholland Drive.” Or you could envelop yourself in Richard Kelly’s moody “Donnie Darko,” a teen drama touched by metaphysical doominess in which plane engines fall from the sky and death wears a rabbit costume. The movie has since become an unexplainable piece of comfort for a spooked generation. In its weather, its soundtrack and the haunted stare of Jake Gyllenhaal, it evokes the weeks after 9/11, even if it anticipated them. — Joshua Rothkopf
‘25th Hour’ (2002)
Edward Norton in the movie “25th Hour.”
(David Lee / Touchstone Pictures)
Only months after the attacks, Spike Lee took on 9/11 with a boldness that only 15 years of provocative filmmaking — and a lifetime of loving New York — could sharpen into an artist. This interpersonal drama, about the fallout of a drug dealer (Edward Norton) going to prison, was deep in development when real-life events altered its trajectory. Lee insisted on including the American flags dotting lawns, the general sense of unease and, in a somber touch, a credits sequence featuring the Tribute in Light. Overwhelmingly, one scene takes place in a Tribeca hi-rise with a view of ground zero, and even though the conversation itself concerns a friend in trouble, it quickly shifts onto metaphorical grounds of guilt, responsibility and rage. There still may not be a better 9/11 film than this one. — J. Rothkopf
‘Munich’ (2005)
A scene from the movie “Munich.”
(Karen Ballard / Universal Pictures)
On the surface, Steven Spielberg’s “War of the Worlds,” released earlier in 2005, may seem like his more obviously 9/11-coded film (“Is it the terrorists?” Dakota Fanning’s character asks). But “Munich,” which followed six months later, goes straight to the questions of terrorism and endless cycles of retaliation that hung over the period. Eric Bana plays Avner, a Mossad operative sent to hunt down the Palestinians whom Israel holds responsible for the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre. As the revenge killings mount, the mission begins to eat away at him — and Avner’s belief in closure is shaken. Spielberg makes the contemporary connections hard to ignore. In a final scene, set in mid-’70s New York, after Avner and his handler Ephraim, played by Geoffrey Rush, argue over what they have done, the camera pans across the Manhattan skyline southward, toward the Twin Towers, which Spielberg had digitally added to the shot. — Josh Rottenberg
‘United 93’ (2006)
A scene from the movie “United 93.”
(Jonathan Olley / Universal Pictures)
Five years after 9/11, it still wasn’t clear whether audiences were ready for a Hollywood movie that directly re-created the attacks. Director Paul Greengrass, then most recently of “The Bourne Supremacy,” took on the hijacked flight whose passengers fought back before it crashed in Pennsylvania. He used a largely unknown cast and shot with an almost documentary immediacy, cutting between the plane and air-traffic controllers trying to make sense of what was happening. There’s no movie star to take charge, and Greengrass doesn’t inflate the passengers into larger-than-life heroes. We simply watch as they piece together the situation from phone calls and scraps of information and realize what they have to do. We know from the beginning that none of them will survive. Watching them slowly come to that realization is what makes “United 93” so devastating. — J. Rottenberg
‘The Dark Knight’ (2008)
Christian Bale in the movie “The Dark Knight.”
(Warner Bros. Pictures)
It was probably inevitable that the anxieties of the post-9/11 era would find their way into a Batman movie. In “The Dark Knight,” Christopher Nolan fills Gotham with bombings, acts of mass surveillance and questions about how far is too far. Heath Ledger’s Joker is an enemy who doesn’t play by the rules, attacking the city with no clear political goal beyond creating panic and chaos. Christian Bale’s Batman, meanwhile, builds a Patriot Act-like system that turns every cellphone in Gotham into a tracking device and uses increasingly brutal methods to stop him. Nolan folds all of that into a hugely entertaining superhero movie without turning it into a lecture. — J. Rottenberg
‘Man on Wire’ (2008)
Philippe Petit, as seen in the documentary “Man on Wire.”
(Jean-Louis Blondeau / Polaris)
By the time James Marsh’s Oscar-winning documentary arrived in 2008, the Twin Towers had been gone for seven years. The film recounts French high-wire artist Philippe Petit’s astonishing 1974 stunt, in which he and a small band of co-conspirators secretly rigged a cable between the towers, allowing Petit to walk high above lower Manhattan. The movie never needs to mention 9/11 to feel devastating. We already know what became of those buildings. Watching Petit step onto the wire lets us see them differently, not as the site of catastrophe but as the setting for something beautiful and absurdly daring. A ghostly montage of the Twin Towers being constructed, set to composer Michael Nyman’s “Fish Beach,” brought New Yorkers to tears. For me, that feeling is also personal. I was living in New York on 9/11 and had been at an outdoor concert in the plaza beneath the towers just weeks before the attacks, so there was something especially moving about seeing them again as part of the city’s everyday life. — J. Rottenberg
‘The Hurt Locker’ (2009)
Anthony Mackie, left, and Jeremy Renner in the movie “The Hurt Locker.”
(Jonathan Olley / Summit Entertainment)
Has there ever been a better cinematic metaphor for the War on Terror than Jeremy Renner in a bomb suit, kneeling over a device in a Baghdad street while everyone around him scans the rooftops for danger? Kathryn Bigelow’s film narrows the Iraq War down to the nerve-shredding work of an explosives-disposal unit, with Renner’s Staff Sgt. William James almost eerily comfortable in situations that terrify everyone around him. The suspense often comes down to the simplest question: Is this thing going to blow up? Bigelow, the action expert behind “Point Break” and “Strange Days,” mostly leaves the larger politics offscreen and stays with the men doing the dangerous work, their detachment a survival tactic. Though initially little-seen, “The Hurt Locker” pulled off its own improbable feat, becoming, at the time, the lowest-grossing movie to ever win Oscar’s best picture — while Bigelow became the first woman ever to win best director. — J. Rottenberg
‘Margaret’ (2011)
Anna Paquin and Matt Damon in the movie “Margaret.”
(Myles Aronowitz / 20th Century Fox)
Kenneth Lonergan shot this seething, richly authentic New York City drama in 2005, when the rawness of post-9/11 NYC was already a part of everyday life. But the trauma feels ingrained in every frame, and there are shots of wary street life — an occasional flinch or look upward — that New Yorkers could watch and think: Yes, that’s what it felt like. The plot itself concerns a teenage girl, Lisa (Anna Paquin, never better), whose hyperdramatic tendencies are both recognizable and lovable. She is involved in a bus accident that results in a fatality and, with the crusading passion that so many people felt after 9/11, decides to get involved as a witness and truth-teller. The need to fix things — amid so much that was unfixable — is a marker of all the movies on this list. — J. Rothkopf
‘Zero Dark Thirty’ (2012)
Jessica Chastain, center, in the movie “Zero Dark Thirty.”
(Jonathan Olley / Columbia Pictures)
Perhaps the most explicit film on our list, Kathryn Bigelow’s daring military procedural about the 2011 midnight raid that took out Osama bin Laden was a political hot potato in its moment. Now with distance, it impresses as a skilled piece of political moviemaking, one that captures the era’s sense of moral compromise and queasy vengeance. It contains scenes of torture and goes deeply into the CIA’s planning and execution of the operation — choices that remain provocative. But the movie’s most lingering piece of drama is a silent shot of one woman crying in a cargo plane: a high-level analyst played by Jessica Chastain, who has accomplished the unthinkable but doesn’t feel relief. The fight will not end. Only a filmmaker who had just won Oscars and made history would have been granted the artistic freedom to make this movie, arguably Bigelow’s finest. — J. Rothkopf
The biggest news to come out of two film festivals this week stemmed from documentaries about tech moguls gone bad.
When Alex Gibney’s film production “Musk” premiered at the Venice Film Festival on Tuesday, it received a five-minute standing ovation, shouts of “thank you” from the audience and endless play across social media. The nearly four-hour production chronicles the rise of the world’s first trillionaire out of the dot-com boom, and lays bare the dangers that the Tesla and SpaceX chief executive now presents as a plutocrat with questionable judgment and unchecked power.
Closer to home, at the Telluride Film Festival, it was comedian Nathan Fielder (“The Rehearsal”) and Lance Oppenheim’s “You Can See Everything” that made breaking news. Their film features unfettered access to former Theranos Chief Executive Elizabeth Holmes in the weeks before she reported to federal prison to serve a sentence of 10 years and three months. She rode the early 2000s wave of venture-capitalism consumer-tech hype, defrauding investors and the public with a bogus new way to test blood. By 2014, she was the world’s youngest self-made female billionaire.
A couple of decades ago, films about Musk and Holmes probably would have framed the pair as forward-thinking entrepreneurs and architects of a new era. Today, the pitchforks are out, and who else better represents the hubris and greed of late-stage capitalism?
There’s plenty of buzz around both films ahead of their October releases, yet the richest man in the world is helping promote the “Musk” doc by incessantly posting about Gibney and his “hit” piece.
Musk’s X posts have referred to the filmmaker as a “horrible human” and a “bitter old man” and declared, “Dogs— is worth more respect.” Always looking for a conspiracy to explain away the perfectly explainable, he wrote that the film was a “psy op.” He included in the post an image of Gibney as a puppet of the Democratic Party and George Soros. Musk also offered Trumpian prose: “Gutless Gibney’s fatal flaw of fabricating a false film.”
“Musk” is due for a theatrical release in the U.S. on Oct. 16 followed by a streaming launch on HBO Max.
Musk’s attorney Alex Spiro is threatening a lawsuit. He sent a letter to the Gibney-led Jigsaw Productions accusing the filmmaker of misrepresenting facts about the mogul. Spiro says the filmmaker suggested that Musk used his Starlink satellites to bend the 2024 election in favor of his friend and ally Donald Trump.
“You are … on notice, before release, that the insinuation is false, that the material refuting it is public, and that you chose not to be told the rest,” Spiro wrote. Spiro claimed he contacted the production “multiple times” and “requested an opportunity to present the facts in the normal fact-checking process that is the hallmark of ethical journalism. You have refused to engage.”
Gibney says Musk declined to be interviewed for the film. In his absence, the documentarian created a digital avatar of the Tesla CEO and used statements pulled from decades worth of the entrepreneur’s interviews and public appearances. The film chronicles his childhood in South Africa and his time in Silicon Valley, and suggests that Musk’s genius is not as an inventor but as an investor. His talent, the film contends, is stock-pumping.
“Musk” also reportedly explores how the trillionaire had access to sensitive techno-surveillance data when he ran the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) under President Trump in 2025. Geoffrey Hinton , often referred to as the Godfather of AI, is interviewed in the film and explains why Musk’s potential access to the data is such a problem: “It’s fairly clear to me that Trump is hell-bent on corrupting the midterm elections,” Hinton says. “If you wanted to corrupt those midterm elections and you wanted to use AI, all you needed to do was get detailed information on U.S. citizens. And what DOGE did looked like just what you would do.”
Gibney in interviews about the film has warned that Musk’s widespread, unchecked power is “extremely dangerous to world democracy.”
“What I discovered was that the story of Musk was not [a] new tech story,” Gibney said in a news conference at the Venice Film Fest. “[It’s] really the story of an old wine in a new bottle. His story turns out to be the story of the confidence man, the stock pumper, his wealth and power comes from inflated stock, and so I had told that story before with Enron and with Elizabeth Holmes, and so it was a story that was oddly familiar to me.”
Gibney is renowned for taking on big money, corruption and anything else that reeks of injustice. He’s tackled Wall Street, big pharma, Scientology, Guantanamo, and even Theranos founder Holmes.
The new film about Holmes, “You Can See Everything,” offers a quirkier, up-close take on Holmes. Produced by A24 and set for an Oct. 16 theater release, it follows the disgraced CEO post-conviction, and she appears more than comfortable in front of the filmmakers and their cameras. Audiences at Telluride were surprised by the access she gave to the filmmakers, and that Holmes spoke openly about her plans to launch a biotech comeback and revive Theranos from her cell in a Texas prison camp.
