film

CANNES, France — Cannes is technically half over and the hunt for a masterpiece continues. Critics on the Croisette are starting to resemble that classic comic-strip panel in which an explorer crawls desperately across the sand toward an oasis that’s only a mirage.

This far into an underwhelming festival, good films have a way of looking like great ones, such as James Gray’s “Paper Tiger,” a grimy thriller with Adam Driver and Miles Teller playing brothers in 1980s New York who get mired in a scheme to sanitize the Gowanus Canal. Driver’s ex-cop knows the codes of cutting deals with the Russian mob; Teller’s engineer is the square who can’t grasp how doing things the right way just makes the situation worse. As the normies, Teller and his naive wife, portrayed by Scarlett Johansson, feel like kids playing dress-up. (Johansson’s perm is a bit much.) Still, the script is tense and tight — and at this point, I’m happy to see anything with a plot.

Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s “The Beloved” has two of them: It’s a film within a film about a famous director (Javier Bardem) who casts his estranged actor daughter (Victoria Luengo) in his latest project. The fictional movie he’s making looks stiff, a period epic about Spain’s colonialist withdrawal from the Sahara in the 1930s, which doubles as a metaphor for the father’s destructive absence from his now-adult child’s life. A boozer, she’s not stable enough to stand up to the scrutiny of his sudden attention. Luengo herself holds the camera splendidly even in her character’s weaker moments, turning her charisma off whenever her father needs her to turn it on.

Consider it a shot and chaser to “Garance,” which stars a vibrantly sloppy Adèle Exarchopoulos as another alcoholic actress. Sharp, smartly paced and entertaining, it’s fantastic until the last stretch, which peters out and then abruptly stops.

One of the festival’s big themes seems to be connection: that we’re all stuck on this rock together and, ultimately, the difference between human and android, man and woman, is moot. At least three movies have someone saying, “That’s life,” with a shrug. The films themselves, however, are lifeless. Worse, they’re long. I can roll with movies that are mostly vibes, but only to a limit — say, 85 minutes.

Sophie Thatcher in the movie “Her Private Hell.”

(Neon)

Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Her Private Hell” is longer than that and the inertia is excruciating. The Danish director of “Drive” hasn’t made a feature film since “Neon Demon” premiered at Cannes in 2016 and this grim fairy tale feels more like a feint than a comeback. A sulky daughter (Sophie Thatcher) skulks around a misty skyscraper with her hot young stepmother (Havana Rose Liu) idly fretting about a murderer named the Leather Man. Down below, an Army private (Charles Melton) hunts the killer. Little happens other than chain-smoking, costume changes and interminable shots of color-shifting strobe lighting splaying across the cast’s cheekbones. Thankfully, Kristine Froseth adds pep as a bimbo who hasn’t yet learned how to talk as leadenly as everyone else.

Too much of the program is made up of tedious movies by beloved Cannes veterans — essentially affirmative action for auteurs. Eight years ago, Hirokazu Kore-eda won the Palme d’Or for “Shoplifters,” a chaotically enchanting portrait of a family of fraudsters. Now, he’s returned with “Sheep in the Box,” a slick and dull story about two grieving parents who adopt a clone of their dead son. “Sheep” aspires for Spielbergian catharsis — one scene seems to consider itself an art-house take on “A.I. Artificial Intelligence” — but the human characters come off as mechanical as the little robot boy. Between the musty setup and saccharine score, it’s the film equivalent of a bowl of stale candies.

Arthur Harari, who co-wrote 2023’s Palme- and Oscar-winning “Anatomy of a Fall,” is here as the director of “The Unknown,” a stilted drama about a sulky male photographer who wakes up in the body of Léa Seydoux after a nameless, wordless one-night stand. You can imagine Brian De Palma running with the sex-contagion idea (or “It Follows” director David Robert Mitchell grumbling that he deserved an inspired-by writing credit). But “The Unknown’s” shape-shifting intrigue stalls out once you realize that none of the characters have a personality to begin with. Who cares what soul is inside each shell if they’re all monotonously slack-faced? “Face/Off” it isn’t.

Léa Seydoux in the movie “The Unknown.”

(Festival de Cannes)

On that note, one emotional highlight to date was the presentation of an unannounced honorary Palme to John Travolta. (Yes, his face-swapping 1997 thriller with Nicolas Cage was in the celebratory montage.) Already bursting with passion to be world-premiering his directorial debut, “Propeller One-Way Night Coach,” Travolta was moved to tears. “Surprise complète!” Travolta gasped, kissing his trophy and blurting, “I was just happy to be here.” Indeed he was, as evident by the jaunty white beret he’d worn for the occasion, which quickly went viral on social media.

Travolta’s infectious enthusiasm carried over into the movie itself, a semi-autobiographical trifle about his childhood love of air travel. Set in 1962, a boy roughly Travolta’s age voyages from New York to Los Angeles on a series of hopping flights with his mother, who is hoping to land a rich husband or a good Hollywood role in that order. The kid’s joy is as stratospheric as the plane; he adores everything but the airline’s chicken cordon bleu. As a nostalgia piece, it’s “A Christmas Story” with a third of the jokes, none of the cynicism and not quite the length to justify itself as a movie. At barely an hour, it skedaddles in time to leave you with a sheepish smile.

Given the choice, I’d prefer to see a truly terrible movie over one that’s merely bland and mediocre. With that context, I’ve been literally raving over “Butterfly Jam,” a film so fundamentally misguided it could almost be the cineaste version of “The Room.”

Set in New Jersey, “Butterfly Jam” is a tale of toxic masculinity among braggadocious Circassian immigrants played by Barry Keoghan, Harry Melling and Riley Keough — actors who, despite their talent and effort here, are too notoriously Irish, English and Graceland-ian to be convincingly a part of a subculture this specific. It’s filmmaker Kantemir Balagov’s fault more than theirs. Despite supposedly arriving to the States as teenagers, the cast don’t even have accents, just dyed jet-black hair. While adamantly miserabilist, it does have a plot or at least one shocking plot point that’s so ghastly it made me giddy. A few scenes later, a pelican switches on a cotton candy machine with its bill, sending hot sugar whirring through the air — seriously — and I nearly applauded in delight.

Woody Harrelson and Kristen Stewart in the movie “Full Phil.”

(Festival de Cannes)

Likewise, a friend warned me against staying up through 2 a.m. for the premiere of Quentin Dupieux’s “Full Phil,” cautioning that it was the worst film they’d ever seen at Cannes in over a decade. But there was no way I’d miss watching Woody Harrelson and Kristen Stewart play a miserable father and daughter on a Parisian vacation, directed by a French oddball who rarely fails to entertain — although this time, he comes close.

The story is simple: The dad flusters, fidgets and whines; the girl gobbles room service as though aspiring to become human foie gras. “Full Phil” took about an hour to reveal its point — that parenthood makes you a glutton for punishment — and the jokes are more gestures at where a joke should be. Still, I support Harrelson and Stewart signing on to a project this cuckoo. Better still, it boasted something in short supply: a satisfying ending. Here’s hoping the festival itself ends stronger too.

When Andrea Werhun started writing her memoir, “Modern Whore,” nearly a decade ago, she was afraid to be honest about working as an escort and stripper. But she embraced going public to “use storytelling to advocate for the plight of sex workers.”

In the documentary version of “Modern Whore,” directed by Nicole Bazuin, Werhun has gone not one, but several steps further. Werhun, 36, is not only the main interview subject, she’s also the frequently topless star of all the vividly depicted reenactments of her experiences. The documentary also features bright colors, funky music and an often jaunty tone.

Werhun, who started escorting in college and still does sex work even while pursuing writing and acting, was a consultant on Sean Baker’s “Anora,” and he served as a producer here, offering feedback on their script and numerous cuts of the film. It premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2025 and is now available on video on demand.

Werhun and Bazuin recently discussed the film’s style and goals in a joint video interview edited for length and clarity.

How much were you consciously trying to make this different from other documentaries about sex workers?

Bazuin: I wanted this to feel like a storybook come to life — we literally jump inside Andrea’s book with Andrea as our storyteller and reenactor of her own experiences. People might expect a film about sex work to be be drab or dour, and we wanted to confront that right away with vivid colors and a stylized expressionistic mode that can support all the moods of her experiences. Stylized films sometimes can contain more truth than realistic forms.

Werhun: Cinema verité, which is typically how sex workers are portrayed in documentaries, inevitably comes off as voyeuristic.

Most documentaries about sex work don’t include R-rated reenactments starring the film’s subject. Why include that?

Bazuin: We wanted to disrupt expectations audiences might have and to make it a more human portrait.

Werhun: I love performing and I’d love to have an acting career and this was an excellent showcase of my abilities.

But also it would feel censored if there weren’t any tits, if there were no sex scenes in a film about sex. I’m not ashamed of the fact that I’ve used this body to make a living. Nicole and I crafted the scenes meticulously to convey a point that is artistic, funny and educational.

Bazuin: The movie runs the gamut tonally. It’s a “Trojan whore” for a feminist and sex worker manifesto for political and social change, so we also show the challenges and the assaults that Andrea experienced because we want laws that would make this work safer, including the decriminalization of sex work.