Forget the celebrity glitz of high-profile film festivals. In these eat-the-rich times, it’s the dark side of wealth, fame and alleged genius that satiate audience appetites. Enter two new documentaries that feed the beast.
Hollywood’s film and TV post-production workers took their case directly to Gov. Gavin Newsom on Thursday, urging him to sign a bill that would create the state’s first standalone post-production tax incentive.
Workers such as editors, singers and sound supervisors joined bill author Assemblymember Nick Schultz (D-Burbank) and Mayor Karen Bass at a news conference Thursday morning in front of the Television Academy’s headquarters in North Hollywood.
The bill, AB 2319, is aimed at supporting the industry’s editors, sound mixers, composers and visual effects artists. It passed the state Senate 33 to 5 on Aug. 30, and the Assembly approved the final version 72 to 2 the same day. Newsom, who has not taken a public position on the measure, has until Sept. 30 to sign or veto it.
Bass urged supporters not to let up before then.
“We need our industry in full force,” Bass said. “It’s all a part of making our city more affordable. We know that this is one of the biggest issues in our city, and so having a strong, robust industry helps Angelenos across the board.”
The incentive would allow a 35% to 50% credit on qualified expenses relating specifically to post-production in California. The state’s existing film and TV tax credit program already covers post-production, but only if 75% of filming or the overall budget is spent in the state. The new credit doesn’t require productions to shoot in California.
Even if Newsom signs the bill, the program would start small. Schultz initially proposed $100 million to fund the effort, but the Legislature’s end-of-session budget sets aside $10 million to launch it.
“When you think about production, it’s easy to think about the actors, the directors and the writers; you don’t think about all that happens when the camera stops rolling,” Schultz said. “What’s changed is that they’re now telling their story about the struggles they’re facing.”
For industry veteran Karen Baker Landers, the decline in local post-production work is impossible to overlook. A two-time Oscar-winning supervising sound editor, Baker Landers is vice president of California Post Alliance, the group sponsoring the bill.
“It’s affecting people in huge ways, like losing their health insurance. I get people calling me asking to get just two weeks of work to qualify for coverage,” said Baker Landers. “It’s really difficult.”
Despite the state’s bigger bet on the industry — and this summer’s fight over the cap — L.A. City Councilmember Adrin Nazarian, whose district includes North Hollywood, argued at the press conference that this is the right moment to keep asking for more.
“It’s that exact momentum that we need. When you double down on something, you’re giving more than hope, and you’re saying welcome back. Please come and do your work. Don’t stop doing this,” Nazarian said.
Bruce Davis spent more than two decades as the motion picture academy’s chief executive. Even when he retired in 2011, it was not because he didn’t still love the work. In fact, he kept at it in retirement, retaining an office at the Pickford Center for Motion Picture Study where he focused on writing a definitive history of the early days of the Oscars.
“I don’t think I’ve been bored for a minute in 30 years here,” Davis told the Associated Press upon leaving the academy. “I feel like such a rube sometimes. To this day, when I get out of the car on Oscar night and step up there onto that carpet, you get that rush of energy. The lights are popping — not that anybody’s aiming at me — but still I think it’s one of the great rushes, emotionally speaking, that a person can have.”
Following a battle with leukemia, Davis died Saturday. He was 83.
Davis’ career at the academy was, according to wife Joann, partly a matter of being in the right place at the right time.
“Not that he wasn’t really good at what he did,” she says by phone. “But he was also a lucky man.”
Davis was working as chair of the theater department at Juniata College in Pennsylvania when he and Joann loaded all of their belongings atop their Mazda GLC and headed to Los Angles in pursuit of Hollywood dreams. Davis had been working on a few screenplays while teaching, and his agent told him needed to move closer to the action to network and take meetings.
“Neither of us had jobs when we left Pennsylvania,” Joann says. “We just bit the bullet and drove out. It was a leap of faith.”
Shortly after arriving, Davis met someone at a party whose wife worked at the motion picture academy. That soon led to Davis taking a job arranging lectures and seminars and, later, overseeing the organization’s public programming.
Davis became the academy’s seventh executive director in 1989, leading it through a sizable expansion of staff, relocating the academy’s Margaret Herrick Library to the Beverly Hills Waterworks building in 1991 and setting up its film archive at the Pickford Center for Motion Picture Study in 2002.
“Bruce would drive back and forth to work and see that Waterworks building at the time that they were looking for places for the library to expand,” Joann says. “And one day, it just occurred to him that maybe that would be a building, and so initiated conversation with Beverly Hills. It was kismet.”
Davis had hoped to build an academy museum next to the Pickford, convincing the group’s board of governors to purchase a nearby 3.5-acre site in 2006 for a reported $50 million, but the 2008 recession derailed those plans. His successor, Dawn Hudson, led the push to partner with the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, eventually building the museum at the former May Co. building at Wilshire and Fairfax. It opened in 2021.
“That way, best picture reflects the choice of the greatest number of people,” Davis told The Times.
Davis’ Oscar book, “The Academy and the Award,” was first published in 2022, long after he originally anticipated it would hit stores.
“He thought a couple months of research, a couple more months to write it, and voila, in two years, he’d have it done,” Joann says. “But he kept finding new things he wanted to explore.”
Shortly before it published, Davis told The Times that he hoped the book would dispel myths surrounding the Oscars, including Susan Orlean’s assertion in her Rin Tin Tin biography that the dog received more votes than any male actor at the first Academy Awards and that Bette Davis gave the golden statue its nickname because its backside mirrored that of her then-husband Harmon Oscar Nelson.
“There’s a lot of nonsense out there,” Davis said, “and the real story is almost always more interesting.”
“He was deeply committed to preserving the academy’s history, establishing dedicated homes for our library and film archive, and relaunching the concept of creating a museum,” current academy CEO Bill Kramer and President Lynette Howell Taylor said in a statement. “He had a profound love for the academy.”
Davis loved to read and collect books, devouring anything from John Updike and Margaret Atwood, among other authors, a passion that necessitated having bookshelves in every room of his home. Language itself was an obsession, with many family dinners ending with Davis pulling out his unabridged Oxford English Dictionary to share the derivation of a word.
“He was a really fascinating guy,” Joann says.
Perhaps the only thing Davis didn’t like about the Oscars was the ceremony’s annual in memoriam segment, which pays tribute to those who died in the previous year.
“It is the single most troubling element of the Oscar show every year,” Davis told the Associated Press, “because more people die each year than can possibly be included in that segment.”
Next year’s ceremony now has one certain addition.
In addition to Joann, Davis is survived by four daughters: Brangien Davis, Alexandra Davis, Archer Davis and Roxanne Davis.
It’s pronounced “human.” Yet writer-director Siân Heder acknowledges that the unusual spelling of the title of her new movie, “Being Heumann,” is something people might give a puzzled second look, unsure of how to say it and possibly dismissing it altogether.
Which, the more she sat with it, made it perfect as the title for a portrait of real-life disability rights activist Judy Heumann, who, while being in a wheelchair, made herself undismissable.
More specifically, the film looks at the pivotal 1977 protest in which Heumann led a group in a 26-day sit-in at a federal office building in San Francisco until the government began enforcing Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 — the first federal law that recognized disability as a civil rights category.
“The fact that her last name was ‘human’ has so many beautiful layers of meaning,” says Heder, 49, during a recent interview in Los Angeles. “I think Judy was asking for the world to see disabled people as human beings who were worthy of rights and being looked at and being included.”
A world premiere and the opening-night selection of this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, which begins on Thursday, “Being Heumann” will hit theaters Nov. 6 and begin streaming on Apple TV Nov. 13. It is also, crucially, Heder’s first film since 2021’s “CODA,” the bittersweet drama about a young woman in a Deaf family (the title is an acronym for “child of Deaf adults”) that won three Academy Awards including adapted screenplay for Heder and best picture.
Actor Ruth Madeley and filmmaker Siân Heder during production on “Being Heumann.”
(Apple TV)
In Heumann, a wheelchair user after contracting polio as a child, Heder found a subject who was in the process of discovering herself as a leader: learning when to hold firm and when to cede ground and empower other people. And for someone who was grappling with the aftermath of unexpected success, that felt familiar.
“I think I was making a movie about myself, honestly,” Heder says. “When you’re moving forward on a massive project or a movement or anything, there’s a necessary drive and ambition and focus that is needed. And if you look at any major change that’s happened in human history, it takes a certain kind of person to push that through. I’m not identifying myself with great leaders of the civil rights movement, but directing a movie is a similar thing.”
Heder is tucked into a quiet corner of a busy coffee shop in L.A.’s Eagle Rock neighborhood, where she has long lived. She is in the process of moving from one historic house to an even older one a few blocks away. Heder didn’t want to disrupt the schooling of her two young children, ages 10 and 12, and has become too enmeshed in the area to want to leave it.
“There’s definitely an element of: ‘She manipulated everyone with that movie. She made us all cry and that’s why she won,’” Heder says of “CODA,” her Oscar-winning best picture. “I was an indie filmmaker that was compelled to tell that story.”
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Community is a word that comes up often over the course of a conversation with Heder, who has a warm manner and a quiet self-possession. Though “CODA” may have brought her wider attention, she was far from a novice by the time she made that film. She won a Peabody Award as a writer on the series “Men of a Certain Age” and was a writer, director and producer on the acclaimed “Orange Is the New Black.” She expanded her 2006 short film “Mother” into her first feature “Tallulah,” about a young woman who takes a baby from a reckless mother and tries to pass it off as her own. It premiered at Sundance in 2016.
Winning the Oscar created changes in her life both big and small. Heder at first kept it on her desk at home, but had to move it because she began to feel the statuette’s crossed arms quietly judging her as she worked. When she drove herself to the Spirit Awards the year after “CODA’s” triumph and spontaneously gave a ride to an afterparty to Maggie Gyllenhaal and Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Heder suddenly realized her 10-year-old Subaru wasn’t going to cut it anymore.
“I have a nicer car now,” she says, laughing at the memory. “It’s baby steps.”
The day after the Oscars, Heder recalls that she couldn’t stop crying, all the pressure built up from months of campaigning events and Q&As finally letting itself out.
She says two things changed almost immediately after winning the Oscar. One was a sense of expectation, wanting to make the most of whatever the moment might allow.
“This was not a part of my plans,” she says. “I didn’t ever intend to have so many eyeballs turn to me and go, ’What are you doing now?’”
The second was simply the volume of material and opportunities incoming. Heder says she met with Marvel “so many times” about different projects but none of them felt right. As an independent filmmaker “you’re always pushing against the no,” she puts it, moving projects forward against all odds. But now she felt she had to be the resistance, the one to ask whether something was worthwhile.
“Suddenly there are a lot of voices chiming in too because your reps have an idea of what you should do next and the industry has an idea of what you should do next,” Heder says. “And it was really important for me to center myself back in a feeling of: I’ve always been drawn to stories because they move me. And that hasn’t changed.”
Her Oscars triumph was also the night of the notorious Will Smith-Chris Rock on-stage slap, which overshadowed coverage. Heder is online enough that she knows that some film fans would want an asterisk next to the Oscar wins for “CODA,” as if to note some sort of COVID-era exception for the first film from a streaming service to win Hollywood’s top award.
“There’s definitely an element of: ‘She manipulated everyone with that movie. She made us all cry and that’s why she won,’” Heder says with a edge of defiance. “I was an indie filmmaker that was compelled to tell that story. And then audiences embraced that story and that story took off in a way that was unexpected and surprising even for me.”
Siân Heder holds her Oscar for best adapted screenplay for “CODA” backstage during the Oscars in 2022.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Heder had been developing “Being Heumann” before “CODA” was released. A friend encouraged Heder to see the 2020 documentary “Crip Camp,” which includes Heumann as a subject, and the filmmaker was so struck by that story, she followed up by reading Heumann’s 2020 memoir.
She sent Heumann a cold email expressing interest in the book. As it turned out, Heumann was deciding that very day who should direct a movie of her life. Heumann gave the filmmaker a last-minute chance to pitch herself. After saying she’d cast authentically disabled performers as she did on “CODA,” Heder got the job.
Heder would work for two years on researching and developing the project with Heumann, interviewing dozens of people involved in the actual Carter-era protest. When Heumann died unexpectedly in 2023, Heder did not think she could continue, but it was “Crip Camp” co-director James Lebrecht who convinced her otherwise.
“I think Judy’s death, which was sudden — it made me feel like she had left her legacy in my hands,” remembers Heder.
After developing other scripts post-Oscars that never quite became her next film, Heder eventually found herself in the enviable position of having two projects greenlit at once: “Being Heumann” at Apple and an adaptation of Gabrielle Zevin’s popular novel “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” at Paramount.
As she was trying to make a decision, she went to a meeting with several other directors about the relaunching of the Village Theater in Westwood. She found herself having coffee with Guillermo del Toro and asked him how he decided between potential projects.
“And he said, ‘Make the movie that can’t get made without you,’” she recalls. “And that was very clarifying for me. When you are the element that gets that story told, it takes on an importance and urgency.”
As can often be the case, Del Toro’s advice confirmed what she already felt and she began to move forward with “Being Heumann.” (She is currently prepping “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” so there will not be another five-year gap between releasing films.)
“I was having a rare moment of power in the industry to push something forward,” Heder says, “and it felt like there was a path to go make a big paycheck and have that kind of jump up, or I could use that moment of power and success to try to push through the hardest project I could think of. It was in that moment, after ‘CODA,’ where I really realized: I could make this incredibly difficult movie that no one might make.”
Andrew Pilkington, from left, Siena Rafter, Charlie Rush-Reese, Dylan O’Brien, Roberta Colindrez, Ruth Madeley and Madeline Delp in the movie “Being Heumann.”
(Apple TV)
Following what Heder describes as “the casting Olympics,’ she arrived at BAFTA-nominated actor Ruth Madeley, a wheelchair user, to play the lead role. “Being Heumann” was shot in Toronto, largely on a soundstage built to stand in for the San Francisco federal office building where the sit-in took place.
“Hollywood might be the least accessible industry out there,” Heder notes while beginning to explain the accommodations that needed to be made for a cast that included performers with a wide range of disabilities. Custom-built trailers were created and the set had to be made accessible in ways that a filming location typically is not. An accessibility team oversaw everything, from large-scale logistics to the personal needs of individual background actors.
Rather than a more conventional biopic, Heder wanted to tell the more specific story of the 504 sit-in, building out an ensemble of characters around Heumann.
“I said, “It’s almost like ‘Bad News Bears’ and ‘Dog Day Afternoon’ together,” says Heder. “There’s an underdog-sports-team feeling and bank-heist-gone-wrong.”
But a filmmaker friend asked her: Is making movies about disability now her “thing”? It is a question Heder had already considered.
“Of course it was on my mind if it starts to feel like: Oh, is Siân Heder a social justice warrior who’s just out to try to make these movies that have some kind of message behind them,” she says preemptively. “But I think this is just a great story. Outside of disability, outside of anything else, it is a great story.”
Heder remains interested in stories about outsiders, about class and people generally ignored by or on the fringes of society. And it remains important that she herself feel a part of a larger community in her life and her work.
“My daughter said to me the other day, ‘Mom, I think you’re the right kind of famous because you are important to people who know who you are, but you can still just be in the world and be anonymous.” And I think there’s something true about that.”
Her daughter has obviously inherited Heder’s deep well of empathy, one that is more concerned with bringing new, unseen stories to the screen than with the pursuit of cool points or pure fame.
“‘Earnest’ has become a dirty word,” says Heder. “And what earnest actually means is direct and truthful.”
TELLURIDE, Colo. — The Telluride Film Festival has always enjoyed keeping a secret. Tucked away in the Colorado mountains with nary a red carpet or paparazzo in sight, the low-key film festival doesn’t announce its lineup until the day before opening and surprise additions have long been a fixture of the event.
But even by Telluride standards, organizers went to unusual lengths this year to keep their biggest surprise under wraps. They had carved out a prime Sunday evening slot for a world premiere that, fingers crossed, would remain unknown until the audience was seated inside the theater. Festival director Julie Huntsinger offered only a few clues beforehand. The film involved some “very known names,” she told The Times. “Do not miss it. Your jaw will be on the ground for the entire length of the film.”
For three days, trying to crack the mystery became Telluride’s unofficial parlor game. Was it Aaron Sorkin’s “The Social Reckoning”? Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune: Part Three”? Alex Gibney’s Elon Musk documentary “Musk”? By Sunday, the mounting speculation had become fodder for jokes: Introducing his new movie “Club Kid” earlier in the day, writer-director-star Jordan Firstman announced that the evening’s TBA would be a newly restored print of Jerry Seinfeld’s 2007 animated film “Bee Movie.” “Just kidding,” he added. “I love Jerry.”
The festival kept the suspense going right up to showtime. Before entering the Werner Herzog Theatre on Sunday evening, hundreds of moviegoers were required to lock their phones in pouches to prevent spreading the word. Inside, they were warned that security guards equipped with night-vision goggles would be watching for anyone who managed to keep a phone accessible.
Taking the stage, Huntsinger made one last plea for secrecy. “What happens in Telluride stays in Telluride,” she told the crowd, before bringing out Nathan Fielder, the deadpan comic mind behind the reality-bending television shows “Nathan for You,” “The Rehearsal” and “The Curse.”
What Telluride had been guarding so carefully was “You Can See Everything,” a nearly three-hour documentary about convicted Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes, co-directed by Fielder and documentary filmmaker Lance Oppenheim. The film, which A24 will release theatrically in October, had been made largely in secret over three years.
“For those of you who don’t know who we are and are disappointed, I apologize,” Fielder, joined onstage by Oppenheim, told the crowd to laughs. “But hopefully by the end of the film, you’ll be slightly less disappointed.”
The movie begins 34 days before Holmes is due to report to federal prison, with Fielder, Oppenheim and a small crew given extraordinary access to her life with her partner, Billy Evans, and their young children. Holmes and Evans embrace what they call “radical transparency,” opening their home to the cameras in hopes of convincing the filmmakers — and eventually the world — that the public has fundamentally misunderstood her.
But as anyone familiar with Fielder’s reenactment-heavy work can imagine, “You Can See Everything” quickly becomes something far stranger than a conventional documentary. Fielder finds himself drawn from behind the camera into the story, struggling to determine whether Holmes and Evans are being candid with him or manipulating him. From there, the movie takes a series of increasingly surreal turns, including elaborate reenactments involving a Hollywood actress (her arrival is too good to spoil) that further scramble the line between reality and performance.
During a post-screening Q&A moderated by Emma Stone, who co-starred with Fielder in the darkly comic A24 series “The Curse,” Fielder said that his own inability to get a firm grip on what he was witnessing became one of the forces driving the project.
“We’re all smart and we’re really working at the top of our intelligence,” he recalled thinking as he and the crew tried to make sense of their time with Holmes and Evans. “Why can’t we make sense of what’s happening in this house?”
The project began, appropriately enough, with a magic trick.
Oppenheim said he and Fielder were at the Magic Castle in Los Angeles several years ago when a magician asked the audience to name a celebrity. Someone called out Elizabeth Holmes. Afterward, Oppenheim told Fielder he had heard through a friend of a friend that Holmes was looking for someone to document her life.
Fielder had read John Carreyrou’s “Bad Blood,” the bestselling 2018 account of Theranos’ rise and collapse and initially saw little reason to make another documentary about Holmes.
“I thought the story was really fully told,” he told the Telluride crowd. Holmes, however, had largely disappeared from public view, and Fielder was curious about what she might have to say for herself.
Meeting her only deepened that curiosity. Sitting across from Holmes, Fielder said, he found her “sort of honest and charming,” even as his brain was warning him, “No, don’t trust.” That disconnect — between what he knew about Holmes and what he felt in her presence — became central to the movie.
A24 gave Fielder and Oppenheim unusual freedom to pursue the project without any deadline or obligation to turn what they captured into a finished film. If nothing came of it, Fielder recalled being told, “you can just throw everything away.”
Holmes founded Theranos in 2003 and became one of Silicon Valley’s most celebrated young entrepreneurs by claiming the company could perform a wide range of medical tests using only a few drops of blood. The company collapsed after investigations exposed serious problems with its technology and business practices. In 2022, Holmes was convicted on four counts related to defrauding investors and later sentenced to more than 11 years in federal prison.
As shown in “You Can See Everything,” once Holmes reports to federal prison, the filmmakers’ access to her changes dramatically, with Evans — who takes over Holmes’ Twitter feed and assumes power of attorney over her decisions — becoming their main conduit. Fielder said the relationship grew strained as Evans tried to exert greater control over the project. Neither Holmes nor Evans has seen the finished movie.
Fielder is hoping to keep the film’s biggest surprises under wraps. During the Q&A, he told the Telluride audience he hoped future viewers could experience the film without knowing where it was headed. Stone seconded the request.
“You won’t be upsetting me,” Fielder joked. “You’ll be upsetting Oscar-winning actress Emma Stone.”
Fielder said that even after three years immersed in her world, he still doesn’t know quite what to make of Holmes — or how much of what she says can be believed.
“I really am struggling to this day to understand exactly what I experienced in this,” he said. “I don’t quite know what I went through.”
As the crowd filed out of the Herzog, one reaction seemed to recur more than any other: “That was wild.”
TELLURIDE, Colo. — For four days every Labor Day weekend, the Telluride Film Festival turns this tiny mountain town into something of a refuge from the outside world. Tucked into a box canyon and far from the usual machinery of Hollywood, moviegoers spend their days seeing films they may have known little about before arriving and talking about them almost nonstop.
Artificial intelligence, apparently, did not get the memo.
This year, even Telluride’s usually self-contained movie bubble couldn’t keep out the existential anxieties surrounding AI. On Saturday, the festival devoted two events to the subject, beginning with “The Humanity Dilemma,” an hourlong multimedia presentation mixing dire warnings with live music and imagery, and continuing with a panel bluntly titled “AI AI AI,” featuring Microsoft co-founder Bill Gates.
Introducing “The Humanity Dilemma” at the nearly packed Sheridan Opera House, festival executive director Julie Huntsinger acknowledged that Telluride normally steers clear of taking political sides. “We just let the program speak for us,” Huntsinger said.
But on AI, she made an exception.
“We are a very humanist festival — that’s how we identify,” Huntsinger said. “AI is a threat.” While acknowledging potentially beneficial applications, she urged the audience to become more engaged in the debate over its development.
“We all need to be very alert and vigilant and loving and kind and stop this s—,” she said, earning loud whoops of approval from some in the crowd.
For all of Huntsinger’s warnings, Telluride is not treating AI as off-limits. Its program includes “Love, Rendered,” a short documentary directed by Liz Garbus and produced by Darren Aronofsky about an elderly couple confronting the husband’s memory loss. Using AI along with family photographs and stories from loved ones, the filmmakers recreate the moment the couple first met and fell in love 70 years earlier. On Sunday, the film’s creative team is scheduled to discuss the project at an event titled “Filmmaking and Technology With Empathy: AI for Societal Benefit.”
“The Humanity Dilemma” was presented by Tristan Harris and Aza Raskin, co-founders of the Center for Humane Technology, who appeared in the 2020 documentary “The Social Dilemma,” along with artist and researcher Joy Mauthe and violinist Andrei Matorin. Harris and Raskin also appear in this year’s “The AI Doc: Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist.”
The presentation was designed to work on the emotions as well as the intellect. Original songs about humanity’s relationship to AI ran through much of the hour, with Mauthe singing and playing guitar and Matorin on violin, as Harris and Raskin delivered warnings accompanied by images of environmental devastation, poverty and figures in the AI race including Elon Musk, Sam Altman and Larry Ellison.