Andrea, why interview your boyfriend and mom on camera?

Werhun: The sex worker stereotype is that we’re isolated and vulnerable, with no support systems; that stereotype makes predators think we’re easy victims. I wanted to dispel the idea that we are incapable of having loving, meaningful relationships.

This is presented as a film memoir yet you then include other sex workers’ perspectives.

Werhun: Unfortunately, when it comes to sex work storytelling, there is a proliferation of cis white, educated women and those tend to be the stories that get platforms. But that experience is minute compared to the wide range of sex workers, so it was vital to expand the narrative to include other perspectives, whether it’s race, gender orientation or class. What we have in common is that we all deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.

You say you’re rewriting the usual story of sex workers as victims or villains but you were a victim, both of exploitative working conditions and sexual assault. Will sex workers always be victimized without legal protection?

Werhun: Most of our clients are not bad people, they’re paying for a service we’re willing to provide. But under any criminalized model, there is inherently exploitation and people don’t feel safe accessing justice. If we don’t have labor rights, we’re going to be victimized. Even strippers are not comfortable going to the police.

We’re fighting a society that wants to keep our work in the dark, to pretend that this isn’t happening, that it can be abolished by throwing people into prison. Criminalization is harmful and guarantees there are more victims.

Where does OnlyFans fit into the sex work equation?

Werhun: The beauty of escorting and stripping is that you can dip in and out. With OnlyFans you’re working 24/7, creating content, interacting with your fans and doing constant self-promotion. With sex work in person, no one has to know about it but OnlyFans will follow you for the rest of your life. I did it for a year and a half and it paid my rent but it’s not my preferred type of sex work. It’s great for people who live online.

How did audiences respond to the film at festivals?

Werhun: Obviously, creating this film was a trust fall. The film is a song and dance on behalf of all whores, trusting humanity to hold me and not hurt me. I was pleasantly surprised by how audiences warmly embraced it. Some people were working through their prejudices in real time and it’s amazing to watch them transform. We hope the film can inspire social change. If it pulls your heartstrings, then when issues of criminalization and legal change arise, people might say, “I remember that movie and I think whores deserve to have equal rights with everybody else.”

CANNES, France — The movies of Na Hong-jin aren’t hard to love — they’re as obsession-worthy as the stylish rigor with which they are made. His 2008 debut, “The Chaser,” found new febrility in the post-Fincher serial killer thriller. “The Wailing” somehow added ghosts, demon-possessed children and inky black crows to the mix with a near-crazed sense of showmanship.

That was 10 years ago. Na, 51, now sits on the other side of a project that has consumed him for years, a sci-fi action film called “Hope” that arrives with expensive CGI, a pair of A-list stars (Michael Fassbender and Oscar-winner Alicia Vikander) and James Cameron-sized franchise ambitions. It will undoubtedly make Na’s gallows-humor-inflected brand more global, even if it lifts him out of the cult niche that’s nourished him to date.

Cannes is an unlikely place to launch “Hope.” That could be seen as a sign that the festival’s increasing accommodation of blockbuster bigness doesn’t need Hollywood. Na sits in the corner of a Côte d’Azur waterfront lounge on a glorious midday, the sky an almost abstract blue. He tugs at his goatee distractedly. His world premiere is tonight.

Neon, the distributor currently enjoying a six-year Palme d’Or winning streak, will release “Hope” in America sometime after its summer bow in Na’s native South Korea. The following conversation has been edited for length and clarity. It also contains significant spoilers.

A scene from the movie “Hope,” directed by Na Hong-jin.

(Neon)

When did you realize that you had a big sci-fi alien monster movie in you?

The idea came to me in 2017 in Seoul. The premise started off with somebody watching news in a diner or a small restaurant. It was that image that I had in my head. So I started developing that initial image in more detail. By 2018, I was able to write my first draft.

“Hope” brings to mind several genre classics, from “Jaws” and John Carpenter movies like “The Thing,” to something more homegrown such as Bong Joon Ho’s “The Host.” Were those inspiring to you?

I must have looked all the genre films that I could find, including the ones you mention, before I went into filming. And, as I hope you noticed, I was looking more at films from before 2000 and I tried to reflect that look.

It seems like you’re using Cannes as a moment to pivot or reinvent yourself. Is that intentional?

I didn’t intend for this to be a turning point in terms of style or direction going forward. I never thought of it that way. What I really dwelled on was thinking about how to tell this story in a way that was approachable and entertaining for people.

Why did you set the story in the demilitarized zone?

If you look at it from a universal perspective, what happens in this very shabby, humble, small, insignificant space potentially creates an impact that can go on infinitely. I think none of the characters in the film do anything with any malice. I guess the underlying story I want to tell is that there is no reason for evil intention behind anything, but innocent acts can build up to something tragic.

Michael Fassbender and Alicia Vikander are wonderful surprises in the movie as some rather dignified aliens. What led you to them?

When I was casting the alien roles, I had a bigger story in mind. I don’t know whether there’ll be a sequel after this one, but if so, that sequel is going to be centered around them. So picking the right actors was very important for me. We asked them to learn this invented alien language, which they prepared and came onto set knowing.

How important to you is comedy and releasing tension with laughs?

Very. I try to really think it through and if it comes out the way I intended, that gives me such a thrill. I tried to incorporate it in many places.

A lot of the movie feels like a virtuoso chase sequence, people barreling down the road, guns blazing. But it took me a minute to realize that the more interesting question is: Who’s doing the chasing? Is “Hope” meant to make us examine our own violence?

Yes, very much so. And two of the major chase scenes were designed so that what starts off as righteous somehow tilts toward being unjust. I wanted the action to bring up that transition in perspective.

You’ve premiered at Cannes before but, in a way, it feels like the wrong festival for a movie like this. You’re laughing because I think you agree with me.

It goes without saying. I’m incredibly nervous. And I feel so grateful that you’re treating me so nicely and gently.

A scene from the movie “Hope,” directed by Na Hong-jin.

(Neon)

Why did it take you 10 years to make this film?

There was a pandemic in the middle of that. But except for the pandemic where everything stopped, I was working my ass off before and after. It still took this long. I’m a little concerned myself, like: How did this happen?

With “Hope,” are you saying goodbye to the filmmaker you once were?

Not at all. Throughout the entire process of making this film, I was bloodthirsty. I was thirsting for blood. I have another script written already.

And maybe now it’ll go faster because there won’t be a pandemic. Are you hoping that this movie is going to have an impact on the Korean film industry?

It’s not my place to say that. I’m not sure. I want things to be freer.

Would it be a mistake to read this film as an allegory for what’s happening now in the world? Is it a plea for understanding?

I don’t regard it as a plea for understanding. Rather, let’s hope people will be able to relate to it and be empathetic about the story and realize for themselves, understand for themselves. Maybe there’s something more to it, but you take away what you will from that.

Your dark humor flares on occasion. Did you make it a point to try to preserve that?

Well, you can’t just do something like this without having that. It’s not fun.

This doesn’t feel like an “Avatar”-style film. There’s an openness to it, a sense of exploration. Do you believe in heroes?

I do believe in heroes, but, as I tell in the story, anyone can be a hero.

FOUR of the world’s biggest stars dazzled on the Cannes red carpet last night.

Julianne Moore, Cate Blanchett, Bella Hadid and Carla Bruni-Sarkozy starred before the screening of new film Garance at the 79th annual Cannes Film Festival.

Hadid wore a custom Prada powder pink sheath dress, with a matching stole and beaded detailing.

She was flanked by Moore in a strapless red gown and diamond jewellery.

Former First Lady of France Carla wore a white-tiger ballgown signed by Roberto Cavalli while Cate Blanchett stunned in a shiny Givenchy floral look.

Garance is a film about a gifted young actress living in a small Parisian apartment.

Hollywood icon John Travolta turned heads at the 79th annual Cannes Film Festival, debuting a dramatic new look.

The 72-year-old Grease pin-up arrived on the red carpet looking preened-to-perfection as he posed with his stunning daughter, Ella Bleu.

OFF the coast of Northumberland is a remote, tidal island that you’ll have to time right to visit – as it is cut off from the mainland twice a day.

Called Lindisfarne, or by its other name, Holy Island, it might be familiar to fans of horror movies.

Follow The Sun’s award-winning travel team on Instagram and Tiktok for top holiday tips and inspiration @thesuntravel.

The island off the coast of Northumberland was used to film post-apocalyptic film, 28 Years Later, which came out just last year.

The 2025 movie was about a group of survivors of the rage virus living on a small island starring actors like Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Ralph Fiennes.

Filming spots included the tidal causeway and Lindisfarne Castle which attracts thousands of visitors every year.

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The National Trust took over the property in 1944 and it has been open to the public ever since.

Inside the castle, visitors can explore the different rooms, including a dining room, a kitchen, and bedrooms, as well as the upper battery, which has panoramic sea views.

In addition to exploring the interior of the castle, there are plenty of other things to see.

Entry to the castle is £14.30 for adults and £7.20 for children (between 5-17).

The island is also referred to as Holy Island, and it got its nickname after becoming the centre of Anglo-Saxon Christianity in the 7th century.