Their argument was stark: The race to build more powerful AI is moving far faster than governments or the public can keep up. Their deepest fear is that humans could eventually lose control of increasingly capable AI systems altogether.
At the same time, they acknowledged the technology’s potentially transformative benefits.
“AI is confusing because it represents both simultaneous utopia and dystopia,” Raskin said. “Just imagine having to reason about a nuke that could also solve cancer.”
By the end, Harris was calling for a halt to the development of more powerful systems.
“We need to pause frontier AI development and pivot and steer towards a pro-human future,” he said.
The hour concluded with Mauthe leading the audience in a final refrain, singing that the future is “still in our hands.” It was the kind of unabashedly earnest moment that could easily have tipped into awkwardness, but many in the room seemed to embrace it.
A few hours later, Harris and Raskin returned for “AI AI AI,” held outdoors at the Abel Gance Open Air Cinema in Telluride’s Elks Park, joined by Gates and filmmaker Joshua Oppenheimer, director of the Oscar-nominated documentaries “The Act of Killing” and “The Look of Silence,” who served as a moderator.
From left, Bill Gates, Aza Raskin, Tristan Harris and filmmaker Joshua Oppenheimer discuss the risks and potential benefits of artificial intelligence at the Telluride Film Festival on Saturday.
(Josh Rottenberg)
For Gates, who has spent decades focusing much of his philanthropy and public advocacy on global health and poverty, the rise of AI has forced him to make room for a new priority. In an essay published last week, he warned that the technology was improving faster than he anticipated and called for a new framework to manage its risks.
At Telluride, Gates said he now feels compelled to devote some of the political influence he has long used to advocate for causes such as malnutrition, polio and malaria to raise alarms about AI as well.
“Is this the greatest problem humanity has ever faced?” Gates said. “That is just a fact.”
Gates said his concerns have grown as AI systems have become more capable, particularly at writing computer code, something he has been obsessed with since he was 13.
“The AIs are superhuman, i.e., better than I am at writing code,” Gates said.
He laid out five broad areas of concern: jobs, biotechnology, cyberattacks, psychosocial harms and whether humans will be able to maintain control over the systems they are building.
Oppenheimer said that after spending hours digging into AI risks ahead of the panel, he had come away “absolutely terrified.” He read aloud an answer he had received after asking ChatGPT to estimate the risks if the race toward increasingly powerful AI continued with little regulation.
The chatbot put the chance of “persistent dystopian outcomes for all humanity” at 25% to 40%, a civilization-scale catastrophe at 5% to 15% and human extinction or permanent loss of human control at 5% to 10%.
“That’s what AI thinks,” Oppenheimer said.
Gates stressed AI’s potential upside, citing advances in medicine, education and assistance to farmers in poor countries. But pressed on whether development should be slowed until safety measures catch up, he said he would be open to the idea.
“If there was a credible plan that would cause this to be either slowed down or, you know, even held in stasis for a period of time, I would likely support that,” Gates said.
The difficulty, he said, is that multiple developers in both the U.S. and China are pushing closer to the technological frontier. Still, Gates rejected the argument that competition with China makes meaningful regulation impossible.
“China does not want cyberattacks, bioattacks or loss of control,” Gates said.
The discussion was punctuated by a pair of outbursts from the audience. At one point, as Gates discussed the economic incentives driving AI development, a man shouted that they represented “everything that’s wrong with America” and invoked Jesus Christ. Gates paused before responding dryly: “Anyway, not everything is wrong with America, according to me.”
Gates argued that government and civil society need to move much more quickly.
“This five-year period, in my view, is a very critical period,” he said, adding that responses that take five or six years to get underway could come too late.
Despite the dire warnings, Harris pointed to signs that pressure for safeguards is growing, including calls from AI-industry employees to limit the development of more powerful systems. Just last week, Meta agreed to pay $17 billion to settle claims by 29 states that Facebook and Instagram harmed young users while also agreeing to new child-safety measures on the platforms.
“I just want to leave you with not naive optimism, but momentum,” Harris said.
Near the end, Raskin suggested that President Trump’s well-documented desire to win the Nobel Peace Prize might provide an incentive for him to pursue a U.S.-China pause on more powerful AI systems.
“What’s better than solving one war?” Raskin said. “Saving all of humanity forever from uncontrollable AI.”
Gates, with a wry smile, called the Nobel angle “smart.”
“Whoever really takes the step to solve this AI problem would deserve the Nobel Prize,” he said.
Later that night, the festival would hold an outdoor screening of Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey,” featuring HAL 9000, one of cinema’s most famous rogue artificial intelligences.
Gates framed the current stakes in similarly cinematic terms.
“There are these movies where the aliens are coming, and you see unprecedented levels of cooperation between China and the U.S.,” he said. “Well, believe me, the aliens are here.”
VENICE, Italy — “My actual personality is not very friendly, I’m afraid,” claims Korean actor Jeon Do-yeon. “Myself and actor Sul Kyung-gu, we can be a little bit brusque. We don’t really have the talent to make the set fun.”
As she says it, though, Jeon and co-star Cho Yeo-jeong are laughing — making the assertion rather harder to believe when it arrives in English from Korean via an interpreter. Throughout our conversation, in fact, the pair chuckles, nods along to each other’s answers, interjects sounds of assent. Enough for me to understand that their chemistry comes naturally, whatever Jeon’s protestations.
“In the film I play a character that chases [Jeon’s character] and it really suited me, almost to the point where I didn’t really need to try and act this role,” as Cho puts it. “I was almost like a sunflower, constantly facing and chasing actor Jeon.”
The actors needed every ounce of the sublime chemistry they forged to portray the magnetic but fatally flawed relationship at the heart of auteur Lee Chang-dong’s first film in eight years, “Possible Love,” which premiered Sunday at the Venice Film Festival. South Korea’s international feature submission for the 2027 Oscars, the Netflix film sees Ye-ji (Cho), a documentarian married to a wealthy businessman (Zo In-sung), cozy up to Mi-ok (Jeon), whose husband (Sul) has been seriously injured in a brutal crackdown on striking factory workers, in order to secure an interview with him — only for divisions of class and professional ambition to expose the fault lines in their relationship, and in turn their marriages.
“It seems like they want to be friends with each other, but then there seems to be a line that just cannot be crossed between them,” says Lee, also through an interpreter, of the actors’ accomplished double act, referring to a scene in which Ye-ji bristles at Mi-ok’s suggestion that her high-end clothes are out of place interviewing unemployed laborers. “[Jeon and Cho] knew of that and they went into shooting that scene knowing that it was quite challenging to express. There were, of course, some things that were up to the camera in bringing that about, but I think that was a scene where the two were able to express just how nuanced and quite strange the relationship can be.”
The film itself is just as slippery and multi-layered, down to Lee’s heady admixture of documentary and dramatic aesthetics. Inspired by real-life labor conflict in South Korea, “Possible Love” uses Ye-ji’s nonfiction study of laid-off workers as a window into the lives of ordinary people swept up in large-scale social change, against the backdrop of which the two women’s competing priorities are thrown into stark relief. Can a filmmaker who totes a $4,000 Lora Piana backpack, however well-intentioned, truly understand the plight of the working class? Is a subject eager to publicize a political struggle prepared for the risk that her personal privacy will be invaded in the process?
To choreograph the film within the film — so compelling that I almost missed seeing its conclusion when “Possible Love” shifts the focus to interpersonal fireworks in the third hour — Lee cast a real-life documentary director and cinematographer as Ye-ji’s crew, lending what Cho calls their “natural energy” to the movements of the camera. Cho herself prepared by consulting the late master of the form, Frederick Wiseman, who was unabashed about the tension between documentary filmaking’s often radical politics and the privilege required to turn it into a profession.
“[Wiseman] was posed the question by some students studying film and documentary: ‘How can I pursue this work in reality?’” she recalls. “And he replied with the immortal words, ‘Marry a rich man.’ And you know, I was preparing for the role of Ye-ji, so it was such an apt response for her situation.”
Jeon, left, and Cho in “Possible Love.”
(Joo Jae-bum/Netflix)
The potential for conflict bursts into the open at a seaside home that has been in Ye-ji’s husband’s family for years, where the group has decamped for a supposedly restorative holiday. Reminded of the setting by the location of our conversation — a set of green-curtained, pink-carpeted suites at the Hotel Excelsior, overlooking the northern shores of the Adriatic — I ask the actors what’s going through their characters’ minds when Mi-ok and Ye-ji’s promising connection ultimately severs.
Mi-ok “doesn’t really want to reveal to anyone else what’s going on in the family … She only wants to show the good side that they are trying to live their best life and trying to improve and move forward with hopefulness,” Jeon says, citing an early scene in which Mi-ok asks the crew not to film her son’s awkward taekwondo at a school field day. When the camera’s prying eye becomes more intrusive, though, she “feels a great sense of betrayal, that her family is being used and exploited.”
For Cho, who says Ye-ji is “constantly balancing the ethical dilemma” between documenting the truth and treating her subjects with care, the break was always inevitable, and no amount of Ye-ji’s remorse or guilt can repair the damage.
Against this microcosm of the class war Lee sets the emergence of artificial intelligence, which threatens to further destabilize labor across a range of industries — including his own. Although he’s uncertain if, when or how AI will “intrude” on the “entirely creative” filmmaking process, the “Poetry” and “Burning” director is already using it for everyday tasks.
“Before going to see the doctor, I like to ask AI all the symptoms that I have, ask what’s wrong with me. Or I would ask, you know, ‘What’s the weather like in Venice?’” he says. “AI gives us instant answers, and it goes even beyond that to where it gives you advice these days. And in that sense, AI has indeed really gotten deeply intertwined in my daily life.”
Similarly, Jeon is open to using AI for more “trivial” matters, such as simultaneous translation from English to Korean and vice versa. But she admits to more “extreme thoughts” than Lee about the technology’s role in the future of screen acting.
“I’m going to be starring in a [Korean-language adaptation] of Anton Chekov’s “The Cherry Orchard” upcoming in New York. And I was wondering, actually, is the stage the last place that cannot be conquered by AI, and will not be replaced by AI?”
Perhaps. But the scene in “Possible Love” that best captures the finely honed chemistry of its female leads, in which Mi-ok and Ye-ji drunkenly bond over soju and Korean barbecue as their bemused husbands look on, seems to me beyond the capabilities of AI — it’s too warm, too meticulously rendered to be anything other than fully human, the sort of acting one hopes the Venice jury will remember when it hands out the Volpi Cup for best actress on Saturday.
“It is quite difficult technically and practically — it was a scene that we shot all night long,” Cho says. “But I remember shooting it with a lot of pleasure.”
It’s been a remarkable year for Bad Bunny, one of pop music’s biggest stars. After winning multiple trophies earlier this year at the Grammys, including album of the year for “Débi Tirar Más Fotos,” he can add another accolade: Emmy winner.
The Puerto Rican rapper and singer, also known as Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, won his first Emmy for variety special (live) on Saturday for his historic Super Bowl halftime show. It was the first Spanish-language halftime show, a 13-minute spectacle that transformed a football field into a variety of scenes including a sugar cane field, bodega, wedding party and casita, like the one in his 2025 San Juan residency. It also featured performances by Lady Gaga and Ricky Martin. Mikael Wood, The Times’ pop music critic, called it “a busy and colorful performance that drew lines between the traditional folk forms of his native island and the throbbing reggaeton beats that have made him an icon to young people around the globe.”
Bad Bunny served as a producer on the show. It won seven Emmys overall, including for directing for a variety special and music direction.
Also honored at Saturday’s ceremony was Mariska Hargitay for her documentary “My Mom Jayne,” about her mother Jayne Mansfield, a Hollywood actor who died in a car accident when Hargitay was 3 years old. Hargitay also received an Emmy for directing the film and Tony Hardmon won for cinematography. The movie, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival last year, had a limited theatrical run before being released on HBO in June 2025. Hargitay won an Emmy in 2006 for lead actress in a drama for playing Det. Olivia Benson in “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.”