It was home to saints and it’s considered a very religious place.

But for those who want to move away from its history, there’s plenty to do on the island, like visit its coffee roastery, Pilgrims Coffee.

The business first set up in a yurt, but now even has a cosy cafe on the island too serving up caffeine hits and homemade cakes.

The family that runs Pilgrims Coffee moved from the mainland to Holy Island in 2022.

Another spot to visit is St Aidan’s Winery, where Lindisfarne Mead is made, and visitors to the island can pop in for tastings and browse the shop that sells its wine and beer.

The island has around 160 permanent residents, but it does have places for visitors to stay from hotels to holiday lets.

One of the top spots on Tripadvisor for Holy Island is Belvue Guesthouse which sleeps two guests.

One guest on Tripadvisor wrote: “We had such a lovely stay in Belvue, I think it was one of the best guesthouses we have ever been to!”

There are also cosy B&Bs as well as rooms in the local Ship Inn Pub.

The pub dates back to the 18th century with a dedicated dining room and a beer garden to the back.

It has also made an appearance on TV and was featured as the fictional ‘Seahorse Pub’ in ITV’s Vera.

Visitors can walk the historic Pilgrim’s Way or visit the Gertrude Jekyll Garden.

For seal spotting, head to the harbour or the sand flats around Lindisfarne National Nature Reserve where there are thousands of grey seals especially between February and October.

To get to Lindisfarne, you have to cross the causeway from the mainland which is only accessible at low tide from the town of Beal.

While the tides can be predicted, holidaymakers will need to check the crossings on the day on the Northumberland County Council website.

Los Angeles City Councilmember Nithya Raman, who serves the 4th District, makes her way across an empty, unnamed backlot, presenting her case to be the city’s next mayor.

“Studio lots like this one used to be filled with people, costumers, electricians, set medics, caterers, thousands of Angelenos making a living,” she says in the video posted on social media. “Now these lots are quiet. Since 2018, shooting days in the city have fallen by half.”

After telling voters this issue is “personal” (her husband is a TV writer and producer), criticizing Mayor Karen Bass’ leadership on the matter and outlining her own plans, Raman proclaims, “I’m running for mayor to make sure Los Angeles stays the film and TV capital of the world.”

Placing the concerns of the entertainment industry at the center of the city’s mayoral race would have been unthinkable even in the last election cycle. But the production crisis, which has rocked Hollywood and pummeled its workforce, has reached a critical juncture. The state of L.A.’s signature industry is now a political flashpoint alongside affordability, crime and homelessness in the upcoming election.

A person films an interaction between mayoral candidate Spencer Pratt and another person on his cellphone during a “Community Meet and Greet” event out of a house for sale on Long Ridge Avenue in a residential neighborhood of Sherman Oaks on Saturday.

(Etienne Laurent/For The Times)

In campaign ads, interviews and the recent televised debate, the top three contenders: incumbent Mayor Bass, former reality TV villain Spencer Pratt and Raman, have made the ongoing production slump a pivotal topic, highlighting their plans to revitalize the industry while deploying the issue to undercut one another.

For decades, elected officials have not had to focus on the film and TV business, let alone turn it into a campaign issue. It was simply a given that local production would continue to play a dominant role in the city’s economy as it has for more than a century.

But the cumulative effects of consolidation, runaway production to tax-friendly states and countries and the end of the streaming boom has caused Los Angeles to lose billions in economic activity, shed some 57,000 jobs over the last four years and led to the closing of more than 80 film and television production service businesses across the city since 2022.

“For us, ‘save Hollywood’ is more than a slogan and more than headline. It is what needs to be done,” said Pamala Buzick Kim, one of the co-founders of Stay in LA, a grassroots campaign aimed at increasing film and television production in Los Angeles.

To be sure, the biggest driver of where studios and producers film are state and federal tax credits, over which the city has no control.

But Buzick Kim and others argue that “there is lots the mayor can do, hand-in-hand with the City Council.”

Mayor Karen Bass, center, walks with Avance Democratic Club President Nilza Serrano, to the right of Bass, during Avance’s politics and tacos event at Ernest E. Debs Regional Park in Los Angeles on Saturday.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

For starters, say filmmakers and advocates, much can be done to tackle the city’s sclerotic bureaucracy, onerous regulations and a slow and costly permitting process that has pushed filmmakers to flee to friendlier and cheaper locales.

While steps have been put in place recently, including a pilot program offering reduced-cost filming permits for shoots that demonstrate a “low impact” to the surrounding community, many complain such steps have come too little and too late.

Scott Niner, president and owner of Dangling Carrot Creative, checks on woodwork being produced at his shop in North Hollywood.

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

“The industry is in collapse and people have been talking about fixing things for years, but all we get are incremental little changes,” said Ed Lippman, a location manager of 34 years who lives in Sherman Oaks and has worked on such shows as “ER” and “The X-Files” and movies including “Galaxy Quest.” “And if the city is not being business-friendly, the business will go elsewhere.”

Compounding the problem, the Los Angeles area has more than 100 jurisdictions, many of which have their own set of rules and regulations regarding filming.

“There needs to be universal standards,” said Travis Beck, a location manager for commercials, small films and music videos. “Burbank is different from Glendale, which is different from Pasadena.”

The recent kerfuffle over filming “Baywatch,” the lifeguard reboot at Venice Beach, underscored both the efforts to bring production back to L.A. — enticed by a $21-million tax credit — and the complex, baffling red tape required to film here.

When shooting began in March, the production encountered a number of hiccups, including that it needed nearly double the parking space it had received a permit for, which was not part of the original approvals.

An anonymous crew member claimed on Facebook that government restrictions had forced production to relocate from Venice Beach. Production staff denied they had relocated. However, the incident prompted a backlash, becoming a rallying cry over L.A.’s burdensome filming bureaucracy.

The “Baywatch” team quickly met with city and county officials and resolved the issue, securing an agreement for a 20% parking discount from the city, and the mayoral candidates used it as an opportunity to score political points.

Pratt slammed the city’s permitting problems.

“LA turned its back on Hollywood — now the golden goose needs CPR,” he wrote on his Substack.

Bass highlighted her administration’s leadership on the matter.

“The City of Los Angeles will always clear bureaucratic barriers, making it easier and more affordable to film in the entertainment capital of the world,” she wrote on X last month.

On April 21, the mayor unveiled programs to offer productions 20% discounts on city-owned parking lots and other equipment, reduced filming fees at places like the Griffith Observatory and reopened the Central Library for filming. Last August, she appointed Steve Kang, president of the Los Angeles Board of Public Works, as the city’s film liaison.

Raman has pledged her support for expanding the state’s $750-million tax incentive program, streamlining permitting and lowering fees and eliminating those for small productions. She has also said she will establish a dedicated city film office with a liaison who understands production.

Councilmember and mayoral candidate Nithya Raman speaks to a crowd at the “Families for Nithya” event at Vineyard Recreation Center in Los Angeles on Saturday.

(Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times)

“Los Angeles is losing Hollywood,” Raman said in a statement. “Not because productions want to leave, but because we’ve made it too hard for them to stay.”

On his Substack and various podcast interviews, Pratt has promised to slash location fees in half, speed up permit approvals, reduce on-set city staff for the majority of productions and waive all fees for shoots with budgets under $2 million.

All three candidates have attacked one another over their approach to Hollywood.

Pratt and Raman have said Bass moved too slowly to address spiraling production and retain film jobs, saying she enacted measures only recently as the mayoral race was heating up.

Speaking on the Monks & Merrill podcast, Pratt criticized Bass’ moves to cut costs to film at the Griffith Observatory, saying, “Who needs that shot right now with the homeless poop all around it?”

The incumbent mayor has defended her administration’s record with the entertainment industry.

Bass and Pratt have taken Raman to task, calling her out for what they say is her lack of advocacy during her time on the City Council.

“She feels very strongly about it. But never offered one motion on the industry, and when motions came up on the industry she either recused herself, or got up and walked out,” said Bass during a debate this month.

Citing a potential conflict of interest over her husband’s work in television, Raman refrained from voting on several motions related to Hollywood.

Many working in the industry would like to see full-throttled support coming from the mayor’s office that will get results. They note how New York City has successfully promoted itself as a leading film destination over the years. (Kang, the city’s chief film liaison, said the city is working on a similar marketing campaign to promote filming that will launch by early fall.)

“For all the talk about, ‘We need to support and bring back filming,’ if they just did basics like lowering the fees and simplifying the process … that would actually help people and get things produced,” said Chris Fuentes, 66, who worked for 30 years as a location manager until he retired last year.

“We’ve heard a lot of great things, but not all things are possible in the mayor’s remit,” said Buzick Kim, noting that tax incentives are a state and federal issue.

Still, she said, “the mayor must understand that Hollywood needs to be made a priority and to find and create inspired thinking to make things easier and cheaper.”

Kang agrees, but says there are limits to what the mayor can achieve.

“We definitely can do a lot to really open up the entertainment industry, but at the same time, we recognize the larger impact needs to come from Sacramento and Washington, D.C., because L.A. just does not have the resources to compete with other jurisdictions in providing millions of dollars in tax incentives,” he said.

For most working in the industry, they just want city leadership that will execute on more than just talking points.

“This is the birthplace of cinema,” Beck said. “It shouldn’t be so hard to film here.”

Brian Lindstrom, a filmmaker whose documentaries shined a light on society’s underdogs and inspired social change, has died. He was 65.

Lindstrom’s wife, author Cheryl Strayed, confirmed the news on Instagram Friday.

“Brian Lindstrom died this morning the way he lived — with gentleness and courage, grace and gratitude for his beautiful life,” she wrote. “Our children, Carver and Bobbi, and I held him as he took his last breath and we will hold him forever in our hearts. The only thing more immense than our sorrow that Progressive Supranuclear Palsy took our beloved Brian from us is the endless love we have for him.”

According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, PSP is caused by damage to nerve cells in areas of the brain that control thinking and body movements. The rare neurological disease progresses rapidly.

Strayed, who penned the bestselling memoir “Wild,” which was later adapted for the big screen and starred Reese Witherspoon, announced just weeks ago that Lindstrom had been diagnosed “with a serious, fatal illness.”

Lindstrom was born Feb. 12, 1961. The son of a bartender and a liquor salesman, he was raised in Portland, Ore. — which he and his family still called home.

He was the first member of his family to attend college, which he paid for by taking out student loans, landing work-study jobs and working summers in a salmon cannery in Cordova, Alaska. During a 2013 TEDx Talk, Lindstrom said that after he’d exhausted all the video production classes at Portland’s Lewis & Clark College, his professor Stuart Kaplan gave him a gift certificate to a class at the Northwest Film Center. There, Lindstrom made a short film about his grandpa that landed him a spot in the MFA program at Columbia University.

It was a train trip with his grandpa that inspired Lindstrom to tackle challenging topics with a lens that restored dignity to his subjects. His grandpa was a binge-drinker, and on day three of the trip, he woke up with a hangover and was missing his dentures. Lindstrom, only 5 at the time, noticed the way other passengers treated him and his grandpa differently.

“I think what my films are about is that search for my grandfather’s dentures, the humanizing narrative that bridges the gap between us and them and arrives at we,” he said.

Lindstrom said he returned to Portland after film school and “did several projects with the Northwest Film Center that had me putting a camera in the hands of kids on probation, homeless teens, newly recovering addicts, hard-hit people who had hard-hitting stories to share.”

“Those projects taught me so much about the transformative power of art, and they gave me permission I felt in my personal films to ask people if I might follow them, so that an audience could better understand what they were going through, and by extension, better understand themselves,” he said.

Lindstrom’s 2007 award-winning cinéma-vérité-style film, “Finding Normal,” followed long-term drug addicts as they left prison or detox and tried to rebuild their lives with the help of a recovery mentor.

“What I’m most proud about is that ‘Finding Normal’ is the only film to ever be shown to inmates in solitary confinement at Oregon State Penitentiary, and not, I might add, as a punishment,” Lindstrom said.

In 2013, he released “Alien Boy: The Life and Death of James Chasse,” a documentary that illuminated the life of a man who grappled with schizophrenia and examined his death, which happened in police custody. Discussing the film with LA Progressive in 2018, Lindstrom said that he doesn’t make films for audiences.

“I make them for the people in the film. It is my small way of honoring them,” he told the outlet. “That doesn’t mean I don’t delve into dark areas or that I ignore that person’s struggles. I’m much more concerned with trying to achieve an honest depiction of that person’s life than I am with any potential audience reaction.”

Lindstrom’s work aimed to inspire empathy and humanize those suffering in the margins of society, but it also catalyzed policy change. His acclaimed 2015 documentary, “Mothering Inside,” followed participants in the Family Preservation Project (FPP), an initiative helping incarnated moms establish and maintain bonds with their children.

Midway through filming the documentary, the Oregon Department of Corrections announced it planned to nix funding for the FPP. Lindstrom hosted early screenings of the film, which inspired grassroots advocacy that reached then-Gov. Kate Brown, who subsequently signed legislation that restored funding. The film’s release also helped make Oregon the first state in the U.S. to pass a bill of rights for children of incarcerated parents.

Partnering with Strayed, Lindstrom made the documentary short, “I Am Not Untouchable. I Just Have My Period,” for the New York Times in 2019. The film highlighted the experience of teen girls in Surkhet, Nepal, and the menstrual stigma they faced. Most recently, the filmmaker released, “Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill,” which examined the folk-rock singer’s life from her traumatic childhood and drug-addled adolescence through her rise in the Laurel Canyon music scene and untimely death.

Lindstrom, discussing “Judee Sill” and his style as a filmmaker, told Oregon ArtsWatch, “It’s the chance to kind of focus on the question: What does it mean to be human? The person that the film is about, what can they teach us, what can we learn from them? What can they learn from themselves?”

In 2017, Lindstrom received the Civil Liberties Award from the American Civil Liberties Union of Oregon for his work advancing civil rights and liberties. That same year, he received the Distinguished Alumni Award from Lewis & Clark College.

In Strayed’s post announcing Lindstrom’s death, she described their more than 30-year partnership as a stroke of “tremendous luck.”

“We loved each other and our kids with deep devotion and true delight. He was a stellar husband. He was the most magnificent dad. He was a man whose every word and deed was driven by kindness, compassion, and generosity,” she wrote. “He saw the goodness in everyone. He believed that we are all sacred and redeemable.

“His work as a documentary filmmaker was dedicated to telling stories of people who, as he put it, ‘society puts an X through.’ He erased that X with his camera and his astonishing heart.”

Strayed’s memoir — which followed her as she hiked 1,100 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail in the wake of her mother’s death, a battle with drug addiction and divorce from her first husband — concludes with a happy ending. She finished the months-long hike and sat on a white bench near the Bridge of the Gods, a stone’s throw from the spot where, she writes, she’d marry Lindstrom four years later.

“His greatest legacy is Carver and Bobbi, who embody everything good and true about their father. Their extraordinary grace, courage, and fortitude during this harrowing time was unfaltering and grounded in the undying love Brian poured into them every day of their lives,” she wrote. “We do not know how we will live without him. We’re utterly bereft. We can only walk this dark path and search for the beauty Brian knew was there. It will be his eternal light that guides us.”

A pivotal moment early in “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” arrives when Harry’s suburban house is swarmed and flooded with letters of acceptance for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry’s aunt and uncle have been preventing such dispatches from reaching the young wizard-to-be, but the boarding school’s messenger owls are having none of it.

Letters flood in from the fireplace, windows and nearly seem to cause the house to burst. And while watching the film recently at Inglewood’s Cosm, home to an all-encompassing high-definition spherical screen, I half expected a letter to fall upon my lap. Cosm specializes in sports, but has released three collaborations with Warner Bros. for what it deems “experiential film.” A framed screen displaying the original 2001 work from director Chris Columbus is untouched, but surrounding it are newly added digital animations designed to envelop guests.

And in this early “Sorcerer’s Stone” scene, letters were a-flying any which way I looked. Up, down, left and right — mail missives were rocketing toward the center screen. As the world closed in on Daniel Radcliffe’s Potter and family, it did so, too, at Cosm. I’ve seen Cosm’s take on “The Matrix” and “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” so I knew a letter wouldn’t come zapping my way, but one could be forgiven for protecting their cocktail — themed, of course — from being knocked over.

The famed “sorting hat” scene at Cosm’s interpretation of “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

(Cosm)

Such is the power of Cosm’s curved screen, which brings a sense of dimension, and even at times movement, to the film. Think of Cosm, perhaps, as a mini version of Las Vegas’ Sphere, but smaller doesn’t mean any less sweeping. No, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” in Cosm’s hands is often quite grand, as the first glimpse of Hogwarts Castle inspired cheers from the opening night audience, its cliffside towers, a romanticized spin on medieval architecture, towering above us in such a way that we will crane our necks. Only in Universal’s theme parks does the palace seem more real and welcoming.

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” arrives at Cosm during what is a big year for the franchise. It’s the 25th anniversary, of course, of the first film in the series, and later this year on Christmas Day a new television series based on author J.K. Rowling’s popular book series is set to premiere on HBO Max. This summer, Harry Potter: A Hogwarts Express Adventure will open at the Southern California Railway Museum for guests to experience the Wizarding World rite of passage aboard a real moving train in the Inland Empire.

All of this activity is happening as Rowling has become the center of heated debate for her controversial views on trans women. None of it, however, has seemed to curtail fan interest in the series. The 2023 video game “Hogwarts Legacy” became a massive hit despite calls for a boycott, and Universal Studios last year opened in Florida a brand new theme park land based upon the franchise at its Epic Universe park, with its centerpiece ride, Harry Potter and the Battle at the Ministry, often commanding some of the longest waits at the park.

At the film’s early May premiere at Cosm, Rowling was mentioned little, and wasn’t among the massive list of names being thanked by studio and Cosm execs. “Harry Potter” in 2026 is perhaps best viewed as a franchise that has outgrown its creator to take on a life of its own, and Cosm’s approach is that of a love letter to its many fans, recognizing that this is a magical, enchanting world that generations have long wished to find themselves immersed in.