In an interview with The Times last year, Hargitay said, “Making this film has been so extraordinary to me and totally reframed the narrative for me,” about Mansfield and the struggles she encountered over her brief but celebrated career. The film also revealed that Hargitay’s biological father was Nelson Sardelli, a former entertainer, and not Mickey Hargitay, the man who raised her and Mansfield’s second husband.
The first pair of Emmy ceremonies, formerly called the Creative Arts Emmys, are held over two nights, two weekends before the Primetime Emmy Awards, and honor many of the behind-the-scenes workers and craftspeople in television. An abridged version of the ceremonies will be broadcast Sept. 12 on FXX and stream on Hulu the following day.
Here is a list of winners from Saturday’s ceremony:
VENICE, Italy — When Skyler Gisondo turns up in “Primetime” as “Decoy Dan” Plum, an aspiring 23-year-old actor cast to play teenage bait for an unsuspecting pedophile, the camera can’t take its eyes off him.
The second trap set in director Lance Oppenheim’s lurid sweeps-ploitation drama about “To Catch a Predator” follows Gisondo’s face, most often in extreme close-up, as Dan processes what he’s gotten himself into, attempts to make small talk with the predator and finally flees off set, where he sits down, steadies himself and sheds a shaken tear. The suspect, meanwhile, is an afterthought, or more accurately a punchline: He only truly captures the camera’s attention when he drops trou, rips the top off a canister of whipped cream and sprays.
It’s an arresting formal choice, repeated from the opening sequence — that of the viral “You see how this looks, right?” moment from the trailer — to the climatic suicide of Rockwall County, Texas, Assistant Dist. Atty. Bill Conradt Jr., whose case is explored in the Esquire magazine article on which Ajon Singh’s screenplay is based. With rare exception, “Primetime” doesn’t have the guts to look its predators in the eye.
And perhaps it doesn’t need to. The film directs its most gleeful energies instead to taking “To Catch a Predator” host Chris Hansen (Robert Pattinson) down a peg. The former “Dateline NBC” correspondent, who turned a newsmagazine segment about men soliciting teens for sex online into a hidden-camera sensation in the mid-aughts, comes off here as a self-serious showboat who’s mistaken tabloid trash for accountability journalism. (As one audio technician complains, “Guy thinks he’s f— Mike Wallace.”) It’s not just that stentorian voice, either. Envy of “Dateline” co-anchor Stone Phillips provides as much motivation as ratings pressure from TV executive Jeff Zucker (playing himself), with Hansen micromanaging his crew, insulting his producer, Andie (Merritt Wever), and neglecting his wife and kids in the process.
At least in the film’s early going, this yearning for adulation is played for cringeworthy comedy, and effectively so; my hardest laugh came when Hansen screens the rough cut of a new episode for his young sons and brags to them about “To Catch a Predator” being moved to a better time slot. As the tone moves toward horror, though, the decision to make the host the story quickly stops paying dividends. Indeed, though the real-life broadcaster may not find all the ego-deflation very funny, even Hansen — who told my colleague Stephen Battaglio that he objects to the film using his name and likeness under the label “inspired by true events” — would have to admit that “Primetime” avoids the thorniest questions about the true-crime empire he built.
Robert Pattinson as Chris Hansen in “Primetime.”
(A24)
Compared with David Osit’s superb 2025 documentary “Predators,” a kaleidoscopic examination of the phenomenon from the perspective of Hansen, the decoys, the suspects, law enforcement, journalistic ethics and the filmmaker’s own experience as a survivor of child sexual abuse, “Primetime” seems remarkably incurious about “To Catch a Predator” and its consequences. It would probably be too much to ask a scripted feature to explore the challenge of achieving convictions against defendants ensnared on an episode of “Dateline,” or to delve into the legal niceties of surreptitious recording. But the suspects here are so anonymized — seen in profile or steep angles through a hidden camera lens, spied at a distance on a monitor in video village, heard as a disembodied voice on a phone or read via text in an instant message — that there’s not much to argue over anyway. The predators are reduced from people to “perverts,” of scarcely more interest to “Primetime” than to the bloodthirsty viewer Hansen meets on a plane.
When an entrapped rabbi attacks Hansen during a sting, screaming in his own tight close-up, “You don’t have the right to do this. Who do you think you are?” the film briefly, mercifully breaks this pattern, and generates an electric moment of moral uncertainty. But it doesn’t last. Instead, in its depiction of the Conradt case — ostensibly meant to underscore “To Catch a Predator’s” worst extremes — “Primetime” stumbles into some of the very same gutter sleaze tactics as the original series, transforming what was in reality a grim mid-afternoon standoff into a tense, pitch-dark operation punctuated by lightning strikes, power outages and night-vision cameras.
Such poetic license offers little new insight into a topic that has already been picked over for two decades, but it might be forgiven were Hansen as easily dramatized as he is made fun of. Alas. “Primetime” itself seems to know this — why else hire Gisondo to play Jimmy Olsen to Pattinson’s unlikable Man of Zeal — yet proceeds to construct its second half around Hansen’s unraveling: an extramarital affair, about to be exposed in the National Enquirer; ratings losses to ABC competitor “Lost”; desperation to reel in a “whale” and willingness to cut corners to do it. By the time the film again confronts the specter of something wicked under “To Catch a Predator’s” glossy surface, it comes in the form of Hansen’s own phantoms, introduced in a grueling flashback to India in the 1990s and carried through to the film’s conclusion. Why we’re to care about this apparent flash of horror, if not of conscience, remains unexplained. What about the faintly ludicrous figure of the foregoing 100-plus minutes was supposed to make me care about his moral compass?
In the final estimation, then, “Primetime” isn’t a Chris Hansen hit piece. In fact, it’s so in love with its flawed protagonist that it can’t see he’s the least compelling character in the movie, an ambitious, arrogant, grasping, unscrupulous man we’ve met countless times before. Which may explain the film’s final bit of poetic license. The last we last see of Hansen, muttering lines from his script as the police process the Conradt crime scene, suggests a man disturbed, perhaps even chastened, by what he has witnessed. But of course the real-life Hansen continues his sting operations to this day under the banner of “Takedown,” a series on his streaming service TruBlu, and both there and in “Predators” he appears utterly unshaken, unhaunted, unbowed. So for all the tension between the film and its subject to come through in the press of late, the gulf between them is not so wide as one might suspect.
Michael Lomonaco can account for every minute of the morning of Sept. 11, 2001 — including the small decision that saved his life.
Lomonaco, the executive chef who ran Windows on the World on the 106th and 107th floors of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, was on his way up to his office when he stopped at an optometrist shop on the ground level to have his eyeglass frames adjusted.
He was still inside when American Airlines Flight 11 hit the tower above him at 8:46 a.m.
“I felt the buidling shake,” he recalled in the new CNN Films documentary “Top of the World.” “And I thought that can’t be the subway. That’s impossible.”
Lomonaco was evacuated. From the street, he watched employees of his own restaurant wave a white tablecloth from a window more than 100 floors up. Seventy-nine Windows on the World employees and 91 guests died that morning in the gastronomic soul of the Twin Towers — the one part of the complex that belonged to New Yorkers who didn’t work there, and to visitors from everywhere else.
“Top of the World” premieres Monday at 8 p.m. ET/PT on CNN and begins streaming the following day on the network’s subscription streaming platforms. The documentary short arrives on a double anniversary: 25 years since the attacks, and 50 years since Windows on the World opened on April 19, 1976.
It is the work of producer-director team Betsy West and Julie Cohen, who made “RBG,” the Oscar-nominated portrait of the late Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The film is a production of CNN Films, TIME Studios and Tribeca Studios, in association with Montalto Pictures and Storyville Films, and was inspired by Tom Roston’s book “The Most Spectacular Restaurant in the World.” Actor Denis Leary voices the restaurant’s creator, Joe Baum, drawn from decades of archival recordings.
West and Cohen were reluctant to take it on. Both were working in network television news in 2001.
“There’s like a part of you that doesn’t want to go back there,” Cohen said in a recent interview. “But when we read this book and met some of the amazing people who had worked at Windows over its 25-year history, we realized this was actually a really good way into remembering there was a lot of beautiful stuff in the Twin Towers and like we shouldn’t let that disappear just because it ended so painfully.”
What emerges is a history of how a restaurant transformed the reputation of the monolithic Twin Towers, which received little respect from architecture critics and bafflement from a public that wondered why it was built in the 1970s by the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey as the city was fighting off financial collapse.
“This film tells a story of a restaurant that was very special to New York a time when New York was getting kicked in the teeth,” the Brooklyn-born Lomonaco said in a recent interview.
The World Trade Center operators turned to restaurant impresario Joe Baum to create a dining experience that would draw people to the Manhattan neighborhood largely known for its blocks of stores that sold radios and electronic parts. Baum was known for such New York dining landmarks as the Four Seasons and Tavern on the Green, and his new creation became an immediate hit after it opened in 1976, becoming a magnet for tourists and celebrities alike who came for the eye-popping views through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
At the time of the 9/11 attack, the World was the highest-revenue-generating privately owned restaurant in the U.S.
West noted another draw to the story was the stories of the many immigrants who worked at Windows, which proudly called itself “the U.N. of restaurants.” The film’s focus on the contribution of the foreign-born population to the restaurant industry stands in stark contrast to the image of immigrants conveyed by the Trump White House to justify its deportation efforts.
“Immigrants continue to make a contribution to our country and to the economy,” West said. “This was an opportunity to tell that positive story as opposed to what’s going on in our country now.”
Cohen and West scoured the Windows on the World Facebook page to find surviving former employees to help tell the story. Nathalie Tolentino was a hostess whose family came to the U.S. to escape political upheaval in Peru. Sekou Siby was a line cook from the Ivory Coast, who swapped shifts with one of the workers who died during a morning breakfast held in the restaurant on 9/11. Both talk about how the restaurant changed their lives.
Lomonaco is a central character in the “Top of the World,” as his arrival as the executive chef of Windows in 1997 boosted the restaurant’s culinary reputation. A hot chef who oversaw a turnaround at the 21 Club, another legendary New York dining spot, Lomonaco turned Windows into a destination for American cuisine along with the breathtaking views.
Lomonaco arrived after the restaurant was closed for three years following the first terrorist bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993 that killed six people and injured more than 1,000 but left the towers intact.
Once Windows on the World was gone, Lomonaco was offered high-profile restaurant jobs in other parts of the country. But he had unfinished business in New York.
“I didn’t want to abandon my city,” he said.
In the first days after the attacks, Lomonaco said, he read nothing about Windows on the World; coverage centered on the massive loss of life among the first responders and at the financial firms inside the World Trade Center. But over time, he got attention and support for the families of the employees who lost their lives that day.
Lomonaco and the restaurant’s owners formed Windows of Hope, a charitable foundation that raised more than $22 million to pay for healthcare and tuition costs for the children of the victims. “We were giving checks to people to pay their rent before federal funds came through,” he said.
Lomonaco said he still meets patrons who give him a matchbook or coaster from their visit to Windows. “They feel like they have to give me or send me these little artifacts,” he said. “That’s what has touched me the most.”
ITV are screening this war film based on one of the most significant battles of all time, with a huge historic figure at the centre of it all
ITV are screening this war film based on one of the most significant battles of all time tonight(Image: PA)
History was turned into a legendary piece of storytelling when this film made its way to the big screen in 1970, retelling the real life events of war and now its set to appear on TV’s tonight.
Regarded as one of the great original epic war films, this movie helps to maintain the legacy of the decisive battle of the Napoleonic Wars, in the 1800s.
Waterloo is a sweeping historical movie which remains one of the most powerful entries in the genre, with acclaimed director Peter Jackson even crediting it as a key influence on his work on The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.
It is a film that depicts the real-life Battle of Waterloo, focusing not solely on the conflict itself but also on the pivotal days leading up to the campaign, widely known as the Hundred Days.
It charts Napoleon Bonaparte’s downfall and his return from exile ahead of his crushing defeat at the 1815 battle. Following his comeback, the French military swiftly rallies to his cause, prompting alarmed European powers to forge a new coalition, and war inevitably follows.
Many have praised the film for its historical accuracy, with one viewer writing on Rotten Tomatoes that it is “the most accurate historical film ever”, which is enough to make history buffs want to watch it.
The grand-scale production was a joint venture between Italy and the Soviet Union, helmed by director Sergei Bondarchuk and featuring Rod Steiger in the role of the legendary Emperor Napoleon I.
Following a viewing of the film, one audience member posted a review on Rotten Tomatoes, saying: “This is a classic, and Rod Steiger is immense, making the new Napoleon movie look like an amateur nightmare.”
Another wrote: “remarkable film. One for the ages. A film like it will never be made again.”
It features a number of historical figures played by actors such as Jack Hawkins as General Sir Thomas Picton, Virginia McKenna as the Duchess of Richmond and Orson Welles as the famed Louis XVIII of France.
The film’s most striking element is undoubtedly the combat sequences, which deployed an astonishing 17,000 authentically costumed extras. The battle scenes were meticulously recreated to achieve maximum realism, using genuine numbers and eschewing special effects, establishing a record that remains unbroken for the largest number of costumed extras in any film.
This commitment helped secure multiple accolades, including two BAFTAs for Best Costume Design and Best Art Direction. It’s the director’s unwavering dedication to crafting these teeming, lifelike scenes that continues to strike a chord with audiences.
One viewer wrote: “Easily one of the best movies ever made. Actual soldiers given a Napoleonic battle training playing the extras, one of the most historically accurate film ever made.
“It allows one to immerse oneself in the battle and provides excellent viewing. With brilliant casting this film remains one of my favourites of all time.”
Yet despite the film’s critical acclaim, it struggled to recoup the costs of these monumental scenes at the North American box office. Consequently, its disappointing financial performance triggered a significant industry-wide decline in backing for large-scale practical effects, driven by commercial anxieties.
You can catch the historical drama on ITV4 tonight at 7.40pm. Alternatively, the film is available to stream on ITVX at your convenience.
When the 53rd Telluride Film Festival kicks off Friday high in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains, its lineup will span family rupture and sumo wrestling, AIDS and rock stardom, with films touching on astronomy, Rupert Murdoch and extraterrestrial biker gangs — a typically wide-ranging mix for a festival that likes to keep audiences guessing.
For festival director Julie Huntsinger, the films share less a theme than a feeling. “Tenderness is something that I see in a lot of the movies,” she says. “This is a very heartbreaking, tender year.”
Telluride’s intimacy is part of its peculiar power. Smaller and scruffier than the annual film events of Venice, Toronto or New York, the four-day festival has no competition or juried prizes and keeps its lineup secret until the last minute. Celebrities trade red-carpet formality for jeans and flannel, while audiences crisscross town between screenings in a high school auditorium, a Masonic lodge, the county courthouse and half a dozen other spaces pressed into service for the week.
For a festival that can feel this homespun, its awards-season footprint is remarkably large. Last year, five of the 10 eventual best picture Oscar nominees screened there: “Hamnet,” “Bugonia,” “Sentimental Value,” “The Secret Agent” and “Frankenstein.”
This year there are fewer obvious awards heavyweights in the mix, at a time when prestige and independent films have become harder to finance, distribute and sell to audiences. Then again, Telluride has never depended entirely on known quantities; films such as “Slumdog Millionaire” and “Moonlight” arrived with relatively modest expectations and left as major contenders.
“It’s such a quintessential Telluride lineup,” Huntsinger says of this year’s eclectic program. “They kind of always feel that way because they’re so handmade.”
Among the more than 40 films in Telluride’s main program are new works from major directors such as Martin McDonagh, Werner Herzog, Mike Leigh, Danny Boyle and Paweł Pawlikowski. This year’s Silver Medallion tributes — the festival’s signature career honorees — will go to filmmaker Andrew Haigh and actors Sandra Hüller and John Malkovich, who will make his first trip to Telluride.
John Malkovich and Sam Rockwell in Martin McDonagh’s “Wild Horse Nine”
(Diego Araya Corvalan / Searchlight Pictures)
Haigh, whose films include “All of Us Strangers,” “Lean on Pete” and “45 Years,” returns with “A Long Winter,” adapted from a Colm Tóibín novella and relocated from the Pyrenees to the American Rockies in the 1950s. Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Caitríona Balfe, Kit Connor and Fred Hechinger star as members of a struggling family that begins to unravel after the mother disappears.
Huntsinger calls Haigh deeply humanist. “I don’t know how Andrew is so skilled at getting these performances but that is truly his gift,” she says.
Malkovich comes to Telluride with the dark comedy “Wild Horse Nine,” the latest from McDonagh, writer-director of “The Banshees of Inisherin” and “In Bruges.” Malkovich and Sam Rockwell play veteran CIA operatives who, after helping destabilize Salvador Allende’s government in 1973 Chile, head to Easter Island on a more personal assignment.
“It’s my favorite thing that McDonagh has ever done,” Huntsinger says. “He’s quite incisive. It is a timely film. And Malkovich is extraordinary.”
Hüller returns after a breakout 2023 Telluride, where she brought both “Anatomy of a Fall” and “The Zone of Interest.” She has another two films in the lineup this year: Markus Schleinzer’s “Rose,” in which she plays a woman passing as a male soldier during Europe’s Thirty Years’ War, and Pawlikowski’s “Fatherland” as Erika Mann on a journey back to postwar Germany with her father, the author and Hitler critic Thomas Mann.
Huntsinger seems as taken with Hüller herself as with her artistry — “so much intelligence and compassion for human beings,” she says.
Sandra Hüller and Hanns Zischler in the movie “Fatherland.”
(Agata Grzybowska / Mubi)
Elsewhere, Ira Sachs’ “The Man I Love,” starring Rami Malek, Tom Sturridge and this year’s guest director Rebecca Hall, looks back at New York’s queer creative community during the AIDS crisis. In Simon Stone’s “Elsinore,” Andrew Scott plays “Chariots of Fire” star Ian Charleson, who took on the role of Hamlet at the National Theatre while dying of AIDS. Scott’s performance is already generating early awards-season attention.
Huntsinger hopes audiences won’t overlook Arthur Harari’s “The Unknown,” an uncanny body-swapping drama starring Léa Seydoux that uses its genre premise to explore questions of identity and selfhood. “It is really dense and obtuse but I think it is rewarding and I hope people take up the challenge,” she says.
Telluride has long emphasized nonfiction and this year is no exception. Among the higher-profile entries are “Pete Townshend: Behind Blue Eyes,” a portrait of the Who guitarist and songwriter, and Nanette Burstein’s “Carl Sagan: We Are Made of Star Stuff,” about the astronomer and science communicator. The slate also includes Bryan Fogel’s endurance-sports documentary “The Row”; Pegah Ahangarani’s Iran-focused “Rehearsals for a Revolution”; and Mark Cousins’ 16-hour “The Story of Documentary Film.”
“Everest: The Other Side,” from filmmakers Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi, follows mountaineers Hilaree Nelson and Jim Morrison as they prepare to climb Everest’s north face and attempt an unprecedented ski descent. Chin and Vasarhelyi won an Oscar for 2018’s “Free Solo,” their nerve-shredding chronicle of Alex Honnold’s ropeless ascent up El Capitan.
Huntsinger calls the new film “an even more complex, emotional, deep and profound examination of what we call the call of the wild.” After seeing it, she says, she ran into Chin and blurted out, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
The looming subject of artificial intelligence will also get its own moment in Telluride. A conversation called “The Humanity Dilemma” will examine what the festival calls the “species-level event” of AI’s rise and whether an AI-dominated future is inevitable. “I’m very worried about AI,” Huntsinger says.
For all the films Telluride has announced, the one that might generate the most chatter is still under wraps.
While Telluride routinely reserves “TBA” slots for popular repeat screenings, it has occasionally used them to spring an unannounced title on audiences — as it did last year with “Frankenstein.” This year it has set aside a prime Sunday night slot for just such a surprise: a world premiere involving, Huntsinger says, some “very known names.”
“Do not miss it,” she teases. “You just won’t see this one coming and your jaw will be on the ground for the entire length of the film.” Beyond that, Huntsinger falls back on the festival’s unofficial motto: “Underpromise, overdeliver.”
Inevitably, there will be guessing. One possibility is “The Social Reckoning,” a follow-up to “The Social Network” directed by its Oscar-winning screenwriter Aaron Sorkin. This one’s about Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen and Wall Street Journal reporter Jeff Horwitz and stars Jeremy Strong, Mikey Madison and Jeremy Allen White. It’s due from Sony on Oct. 9. The film was still undergoing reshoots in mid-July.
Huntsinger volunteers one thing: The mystery film is not Alejandro González Iñárritu’s “Digger,” a gonzo satire starring Tom Cruise, Hüller, Riz Ahmed, John Goodman and Jesse Plemons. She says Iñárritu — whose last film, “Bardo,” had a rocky reception on the 2022 festival circuit — was adamant that the decision wasn’t about avoiding festivals.
“As I understand it, there’s a big twist that he would like audiences to discover as close together as possible,” she says of “Digger,” which premieres in London Sept. 22 before opening Oct. 2.
Two of last year’s biggest Oscar contenders, “Sinners” and “One Battle After Another,” also skipped fall festival launches, raising questions about how essential such festivals — Telluride among them — remain to an awards campaign.
Huntsinger understands why a studio might hesitate to expose a film to scrutiny months before release. “The stain can happen if something gets savaged very far ahead of a release,” she says. “There’s a lot at stake.”
But she isn’t convinced the model is broken. She still believes the smaller, more challenging films Telluride tends to champion have “genuine shots” in the Oscar race.
“Getting selected is the prize,” Huntsinger says.
After all the strategizing and prognosticating, what no one can predict is which films will actually connect once audiences arrive.
“I don’t know what people are going to fall in love with,” Huntsinger says. “People have become like cats rather than dogs. You just never know what they’re going to go for.”
A Miami investor who pleaded guilty to making insider trades connected to the parent company of President Trump’s Truth Social platform helped fund a pro-Trump documentary film in hopes of securing a presidential pardon, according to a lawsuit by an L.A. studio that accuses him of threats and extortion.
Michael Shvartsman pleaded guilty in 2024 to insider trading associated with the Trump Media & Technology Group, which federal prosecutors said netted him $18.2 million in ill-gotten gains.
Four months later, Shvartsman helped fund the documentary “The Man You Don’t Know” in an effort to obtain a pardon, according to the lawsuit filed last month in Los Angeles. He denies the allegations.
A company controlled by Shvartsman provided a $425,000 loan in August 2024 to help fund the film, according to the suit. The film featured interviews with Trump’s sons Eric Trump and Donald Trump Jr. and painted a flattering portrait of the president.
Shvartsman attended the film’s premiere that October at Trump’s Mar-a-Lago club in Palm Beach, Fla., where he revealed, according to the lawsuit, that he had provided financing for the movie and “was hoping his participation would enable him to get a pardon.”
The event featured a who’s who of Trump-world insiders, including former New York Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, the late pro wrestler and media personality Hulk Hogan, Eric and Donald Trump Jr., as well as the former and soon-to-be president.
Shvartsman and his associates “arranged meetings” with “contacts and stars” associated with the movie in the hopes of achieving his goal of a pardon, the lawsuit said, though it doesn’t state specifically whom he targeted.
Shvartsman had good reason to seek their help.
Days before the event, he had been sentenced by a federal judge in New York to two years and four months in prison for insider trading connected to the announcement of a merger that would make Trump Media & Technology Group a publicly traded company.
Shvartsman, who is a Canadian citizen, also faced the prospect of deportation after his sentence.