A climatic scene in “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” is outfitted with additional effects at Cosm.

(Cosm)

To that end, I’d rank “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” as the most successful of Cosm’s three cinematic interpretations. Certainly the subject matter plays a role, and while Cosm has been successful in matching the high-energy of “The Matrix” or the trippiness of “Willy Wonka,” here Cosm and its partners — experiential firm Little Cinema and effects house MakeMake — can simply luxuriate in atmosphere. The train to Hogwarts, for instance, is especially well done, seemingly stretched to infinity. The famed “sorting hat” scene, too, as Cosm’s wizards contrast the internal anxiety of being assigned a role with the external one of doing so in front of an audience, bringing to exaggerated life the cavernous Hogwarts assembly hall.

Cosm works best when it’s able to use its venue to create the illusion of no longer being a spectator, when the space itself starts to feel like a living theater. Feel this, for instance, when Harry and pals traverse the moving staircase. The frame of the screen may move, creating a slight sense of disorientation as the stairs themselves shift. The portraits on the wall, whose characters occasionally come alive, start to envelop us. Cosm used some restraint here, keeping us guessing as to which framed pictures may seek to speak or nod our way.

If there’s any qualm in Cosm’s work it’s that at times there could be a tinge more self-control in order to let the film do its work. Stepping into the hidden magic nook of London’s Diagon Alley is a showcase moment in Columbus’ film, and at times it is in Cosm’s interpretation as well. Out on the street, the shops circle around us, further conveying the cramped nature of the neighborhood. It feels, more than ever, like a real-life space. Inside an intimate pub, however, filling out the scene with empty tables could distract from the hurried, nervous nature of the filmmaker’s original intent.

But we live in an immersive age. Art, increasingly, is maximized to encompass us, and Cosm understands this moment well. Once again, the venue has made the argument that cinema can feel like communal, live entertainment.

HOLLYWOOD star Demi Moore showcases her chic side at the Cannes Film Festival.

The US actress, 63, wore a strapless, violet gown for a screening of French romantic comedy La Vie D’Une Femme.

She was joined on the red carpet by stars including Gillian Anderson and Ruth Negga.

Demi was last at Cannes in 2024, promoting her film The Substance, which won her a Golden Globe for Best Actress.

Just months ago, Demi capped off a stellar career comeback by being named Glamour’s Woman of the Year.

She was interviewed by her Substance co-star Margaret Qualley for the mag and said: “With everything I’ve been through, which has been a lot, I wouldn’t trade where I am today.”

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She added a difference with her younger self is the “freedom to know I don’t have to have the answer, and life is not going to be completely stolen from me if I somehow don’t know”.

During Demi’s emotional Golden Globes acceptance speech last year, she spoke of having been at a “low point” and not thinking she was “enough”.

The actress has battled countless traumas and rejections during her life – including her biological dad leaving before she was born, saving her drug addicted mum from suicide, two spells in rehab and being raped aged 15. 

The star of Ghost, Indecent Proposal and A Few Good Men’s return to form in the satirical horror movie The Substance is one of the greatest Hollywood comebacks of all time.

CANNES, France — Greeting from the Croisette, where the 79th Cannes Film Festival is underway — and where the Envelope has its inaugural Cannes issue.

I’ve been hard at work since before the Oscars assigning and editing stories about the global film industry and this storied event’s role in it, albeit with an L.A. twist. And with this special edition of the newsletter, you too can be a part of the “Entourage,” at least vicariously. Read on for more highlights from the issue, and be sure to check out Amy Nicholson and Joshua Rothkopf’s conversation about the Cannes films they’re most excited to see before you block out your schedule.

Cover: Almodóvar, uncensored

(Shayan Asgharnia / For The Times)

You know you have a juicy interview on your hands when you wake up to it being aggregated by the trades, and I can’t really blame them: Columnist Glenn Whipp’s cover profile of Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar, in competition here with his new film “Bitter Christmas,” is chock full of pungent quotations.

At 76, the filmmaker is unafraid to speak his mind, whether it be about the apolitical Oscars or the decline of American democracy. But his metafictional treat, in which an acclaimed filmmaker falls out with an old friend over pilfering real life for inspiration, shows that he’s equally willing to turn that critical lens inward. It’s the film, he says, “where I’ve been cruelest with myself.”

Digital cover: Cannes kid Diego Calva

(Ian Spanier / For The Times)

In one of those serendipitous intersections editors dream off, it’s Almodovar that our digital cover star is most amped to meet during the fortnight: “If Almodóvar shakes my hand, I can die in peace,” Diego Calva tells contributor Carlos Aguilar.

With two films at the festival — Jordan Firstman’s “Club Kid,” playing in Un Certain Regard, and Nicolas Winding Refn’s highly anticipated out-of-competition title “Her Private Hell” — Calva, who appeared earlier this year in “The Night Manager” Season 2, may be hard for Almodóvar to miss. But the actor isn’t letting the auspicious moment go to his head. “My friends don’t care whether I have seven Golden Globes or if I’m not working at all,” he says. “To them, I’m just Diego.”

What’s next for Nollywood

(Photo illustration by Stephanie Jones / For The Times; photos courtesy of Anthill Studios, African International Film Festival)

I admit I didn’t know much about the Nigerian film industry beyond the term “Nollywood” before reading Daron James’ deep dive on how the West African country is charting a new course after its recent streaming boom went bust. Now I’m eager to see if its embrace of theatrical exhibition — including, gasp, building more cinemas — can rub off on its American namesake.

Nollywood may produce “the second most movies globally after India,” as James writes, but “creative hustle… is still as important as ever.”

More coverage of the 2026 Cannes Film Festival

REALITY star Maura Higgins pads about in Cannes.

The former Love Islander sashayed around the city in a 1980s-style shirt dress with big shoulders and collar.

Irish model Maura, 35, later changed into a dramatic Guinness-like black and white gown for the film ­festival’s opening ceremony on the French Riviera.

She was joined by actress Demi Moore — in a pearl sequinned gown — and model Heidi Klum in a peach dress with floral decoration.

Maura will be Dancing with the Stars next — we revealed last month that she has landed a place on the US ­version of Strictly.

Reality TV star Maura has confirmed she’s walked away from her Love Island USA: Aftersun hosting job after three years.

TOWIE TRAGEDY

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The Irish star told Vulture that she won’t be returning to Fiji for the upcoming eighth season.

She said: “You won’t. I’ve done it for three years, and they’ll always be family to me, but I think it’s time to try something different.

“I’ve got amazing opportunities coming in the door.

“I think it’s time to say good-bye. But you know what? I won’t say forever.

“I’ll still be watching from afar and I love them and miss them. It’s just time to move on.”

Route 66 has its tendrils throughout SoCal, and especially in the L.A. area, winding through Pasadena, West Hollywood and culminating in Santa Monica. But the most loving ode to Route 66 may in fact be at the Disneyland Resort, specifically at Disney California Adventure.

Stories, photos and travel recommendations from America’s Mother Road

Cars Land opened in 2012 as part of a reworking of the theme park and at long last gave it a striking land that could rival — and in many cases surpass — those of its next-door neighbor, Disneyland. Flanked by sun-scarred, reddish rocks that look lifted from Arizona, Cars Land is a marvel of a theme park land, with its backdrop mountain range ever so slightly nodding to the fins of classic Cadillacs from 1957 to 1962. That design element is a salute to the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas, where 10 vintage Cadillacs are buried nose-first in the ground that to many resembles a 20th century Stonehenge.

Yet before the area was attached to the 2006 film, it was envisioned as a theme park destination dedicated to roadside attractions and trips along the so-called Mother Road. Cars Land is a make-believe area based on a fictional town from an animated film, but its roots are decidedly real.

Cadillac Ranch, an artwork made from 10 old cars by the Ant Farm artists’ collective in the 1970s, has become one of Amarillo’s top attractions. Visitors are invited to add their own spray-painted touches.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

The backdrop mountain range of Radiator Springs Racers is a nod to Cadillac Ranch. The peaks are designed to look like the tail fins of classic cars.

(Mark Boster / Los Angeles Times)

“We very much acknowledge that up front, that you’re walking down Route 66,” says Kathy Mangum, the retired Walt Disney Imagineer who served as the executive producer of Cars Land.

“But you’re also not walking down a part of Route 66 that exists anywhere,” Mangum continues. “There’s no part of Route 66 where you’re looking up at a Cadillac range surrounded by red rocks. It’s the spirit of Route 66. I wouldn’t even call it a ‘best-of.’ It’s just a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and combined it feels real.”

Tour guide Michael Wallis, left, and Walt Disney Imagineer Kevin Rafferty during a research trip at Cadillac Ranch in 2008.

(Kevin Rafferty)

Before those at Walt Disney Imagineering, the secretive arm of the company devoted to theme park experiences, were even aware that Pixar Animation Studios was working on the “Cars” film, an automotive-focused land was in the planning stages for Disney California Adventure. The park had opened in 2001 and had struggled in its early years to pull in crowds, with audiences zeroing in on a lack of Disneyland-style attractions and an absence of grandly designed vistas.

In an effort to rejuvenate the park, then-Imagineer Kevin Rafferty envisioned an area to be called Car Land — without the “s” — pulling heavily from his family’s road trips and Route 66-like roadside attractions and oddities. Among its standout attractions was to be one initially named Scoot 66, later changed to Road Trip, USA, a slow-moving ride that took guests on a cross-country journey through nature and roadside quirkiness, although its showcase scene would have been a trip trough a miniaturized Carlsbad Caverns, a bit of a detour from Route 66.

“It was kind of tongue-in-cheek,” says Rafferty, now retired, of the never-built ride. “You were going to be seeing all these roadside attractions that would draw you in, like giant bunnies.”

Mater’s Junkyard Jamboree brings the rusty, old tow truck character from the “Cars” movie to life in Cars Land at Disney California Adventure. (Mark Boster / Los Angeles Times)

An artwork in Seligman, Ariz., pays homage to the Disney-Pixar “Cars” movie, which was heavily inspired by the town. (Mark Lipczynski / For The Times)

Rafferty believed a place such as Car Land would be ripe for exploration in a Disney park, as it was to be set from the late 1950s to the early 1960s and tap into a collective nostalgia for a time when a vehicle meant the freedom to explore the open road. Cars Land today still has some of that ageless energy, boasting a vintage rock ’n’ roll soundtrack and a strip of a street filled with colorful neon, its lights, especially at night, beckoning guests to come closer.

“The reason why I thought it would fit into a Disney park, especially Disney California Adventure, is because cars are so much a part of the California story,” Rafferty says. “Cars are designed in California, even though they’re built elsewhere. There’s more custom shops in California. There’s more design studios in California. There’s more car clubs. And all the cars songs. ‘She’s so fine, my 409.’ It was all the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean.”

The neon signs of Radiator Springs. Flo’s V8 Cafe isn’t a direct match for any Route 66 diner, but it was inspired in spirit by the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas.

(Paul Hiffmeyer / Disneyland Resort)

Development on Rafferty’s Car Land idea would change course when Imagineering and Pixar eventually aligned. But it was also a shift that would more formally ground the area in the culture of Route 66, which heavily influenced the film. Both the filmmakers and, later, those with Imagineering, embarked on 10-day research trips along the road led by historian Michael Wallis, author of “Route 66: The Mother Road.” Those at Pixar, in fact, were so charmed by Wallis’ tours that the author was asked to voice the role of the film’s sheriff.

Wallis says he took the teams out in rented Cadillacs. “I like to stop every 300 yards,” Wallis says. “If I’m doing a road trip, I get into it. So we stopped to move box turtles off the road. I waded them into winter wheat to dance, to pick wild grapes. I introduced them to people that I guaran-damn-tee that they never would have met, the great characters of the road, and I showed them the man-made and natural sites of the road.”

Though the fictional “Cars” and Cars Land community of Radiator Springs has no single inspiration, it echoes the scenery and history of several small towns between Tulsa, Okla., and Kingman, Ariz., including Tucumcari, N.M., Seligman, Ariz., and Oatman, Ariz. And the single, graceful bridge that is centered upon the land’s backdrop mountain range closely resembles Pasadena’s own Colorado Street Bridge, although there’s no roaring waterfall next to the original.

Scenes from Route 66 in Seligman, Ariz. The town was one of the inspirations for the fictional “Cars” and Cars Land town of Radiator Springs.

(Mark Lipczynski / For The Times)

The centerpiece bridge of the Cars Land mountain range was modeled after a local landmark. (Paul Hiffmeyer / Disneyland Resort)

The Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena, an inspiration for the Cars Land structure. (Adam Markovitz)

Elsewhere, Ramone’s House of Body Art connects with the U-Drop Inn, a 1936 Art Deco gas station in Shamrock, Texas, that now serves as a visitor center and cafe. The Cozy Cone Motel nods to the Wigwam motel chain, which once included seven locations from Kentucky to California. Two remain in business along Route 66: the Wigwam in San Bernardino and another in Holbrook, Ariz.

While Imagineers had visual references from the animated film, Mangum says the research trip was invaluable in lending authenticity to the park.

“We could walk into a building in Shamrock, Texas, that looks so much like what Ramone’s House of Body Art looks like and see that those tiles are made of raised terra-cotta,” Mangum says. “So we could get the actual texture. It’s a movie world, but it’s also a real world.”

Flo’s V8 Cafe isn’t a direct match with any Route 66 eatery, the Imagineers say, but was certainly influenced in spirit by the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas.

The Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas, celebrates the halfway point on Route 66 between Chicago and Los Angeles.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

“We sampled all their pies and food and made copious notes on this stuff,” Rafferty says. “The two women who owned the Midpoint Cafe had what they said was their mother’s recipe for ‘ugly crust pies.’ We fell in love with ugly crust pies. I met with the head chef of Disneyland, who was a Frenchman at the time, and I said we wanted to serve ugly crust pies at Flo’s V8 Cafe. And he said, ‘No, no, no, nothing at Disneyland will be ugly.’”

No, but it may be influenced by abandoned buildings. Mangum says a key locale for the land was the deserted structures of Two Guns, Ariz. Gas station remains led to sketches that would inspire parts of the “Stanley’s Oasis” area of the Radiator Springs Racers queue, which Rafferty and company filled out with an oil service station and then a building composed of empty oil bottles. The story goes that Stanley’s Oasis is a roadside attraction settlement that led to the development of the town of Radiator Springs.

At the Cozy Cone Motel, a string of cone-shaped food stalls sell quick bites such as swirled soft-serve cones. (Stephanie Breijo / Los Angeles Times)

The Cozy Cone is based on the real-life Wigwam Motels. (Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

“That kind of Route 66-inspired story was all made up,” Rafferty says. “It wasn’t in the film.” That backstory, however, would inform the 2012 short “Time Travel Mater.”

The enduring strength of the land, however, isn’t just due to the popularity of the animated properties that led to it. While Route 66 wasn’t magic for everyone — the history of the road is dotted with tales of extreme poverty and horrific racism — it’s become romanticized as a slice of Americana and stands as a jumping-off point to further delve into our past.

The land is, in a word, timeless. It’s also representative of the ideal of a working small town, the sort of place we forever long for. “It may not be the America of today,” Mangum says, “but in a way it is.”

Times staff writer Christopher Reynolds contributed to this report.

When Kevin Hart announced in January that he’d licensed his name to Authentic Brands Group, the popular comedian was silent on a key detail: the future of his namesake media company.

Hart sold some ownership and oversight of his brand in exchange for an undisclosed sum of money and a stake in Authentic, a New York-based firm that manages the likenesses of Marilyn Monroe, Muhammad Ali, Shaquille O’Neal and David Beckham.

Hart used the partnership with Authentic to reset his relationship with the people around him and his company, according to six current and former employees. Hart’s employees say they worry that this deal marks the beginning of the end of Hartbeat, the comedian’s namesake media company that produces films, owns a network of short-form video channels and handles marketing for brands.

Though the announcement made no mention of Hartbeat, the agreement gave Hart money to buy out his private equity partner in the company over time and regain control of the use of his name, image and likeness. Hart’s endorsement deals, which had been a pillar of Hartbeat business, will now be handled by Authentic.

Once valued at about $650 million, Hartbeat has shriveled over the past few years. The company enacted its latest round of job cuts in December, firing the heads of its scripted TV division, as well as employees working across marketing, social media and brand partnerships, said the people. Earlier this year it let go the leaders of its podcast division and later sued them for breach of contract.

Hart has withdrawn from the company, leaving day-to-day management in the hands of a small group of executives. Staff meetings have been canceled. The development of new film and TV projects has slowed. A slate of new podcasts was pitched but never produced.

Hartbeat’s struggles reflected the challenging environment for many Hollywood production companies as media giants merge and cut spending. The company is also a cautionary tale in this age of the celebrity media mogul. Financial firms have plowed money into media companies led by high-profile figures, believing they could use their notoriety to build valuable businesses. Yet even seemingly successful ones have had a hard time.

Hartbeat, like many of its peers, has suffered from mismanagement and grappled with the tension between the needs of the star and his company. Hart, one of the hardest-working people in Hollywood, tired of subsidizing a company that relied so much on him

Hart declined to comment for this story, which is based on conversations with several current and former employees. On Sunday night, Hart, who hosted the widely viewed roast of NFL great Tom Brady two years ago, was the subject of his own roast on Netflix.

Building a Billion-Dollar Business

One of the most successful stand-up comedians and actors of his generation, Hart, 46, has always been entrepreneurial. In 2017, he started Laugh Out Loud, an online video comedy business that later grew to include branded entertainment. He also operated his own production company, Hartbeat Productions, that made programs for streaming services like Peacock, Quibi and Netflix Inc.

With Hollywood in the midst of a production boom, Hart watched his fellow celebrities get rich from their media enterprises. Reese Witherspoon sold her media company, Hello Sunshine, in a deal that valued it at as much as $900 million. Hart’s friend LeBron James raised money for his company, SpringHill, at a valuation of $725 million. Hart believed he could be next.

In late 2022, Hart merged his business interests under the Hartbeat banner and raised money by selling a 15% stake to the private equity firm Abry Partners. The deal valued the company at about $650 million.