Shvartsman said he “disputes all facts and allegations” in the lawsuit and plans to file a countersuit.
“We are not going to litigate this matter through the press,” he wrote in a message to The Times. “We intend to address the issues through the appropriate legal process, where the relevant facts and documentation can be properly presented and considered.”
Shvartsman’s efforts to mitigate his penalty weren’t limited to the documentary film. A day before his sentencing, the Aleph Institute, a Jewish criminal justice reform group, filed a letter to the federal court in New York laying out a proposed community service plan for Shvartsman to follow. The group had been instrumental in helping secure clemency during Trump’s first term for Philip Esformes, a south Florida man who was serving a 20-year prison sentence for his role in a $1.3-billion Medicare fraud scheme.
But Shvartsman’s story didn’t have a Hollywood ending: He failed to secure a pardon.
He went to prison in January 2025 and was held in federal custody until May 29, 2026, according to Bureau of Prison records. It isn’t clear whether he remains in the U.S.
Though Shvartsman was unsuccessful, dozens of other wealthy convicted individuals have been able to win clemency during Trump’s time in office by spending big bucks on influence campaigns to secure their freedom.
Many of them have ponied up millions of dollars to lobbyists and political insiders who have built a cottage industry out of helping monied convicts secure their freedom.
Some pardon chasers have also made big donations to pro-Trump super PACs as part of their efforts.
Scammers have even tried to get in on the action.
Trump’s pardon czar, Alice Marie Johnson, recently took to social media saying that people have been impersonating her and asking for a “processing fee” to help smooth the path to clemency. She said that neither she nor her office would ever ask for such a payment.
The lawsuit against Shvartsman, brought by the Los Angeles film production company Global Ascension Studios and its chief executive, Joshua Macciello, alleges that Shvartsman and his associates demanded immediate repayment of the loan the day after the 2024 Mar-a-Lago event — nine months before it was due — and threatened Macciello’s “physical safety” if the film company didn’t pay immediately or transfer control of the company to Shvartsman.
The lawsuit alleges that Macciello modified the loan agreement under duress and agreed to give Shvartsman and his company a greater share of the film’s potential proceeds.
It isn’t clear whether the loan has yet been repaid.
The proceeds from the film would prove to be middling.
The film was released days before Trump’s 2024 election victory, but its producers blamed political bias for the movie’s lackluster box office performance after fewer theaters than expected agreed to show it.
“In 37 years, I’ve never seen creative work get censored by theaters in this country,” Arthur Sarkissian, Global Ascension Studios’ former head of production, who was involved in the project, told Deadline at the time.
Sarkissian, best known as a producer of the “Rush Hour” franchise, is also being sued by Global Ascension and Macciello, who accused him of fraud and breach of contract in a lawsuit filed last year in Los Angeles.
Sarkissian has filed a counterclaim against Global Ascension, Macciello and others connected to the film production company, also accusing them of fraud and breach of contract.
For years, Hollywood has talked about a federal film and television tax credit that could help the industry combat the growing number of productions fleeing overseas.
This week, the entertainment business got a glimmer of hope.
After more than a year of quiet work from California lawmakers, industry lobbyists and Hollywood unions to build a bipartisan coalition, President Trump endorsed the effort in a post on Truth Social, providing a major boost to the issue.
If passed, a federal incentive is expected to help draw some productions back to the Golden State, industry experts and advocates said. While it probably won’t immediately end Southern California’s production crisis — as many states now have established film hubs stocked with experienced crews and more generous tax breaks — an added federal credit could certainly help make California more competitive, they said.
“I will put our crews and our talent against any talent anywhere in the world,” said Rep. Laura Friedman (D-Glendale), a former producer who has been pushing for a national film tax credit. “If we have a level playing field upon which to shoot, where we are not much more expensive than other locations, productions will come back to Los Angeles.”
Trump’s Truth Social post came after a meeting with actor Jon Voight, one of the president’s designated Hollywood ambassadors who has played a key role in lobbying for the film industry and advocating for a federal tax credit. Though Trump has had frosty relations with Hollywood, particularly since many heavyweights did not support his presidential campaign, the industry’s jobs push aligns with his focus on re-shoring work, marking a rare moment of agreement.
Speaking to reporters in the Oval Office, Trump said Wednesday that he has done “a lot of work” in the last week to get something done on federal tax incentives for the film and television industry.
Trump said he has spoken to streaming giant Netflix; Ari Emanuel, chief executive of TKO Group Holdings Inc.; and “many others,” and that he is hopeful there will be a bipartisan push to revive productions in Hollywood with “big subsidies and big credits.”
“We don’t give anything and we should,” Trump said, referring to proposed tax breaks for U.S. productions. He added that he wants legislation to “match” what other countries are offering.
Now, lawmakers must hammer out the details of that legislation.
The bill will have a Republican sponsor from a state known for film and TV production, but Friedman declined to name the person, saying she was waiting for Republicans to make their internal decision about that lead lawmaker.
The bill is likely to go through the House Committee on Ways and Means. While exact provisions are still being negotiated, the expectation is that the credit will be stackable with states’ incentives — similar to how Canada’s tax credit works. A 20% federal tax credit on all labor costs — including for salaries of actors and crew members — is being discussed.
An earlier proposal from Sen. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.) had called for a baseline labor-based tax credit of 15% to 20%, in addition to bonus add-ons for indie productions among others, a Schiff spokesperson said.
Schiff has previously noted that 45% of all U.S. films and scripted TV shows were shot internationally last year, up from about 33% in 2022.
Having Schiff and Trump on the same side of this national tax credit is emblematic of the odd bedfellows the effort has gathered.
The Motion Picture Assn. studio lobbying group has released a statement backing the proposal, as have unions such as the Screen Actors Guild — American Federation of Television and Radio Artists, the Directors Guild of America and the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees.
“I am in strong agreement with the President,” Schiff wrote Monday in a post on X. “Congress should immediately take up and pass a federal film tax incentive to bring back these good-paying jobs that we’ve lost to other countries.”
Production incentive experts say any national film tax credit will need to have a seamless process, one with minimal red tape.
One idea is to make the national production incentive an overlay that’s attached to states’ incentives, so the federal government doesn’t need a separate agency to vet the same criteria, which could slow the process, said Peter Marshall, managing principal of media insurance services at Epic, an insurance broker and consultant.
Parameters will also need to be clear, and the program easy to access, said Kathleen Thompson, vice president of tax incentives at payroll service Cast & Crew.
“There is an excitement and an energy and a hopefulness right now from the production community,” she said. “I’ve certainly gotten notes from clients, potential clients and industry colleagues that are very excited about the possibility of this passing and becoming a reality.”
“California is still the leader in production,” said Joe Chianese, senior vice president at Entertainment Partners, which tracks production incentives worldwide. “Producers would like to stay home if they can, but it boils down to the math.”
But even with the improvements to California’s film and TV tax credits, the state’s program still has limitations.
California has an annual funding cap of $750 million, has designated application windows and does allow the cost of actors’ salaries — a major driver of movie budgets — to be counted toward the tax breaks.
Beyond the program, the Golden State is just more expensive than other U.S. locales, and some filmmakers have criticized the red tape that makes shooting in L.A. more difficult.
“Can we be more competitive with a federal incentive? Absolutely,” Thompson said. “Can it completely turn the tide? I don’t know, but I hope so for our industry and our state.”
Industry stakeholders say they are hoping for quick movement on the issue, particularly since it will probably take more than a year after any tax credit is passed for producers to start making plans to move filming back to the U.S. due to lengthy production timelines for movies and TV shows.
“There is a ticking clock,” said Marshall of Epic. “If something isn’t done by the end of the year or in sight, there will be a further solidification of offshoring.”
For Peter Max-Muller, owner of The Ruby, a North Hollywood contemporary clothing rental business, the loss of film and TV shoots in L.A. is one of many threats his business faces, in addition to the use of AI production.
His sales typically mirror the production data from the nonprofit FilmLA, which recorded a 13% drop in shoot days in L.A. County in the second quarter over the same period a year ago.
The goal of a federal incentive, Max-Muller said, “is that we get that runaway production back.”
It’s why Friedman said she is pushing to get the tax credit legislation done as soon as possible.
“The film industry is deep in the identity of Los Angeles,” she said. “And it’s worth saving.”
Staff writer Ana Ceballos contributed to this report.
SYDNEY Sweeney has flashed her underboob in a very short lace crop top as she arrived to the Venice Film Festival.
The American actress, 28, is attending the city’s annual film festival in her role as an ambassador for Armani Beauty.
Sydney Sweeney has flashed her underboob in a very short lace crop top as she arrived to the Venice Film FestivalCredit: SplashThe American actress is attending the city’s annual film festival in her role as an ambassador for Armani BeautyCredit: Getty
The Housemaid star looked stunning in a gold lace handkerchief top which she paired with a pair of cream bermuda shorts.
But the cheeky star, who turns 29 in a few days, couldn’t help flash a bit of underboob under her gorgeous short top.
Sydney looked sensational as she made her way to the film festivalCredit: SplashSydney was seen kneeling at a fridge in just her undiesCredit: SyrnSydney is seen pulling down her underwear with a look of surprise on her faceCredit: SyrnSydney Sweeney with her boyfriend Scooter BraunCredit: Getty
She is also seen pulling down her underwear with a look of surprise on her face.
In one particularly raunchy scene, she slapped flour onto her backside and left hand prints all over bottom.
Most read in Entertainment
Sydney captioned the post: “celebrate my birthday month with my newest @syrn collection. coming september 1st.”
The actress went Instagram official with her new boyfriend Scooter Braun in April – as he gushed he’s a “lucky b******”.
Sydney confirmed the romance in a loved-up post, sending fans into a frenzy.
Meanwhile, Venice Film Festival’s red carpet events began last week with the premiere of British director Danny Boyle’s film Ink which is about the rise of media magnate Rupert Murdoch.
It closes on September 12, with Italian costume drama Dio Ride (God Laughs), written and directed by Giovanni Veronesi.
WASHINGTON — President Trump on Monday urged Congress to approve federal tax incentives aimed at reviving American film and television productions, saying Hollywood has been hollowed out by productions moving to Canada and other countries.
In a social media post, Trump said he met with actor Jon Voight, whom he has designated as “Hollywood Ambassador,” and concluded there is “no incentive” to work in Hollywood anymore and that it is “hurting California very badly.”
“Jon, and many others in the Industry, are suggesting we do Federal Tax Incentives in order to Make our Movie and Television Production Business GREAT AGAIN, Perhaps GREATER THAN EVER BEFORE!,” Trump said wrote on Truth Social.
Trump said meetings are already being set up to talk to lawmakers from both parties, noting that he wants to the discussions to be bipartisan, “especially since so much money is being lost in California, and other largely Blue States.”
“I am going to suggest that Republicans and Democrats get together, and immediately craft Legislation to save the Movie, Television and Entertainment Business in America,” he said.
There are few details about what these incentives would look like at this time, but Trump said “the amount of money spent” on tax breaks will be made up “tenfold by the money pouring into the Treasury’s coffers.”
Charles Rivkin, chairman and chief executive of the Motion Picture Assn., applauded Trump’s announcement, and, in a statement, added that “for over a century, American studios, casts, and crews have produced the films and series that the world wants to see.”
“A federal incentive,” Rivkin added, “would be a landmark step toward bringing more production to local communities in all 50 states, strengthening our nation’s economy, and making our country a more competitive place to produce, create, and tell great stories.”
Trump’s push comes as production has continued to shift overseas. Last year, 45% of all U.S. films and scripted television shows were shot internationally, up from about 33% in 2022, an issue that has worried California lawmakers such as Sen. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.).
California and other states have bolstered their production incentive programs, but Schiff has said in the past that it is not enough. He, too, has made the case for a federal tax credit.
“State programs cannot simply substitute for the kind of global, federal and competitive tax incentives that are needed to bring production back to American soil and stop its offshoring,” Schiff said at an event in March. “The urgency could not be greater.”