The new business was predicated on three pillars: film and TV, short-form video and advertising. Hartbeat had a deal to produce movies for Netflix, a slate of podcasts for SiriusXM Holdings Inc. and original audio series for Audible. Hartbeat also developed relationships with advertisers such as Lyft Inc., Procter & Gamble Co. and DraftKings Inc.

While Hart would star in Hartbeat projects, the goal of the company was to develop projects and new business that didn’t involve its namesake founder. The company could leverage Hart to sell projects and secure broad programming partnerships. Hart would ask that Hartbeat be involved in producing his movies and any advertising campaign for which he was a spokesperson. His fees as a producer and brand ambassador would help pay the bills. The hope was he’d convince other celebrities to use Hartbeat as well. Thai Randolph, who had been running Laugh Out Loud, was named chief executive officer.

Hartbeat opened offices in New York and Atlanta and took over a 40,000-square-foot West Hollywood office once occupied by Oprah Winfrey. Hart redesigned the space and installed a world-class art collection.

The upper-level lobby featured a work by Ghanaian artist Serge Attukwei Clottey, while the conference room had a sculpture by Zimbabwean artist Moffat Takadiwa made of computer keyboard keys. A portrait of Kobe Bryant by Julian Pace hung outside a podcast studio.

Hart’s own office featured a dressing room, a series of paintings by South African artist Feni Chulumanco, multiple TVs and a desk from a prominent French designer. “He really has almost a full-service apartment in his suite,” Kai Williamson, who worked with Hart on the project, told Architectural Digest. Hart was interviewed for a story and also filmed an episode of the design magazine’s “Open Door” video series.

While Hartbeat expanded, Hollywood entered a recession. Economic uncertainty, rising interest rates and growing skepticism about the profitability of streaming caused major media companies to fire staff and pull back on buying new projects. Hartbeat was a little more insulated than most because talent like Hart could usually still get a project made. Still, producing projects without Hart in a starring role became more difficult.

Randolph left the company in late 2023 and was replaced by Jay Levine, who had spent much of his career at Warner Bros. Discovery Inc. Levine brought in a couple of other senior leaders with experience at major media companies.

A contingent of executives pushed Hart to scale back some ambitions, the people said. The company couldn’t afford to be working in so many different businesses at the same time, especially as areas like free, advertising-supported online video, and podcasts got more competitive. Hart was one of the most prolific and productive creative people in the world, starring in and producing movies, TV shows, comedy, short-form videos and advertisements. The point of the company was to relieve the stress on him, not add to it.

While Hartbeat closed its New York office, Hart was reluctant to scale back his vision or replace some long-time lieutenants. Levine negotiated his exit at the end of 2024 and was followed out the door by the company’s chief financial officer and chief content officer. Days before Thanksgiving, Hartbeat laid off about 20 people, nearly one quarter of its work force.

A year of chaos and conflict

In January 2025, Hart announced he would be the new CEO of Hartbeat and pledged to outline the firm’s strategy in the coming weeks. Instead, Hart went weeks and sometimes months without visiting the office, the people said, and empowered Jeff Clanagan and CFO Eric Stoneburner to run the company day to day. (Hart was on set to shoot at least a couple movies last year, in addition to his other work.)

A former concert promoter and movie producer, Clanagan had helped make Hart a major star. He had partnered with Hart to bring his stand-up specials to the big screen, producing shows such as 2013’s Kevin Hart: Let Me Explain, which grossed $32 million at the box office. Clanagan produced some of these specials under the banner of his own company, Codeblack Films, which helps promote, market and distribute video from Black creators.

Clanagan continued to operate Codeblack while serving in a senior capacity at Hartbeat, said the people. He pushed employees at Hartbeat to post its videos to the Codeblack channels as well, saying they could use the additional reach to raise awareness. The videos generated advertising sales for Codeblack.

Clanagan had employees at Hartbeat oversee Codeblack’s social media pages and asked to get those channels loaded into Hartbeat’s content management system. That gave Codeblack’s YouTube channels advantages over others because of Hart’s prominence and his company’s designation with YouTube. Employees raised concerns with human resources and the company’s lawyer.

Clanagan also became increasingly interested in video generated by artificial intelligence. He started a new app called Blktopia, a streaming service for Black viewers programmed with content from online creators and often made by AI. He urged employees to work on it, the people said. Clanagan initially responded to a request for comment and then retracted the text message.

Meanwhile, many of Hartbeat’s main businesses languished. Sales from the company’s YouTube channels fell and investment in new film and TV projects slowed. Hartbeat, once profitable, started to bleed cash. Hartbeat had hired Eric Eddings and Lesley Gwam to produce audio shows that didn’t involve Hart. While the pair developed a slate of projects, they never got approval to make them.

In mid-December, Hartbeat fired about a dozen employees, including some of those who were supposed to develop the podcasts. Eddings and Gwam then decided to start their own company and began trying to raise money. When Clanagan found out, Hartbeat fired them and sued for alleged theft of trade secrets and breach of contract.

A court approved a temporary restraining order but then rejected a preliminary injunction, saying Hartbeat had not demonstrated Eddings and Gwam had used proprietary information or trade secrets. The court said the request was “vague, ambiguous, and overly broad.” The case is ongoing.

Hartbeat also fired the heads of its TV division, Tiffany Brown and Mike Stein, who were in the middle of producing a TV show based on the film Barbershop for Amazon.com Inc. and a second season of the animated series Lil Kev.

The company made no official announcement explaining the cuts. The following week, senior leadership arranged a Zoom meeting. Hart remained off camera until it was his time to speak. He talked for a few minutes about changes at the company and took no questions. Hart changed his phone number in the weeks following the layoffs. (Some of his advisors had suggested he do this years earlier so that he wasn’t so available.)

A few weeks later, Hart announced the deal with Authentic Brands Group. Hart used some of the proceeds to buy out Abry Partners, freeing him to steer his brand deals to Authentic and outside of Hartbeat. A few of his employees and his publicist joined him at Authentic.

“This is a turning point for Hartbeat,” the company wrote in a subsequent email to employees, explaining that the deal would free Hart up to focus on what he does best, while allowing Hartbeat to stand on its own and grow beyond him.

“I know the past few months have been tough,” Hart wrote, adding that for too long the company had been too dependent on him. The email was said to be from “Kevin AKA Boss Man.” It was sent by Hart’s assistant.

Shaw writes for Bloomberg.

Nick Pasqual, an actor who appeared in “How I Met Your Mother,” has been found guilty of the attempted murder of L.A.-based makeup artist Allie Shehorn.

Following a jury trial, Pasqual was also convicted of counts of injuring a spouse or partner, first-degree burglary and rape, according to court documents.

The incident occurred in May 2024, when Pasqual repeatedly stabbed Shehorn, his ex-girlfriend, in her Shadow Hills home. Prosecutors claimed that he broke into her home, attacked her with a knife and fled California. Pasqual was later stopped by authorities at a border checkpoint in Sierra Blanca, Texas, the Los Angeles County district attorney’s office said.

At the time, Shehorn’s friends speculated that she had been stabbed more than 20 times. Following the attack, she underwent emergency surgery and spent days in intensive care.

The pair first met on the set of Zack Snyder’s film “Rebel Moon.” Pasqual worked as a background actor, with credits including “How I Met Your Mother” and “Archive 81,” and Shehorn worked as a makeup artist on movies including “Family Switch” and “Babylon.”

Prior to the stabbing, Shehorn had filed a restraining order against Pasqual, which detailed acts of sexual and physical assault.

Pasqual will be sentenced on June 2. He could face a maximum sentence of life in state prison.

Former L.A. Times staff writer Nathan Solis contributed to this report.

For Vince Gervasi, chief executive of Triscenic Production Services, it was yet another body blow.

His company, a leading supplier of set and scenery storage and transportation for the film industry, was poised for a turnaround after nearly three years of losing money.

Then, last week, he said a line producer on “Shark Tank,” one of his long-standing clients, called him to say the hit ABC reality show was relocating production from the Sony Pictures Studios lot in Culver City to Atlanta.

“They said it was too expensive here to do anything,” Gervasi recalled being told. “I said, ‘Are you kidding me?’ This show has money.’”

For the last six years, Triscenic had dedicated a 70,000-square-foot warehouse at its Santa Clarita facility to store the show’s items, transporting them in 30 custom made semitrucks between seasons.

Battered by the pandemic, the dual labor strikes, economic downturns and consolidations, Gervasi told The Times in 2024 that he had laid off 78 of his 85 employees and winnowed down his once-buzzing operations that housed sets and scenery across 2 million square feet in 41 buildings to half that, with the expectation that things would bounce back.

Like many other local film industry veterans, he is still waiting.

Vince Gervasi, at Triscenic Production Services, in Santa Clarita.

(Bob Doyle)

“I’ve been doing this for 41 years. I’ve seen the good and the bad — this is a complete decimation. It’s unprecedented.”

From florists to prop rentals to catering and beyond, production services and craft businesses are the hub and spoke of L.A.’s film and TV industry. But many of these businesses — some of which have been family-operated for generations — are struggling to weather a post-pandemic slump in film activity deepened by runaway production, media consolidation and the end of the streaming boom.