Trump has previously floated more aggressive measures, including a threat to impose tariffs on foreign-made films, but that idea did not gain traction.
State lawmakers have approved a series of modest changes intended to bolster California’s film and TV tax credit program.
Among the key revisions, independent filmmakers would be exempted from the $5 million state corporate tax credit cap that was approved earlier this year as part of Gov. Gavin Newsom’s state budget.
Film industry advocates lobbied hard for a carve-out, saying the cap would undercut gains made under the current film and TV tax credit program at a time when Hollywood has been reeling from job losses.
The bill includes other changes intended to help Hollywood, such as allowing companies to carry forward older tax credits for up to 15 years (the old limit was nine) and reducing the discount they are charged when they opt to seek a cash refund on unused credits.
Producers will also be able to collect their refund money more quickly — within two years instead of five.
California offers tax credits of up to 35% on qualified expenses, which can be applied to any tax liabilities the production companies have in the state. The program allocates $750 million annually in film and TV tax breaks.
The budget trailer bill was introduced to the Senate on Friday by Assemblyman Rick Chavez Zbur (D-Los Angeles), chair of the Assembly Democratic Caucus and Senator Ben Allen (D-Santa Monica).
The new cap, issued by Gov. Newsom, would have undermined the “competitiveness” of the current California Film and Television Jobs Program, said the Entertainment Union Coalition, an advocacy group that supports the bill. But with these new modifications, the group — which represents the Directors Guild, SAG-AFTRA, IATSE and more — said the program will be able to continue to “support the fragile recovery of our industry here in California.”
“Most importantly, we want to recognize the major role our members played in today’s success as advocates for their industry in California,” Rebecca Rhine, the coalition’s president, said in a statement. “They sent an unprecedented 450,000 letters to the California legislature, making clear the negative impact that SB 122 [the new cap] would have on their livelihoods, their families, and their communities.”
Over the program’s first full year in its expanded $750-million form, the California Film Commission says it delivered $6.6 billion in direct production spending and $4.3 billion in qualified expenditures, supporting nearly 35,000 cast and crew jobs across 6,630 filming days statewide.
The bill cleared the Assembly floor by a vote of 68-2, with the Senate approving its companion measure by a vote of 32 in favor, 8 against the same day. It now awaits Gov. Newsom’s signature.
“It’s a good day that we took steps to strengthen the program and while we have to do more next year, this was a crucial first step,” Zbur said in an interview.
Zbur said he believes everyone in the state’s film and TV tax credit program should have been exempted from the corporate tax credit cap and he plans to look at that within the context of next year’s budget.
“There were budget implications to doing that, so we really did all the things that are viable to do in this legislative session,” Zbur said.
Phil Tippett, the visual effects artist who crafted aliens in “Star Wars” and dinosaurs in “Jurassic Park,” is shutting down his Berkeley-based studios after more than 40 years of business.
The closing was marked by a weekend liquidation sale, where fans purchased memorabilia from movies like “Star Wars,” “Jurassic Park,” “RoboCop” and “Starship Troopers.” The sale included models of Imperial Walkers from “The Empire Strikes Back,” “Starship Troopers” miniatures, signed posters and equipment like computers and 3D printers.
“We have recently decided to evolve our physical footprint and production approach, and to exit our longtime Berkeley facility,” said the company in a statement on social media. “As we make this transition, Tippett Studio continues its visual effects and animation work across film, television and entertainment.”
The closure follows Tippett‘s sale of a majority stake in the company to PhantomFX, an India-based VFX studio, in 2024 and the Chapter 11 bankruptcy filing that followed. PhantomFX has completed the acquisition of Tippett Studio and will operate the studios under the same name.
Tippett and his wife, Jules Roman, founded the studio in 1984, by which point he’d already made his name in the world of visual effects through his work on the original “Star Wars” trilogy. He was instrumental in doing the stop-motion miniature chess scene in “Star Wars: A New Hope,” bringing the Imperial Walkers to life and creating aliens like Jabba the Hutt and tauntauns.
Under his own studio, he became best known for the dinosaurs in Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park,” using computer generation to animate the prehistoric creatures. He also worked on effects for “The Matrix” films, “Hellboy” and the “Twilight” franchise.
Tippett had occupied the 6,200-square-foot Berkeley facility for 35 years, but as technology evolves, the studio no longer needs the large space.
“Stop-motion remains an important part of our creative capabilities, but maintaining a large permanent physical footprint is no longer necessary for our current requirements,” wrote Tippett Studios. “When projects require dedicated stages, fabrication, motion-control photography or other specialised physical infrastructure, we will work with appropriate external facilities to meet the needs of each production.”
The company‘s Toronto studio will keep running and is “currently in active production on a large feature film,” per the same statement.
Despite the sale, Tippett told CBS News he isn’t giving up or planning to retire. He does not have plans to retire. “I will die with my sword in my hand,” he said. “We had almost a 40-year run. It was a good run.”
Chris Hansen has not seen “Primetime,” the A24 film in which Robert Pattinson plays him, and he probably won’t anytime soon. He walked out of an Aug. 20 screening arranged for him at the studio’s Manhattan offices after refusing to sign a nondisclosure agreement, which he believed would prevent him from raising any legal objection to the way he is portrayed.
But Hansen’s company has purchased preshow advertising in theaters showing “Primetime,” which opens Sept. 25. The spots promote TruBlu, the subscription streaming platform where the former “Dateline NBC” correspondent presents his current sting operations under the title “Takedown.”
“It’s a movie that uses my name, image and likeness,” Hansen told The Times in a recent interview. “Why not direct people to what the real Chris Hansen is doing? Here’s where you can see it.”
Moviegoers, in other words, will be asked to have a seat twice.
The film revisits one of the most provocative and scrutinized franchises in the history of TV news. “To Catch a Predator,” which ran as a periodic “Dateline” investigation from 2004 to 2007, exposed men who used online chat rooms to solicit sex with minors. It accelerated the popularity of the true crime genre while raising lasting questions over journalistic ethics.
Directed by Lance Oppenheim in his narrative feature debut, “Primetime” is based on Luke Dittrich’s 2007 Esquire article “Tonight on Dateline, This Man Will Die,” about the suicide of a Texas prosecutor targeted by one of the stings. It premieres Sept. 5 at the Venice Film Festival.
Hansen, 66, is ready to ride the wave of notoriety the film is bound to generate. He is still pursuing online predators and a new generation of fans have found him on TruBlu, his YouTube page and on social media. “I’ve got to be the only 66-year-old man in America with 1.1 million TikTok followers,” he said.
Hansen first heard from A24 regarding “Primetime” when an executive reached out to him in late May to ask whether he would participate in promoting the film, according to emails obtained by The Times. Over the two months that followed, the journalist and his business partners repeatedly asked to see the film or a script before making any commitment. They also raised the possibility of compensation or a production credit, although Hansen said no formal request was made.
Hansen and his partners repeatedly raised concerns that he had never been contacted about the use of his name and likeness, even as a courtesy, before production was completed. The studio said it wasn’t necessary.
“Chris’s work was an important inspiration for ‘Primetime,’ which is a dramatized film inspired by true events,” according to an Aug. 8 email from A24. “While the film didn’t require individual consultation or permission during production, we’d love to have Chris’s support of the film to the extent he feels comfortable. If not, we certainly understand.”
An A24 representative declined to comment for this story. A person involved with the film who was not authorized to discuss the matter publicly said the nondisclosure agreement Hansen was asked to sign is standard for a movie screened ahead of release, so that viewers do not reveal plotlines or spoilers.
The trailer, released earlier in August, has generated buzz in media business circles for the appearance of Jeff Zucker, former NBCUniversal chief executive, who appears as himself in a small role as a ratings-hungry network executive. Pattinson’s Hansen is later seen in the trailer screaming, “I’ll be bigger than ‘Lost’!” in reference to the ABC hit.
Robert Pattinson in a scene from A24’s “Primetime.”
(Sinna Nasseri / A24)
Hansen said he is not looking for a payout from the filmmakers. But he would like a clearer statement that the film is fiction rather than “inspired by true events,” as it says in the trailer, and perhaps a financial contribution to organizations for victims of child predators.
“I want some recognition that they used my name, image, and likeness in a largely fictional story,” he said. “They used my name, my colleagues’ names and some family members. Based upon what I know about this, it’s an insult to the thousands of people who work diligently, often at great risk, every day to protect children from predators.”
The conflict is hardly the first involving a living celebrity objecting to a fictional depiction. But legal challenges are often futile.
“You don’t own your life story,” said Domenic Romano, managing partner at Romano Law. “If you’re a celebrity, the filmmaker doesn’t need your permission to dramatize it. Even if you’re alive and you don’t like how you’re being portrayed, the 1st Amendment gives broad protection.”
Actor Olivia de Havilland went to court in 2017 over the FX series “Feud: Bette & Joan,” claiming the portrayal of her as a vicious gossip damaged her reputation. The court ultimately ruled in FX’s favor.
Actor Daryl Hannah took a different route, publishing an opinion piece in the New York Times in March objecting to her depiction in FX’s “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. & Carolyn Bessette.” Hannah, who dated Kennedy before he married Bessette, wrote: “In the weeks since the series aired, I have received many hostile and even threatening messages from viewers who seem to believe the portrayal is factual.”
“When entertainment borrows a real person’s name, it can permanently impact her reputation,” Hannah wrote.
The rise and fall of “To Catch a Predator” provides enough drama for a big-screen treatment.
During his run at NBC News, Hansen was an Emmy Award-winning correspondent delivering hidden-camera investigative stories on such topics as identity theft and sex trafficking. But his “Predator” franchise, which used online decoys in chat rooms to draw men seeking sex with minors into police stings turned him into a global sensation, albeit a polarizing one.
NBC News conducted the investigations with the help of a civilian watchdog group called Perverted-Justice and local police in the towns and cities where the stings were set up. The suspects arrested and convicted included a rabbi, a teacher and a doctor.
Decoys posing as young teens lured the men to sting locations, mostly set up at private homes in quiet communities. Hansen would then enter and confront the men with his signature line: “Have a seat.” After a chat with the correspondent (“You see how this looks, right?”), the men were arrested by local police, while a camera crew captured it all.
The tableau of Hansen going face-to-face with suspects seated in suburban kitchens became so familiar it was spoofed in a comedy sketch that opened the 2006 Emmy Awards.
“Predator” remained a giant hit until a November 2006 sting in Murphy, Texas, went awry. Bill Conradt, a Rockwell County assistant district attorney, had been exchanging online messages and photos with a decoy posing as a 13-year-old boy. Unlike other targets, he never came to the sting house. Police obtained warrants and a SWAT team came to his home with a “Dateline” crew in tow. He shot himself to death after law enforcement entered.
Conradt’s family sued NBC, which settled out of court. The incident sharpened the debate over Hansen’s tactics, and as the “Predator” franchise became more popular, he was criticized in journalism circles for collaborating with police and an outside group of private citizens in his investigative work.
There have been many accolades as well. Law enforcement organizations credited the program for shedding light on a new form of criminal activity in the then-emerging internet age. Over the years, Hansen has helped promote advocacy groups and legislation protecting the rights of sexual abuse victims.
“Dateline” continued producing “Predator” investigations for another year after Conradt‘s death, airing its final installment in December 2007 before NBC retired the franchise in early 2008. Hansen has long maintained that the show simply ran its course. The library of his episodes continued to air on cable news channel MSNBC, now called MS NOW.
Hansen left NBC News in 2013 after the network declined to renew his contract. He continued to orchestrate the sting operations on a short-lived syndicated series, “Crime Watch Daily.” He also became one of the first well-known TV journalists to use a Kickstarter campaign to raise money to produce his own work to present on web platforms, which eventually led to the TruBlu site he has now. He also has a podcast series distributed by Red Seat Ventures called “Have a Seat,” a true crime podcast where he interviews figures in law enforcement.