Film shoot days in the Los Angeles region have fallen nearly 50% since 2019, according to FilmLA data reviewed by The Times. Employment in Los Angeles County’s motion picture and sound recording industry has similarly plummeted, with a loss of some 57,000 jobs in the last four years, federal labor data show.

The slowdown has become a major issue in the L.A. mayoral race as evidence mounts of the economic toll on the city.

Just last month major industry vendor Quixote — whose Star Waggons trailers were once ubiquitous on the streets of L.A. — announced that it was winding down most of its sound stage business in Los Angeles, closing its operations in Atlanta and laying off 70 employees.

In a note to its clients and partners, Hudson Pacific Properties Inc., Quixote’s parent company, said that “we have persisted through the prolonged and ongoing slowdown in commercial, television and film production. But ultimately, industry conditions have forced difficult decisions.”

Between 2022 and 2025, more than 80 such businesses across Los Angeles have closed down, according to a list compiled by the ACME Directory, a production resource that connects TV and film professionals with specialized products and services.

“It’s, in many ways, a much bigger reflection of the contraction we’re seeing in the industry right now,” said Kevin Klowden, a senior fellow at the Milken Institute, focused on entertainment and technology. “The surge in demand for streaming and the consequential demand to catch up on content hid the fact that the industry was shrinking.”

Last October, the family-run Costume Rentals Corp. began liquidating its inventory after dressing film and television characters for 50 years. The North Hollywood firm provided costumes for “Forrest Gump,” “Apocalypse Now,” “Fast and Furious” and, more recently, the 2024 Bob Dylan biopic, “A Complete Unknown.”

A year earlier, Valentino’s Costume Group closed its doors after two decades in business and sold off its 400,000 items. At the time, Shon LeBlanc, the North Hollywood shop’s last owner standing, said he had endured a “perfect storm” of calamities and was drowning in debt following the cancellation of 15 shows in a single week.

Even the legendary Western Costume, which has been in business since 1912, has been hurt by the slowdown. During the 2023 strikes by writers and actors, Western Costume furloughed 43 employees, or about two-thirds of its staff. Recently, the North Hollywood costume mecca, which has supplied such classic films as “Gone with the Wind,” “The Wizard of Oz,” “The Sound of Music” and the TV series “Mad Men,” furloughed an unspecified number of its workers, said two people familiar with the matter who were not authorized to speak publicly.

A representative of Western Costume did not respond to a request for comment.

Marc Meyer, the owner of Faux Library Studio Props, had strained to stay in business through the pandemic shutdown and the 2023 labor strikes — laying off 11 of his 13 employees.

By the start of 2024, Meyer, a set decorator who was credited with inventing the fake movie book, was drastically behind on rent, owing $500,000, he said.

Marc Meyer, closed the doors on Faux Library Studio Props in North Hollywood after almost 25 years in business.

(Mel Melcon/Los Angeles Times)

Meyer’s landlord had given him a week to come up with more than $100,000 in unpaid rent or vacate the 89,000-square-foot warehouse in North Hollywood filled with props, books, antique furniture and other items that have decorated such film and TV sets as “Angels & Demons” and “The X-Files” for almost a quarter-century.

Meyer came up with $45,000 to mollify his landlord, garnering a month’s reprieve. A GoFundMe was set up during the strikes and a host of industry colleagues such as “Top Gun: Maverick” set decorator Jan Pascale stepped up, buying props to help fill his coffers.

A year later, Meyer was out of business, selling off Faux Library for parts in a massive auction. He died last July at 77.

“The change in our city is palpable,” said writer and director Sarah Adina Smith, a co-founder of Stay in LA’s, a grassroots campaign aimed at increasing film and television production in Los Angeles. “It’s not just that so many crafts and artists are out of work, but you see small businesses, too. In L.A., we’re an ecosystem fed in large part by creative jobs, and that is quickly vanishing.”

Marlon Gilbert still waxes nostalgic about the days his Commerce-based company, Gilbert Production Service, stored and transported scenery and props for TV shows including “Dancing with the Stars” and feature films like “Batman.” At one time, he said, he was handling seven active TV shows in a single season.

“When it was still on Fox, the ‘American Idol’ finale, we had like 20 semitrucks going in and out. Money was flowing like crazy,” he said. “But eventually times got hard for them, and they cut back on their production stuff.”

By last year, Gilbert was down to just three clients. “It wasn’t sustainable,” he said.

In December, after three decades, the family-owned business filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy and shut down too.

“I couldn’t pay rent on our warehouse lease, I blew through my savings and my 401(k),” he said. After his wife was hospitalized following multiple strokes in 2023, he said, “I didn’t have the energy to beat the bush for new business.”

“I would’ve liked to have gone out with more panache and made a big splash and money selling the business. But there was nothing left to sell.”

Scott Niner, president and owner of Dangling Carrot Creative, checks on a robotic machine as it fabricates at his shop in North Hollywood.

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

Scott Niner, president and owner of Dangling Carrot Creative, offers a case study in how production service businesses have navigated the tidal wave of upheavals.

After 18 years in business creating graphic signage, custom flooring and wallpaper to make sets look exactly as art directors dreamed up, the company filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy last April.

Before the pandemic, Niner’s Valencia-based business was thriving.

In 2014, he opened a Georgia satellite office to service the film and TV productions that had migrated to take advantage of the state’s generous tax credits. He steadily expanded his workforce to 32 employees in L.A. and Georgia.

Production was so plentiful that he even branched into the bakery business in 2018, delivering graphics and cupcakes in the same order. At its peak, Dangling Carrot generated $800,000 a month.

When the pandemic shutdown hit, Niner’s monthly revenue dropped to $50,000, he said. He kept his workers employed by making face shields that he donated to hospitals.

“I hung in there, and it was painful,” said Niner, who received some government assistance.

During the strikes in 2023, he drained his 401(k) and his union pension to keep his shop open and his workers employed.

Niner said he deployed a strategy of “pivoting and praying.” He shifted his business to focus more on fabrication, making giant 3-D-printed items for movie premieres, 25-foot-long, 8-foot-tall and 8-foot-deep ammo chests for a “Call of Duty” promotion and even graphics at airports.

Last last month, Niner sold off his Georgia business as filming in that state shifted to the U.K. He downsized his home and moved his business from Valencia to a much smaller building in North Hollywood. He is now down to 11 employees.

“I have a very bright outlook on the future, especially because we’re getting phone calls from people who never would have called us because all the other guys are out of business,” he said. “There’s something to be said about the last man standing. But I’m the last man standing on $2 million in debt. I’m more like lying down.”

The industry got a reprieve last week when CBS announced that it was relocating its hit drama “Tracker” to Los Angeles from Vancouver, Canada, after receiving a $48-million tax credit. Many view such moves, however, as small wins over comprehensive ones.

“There’s been a fundamental change happening here over the past five years,” said Cale Thomas, a makeup artist who has worked on “Guardians of the Galaxy 3” and the recent biopic “Michael.”

Thomas, who is a member of Stay in LA, acknowledges that California’s step last year to double its tax incentives has helped to spur an uptick in local production, but that has not stopped the outflow of productions or resolved a host of restrictions and costs that have hampered the industry.

He worked on “The Mandalorian” and other Lucasfilm series that stream on Disney+ for five years. “We shot in Manhattan Beach Studios,” he said, but noted that Lucasfilm has since moved one show to the U.K. and produced two others there.

“This has been devastating for our industry,” he said. “Hundreds of generational family businesses aren’t being used anymore.”

The pain points are not confined to Hollywood.

Last year, Marvel Studios — which had made Georgia, known as Hollywood of the South, its primary filming center for such major franchises as “Avengers: Infinity War” — relocated much of its production to the U.K.

The impact has meant even fewer domestic productions causing an even bigger ripple effect.

Among the high-profile casualties was Hackman Capital Partners, which aggressively snapped up studios, acquiring $10 billion in assets under management before production activity plummeted nationwide.

In January, the company defaulted on its $1.1-billion mortgage on Radford Studio Center, the historic lot where “Seinfeld” and “Gunsmoke” were filmed and which gave Studio City its name.

Earlier this year, Hackman Capital Partners defaulted on its $1.1-billion mortgage on Radford Studio Center, the historic lot where “Seinfeld” and “Gunsmoke” were filmed.

(Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)

Three months later, lender Deutsche Bank filed a foreclosure complaint on the also-historic Kaufman Astoria Studios in Queens, N.Y., home to “Sesame Street” and “Succession.”

Kaufman, also owned by Hackman Capital Partners, defaulted on an outstanding loan balance of $359 million that was due to be paid last fall, according to CRE Daily.

Gregg Bilson sold ISS Props, the Sunland-based company his father founded in 1977, to Manhattan Beach Studios, part of Hackman Capital Partners, five years ago, staying on as CEO to help run and expand the company.

After 40 years in the business, he retired last August with a little more than a year and a half left on his contract.

Bilson now sees himself as a Hollywood relic.

“Many of my contemporaries and I have had conversations where we say we saw the best of the film and TV industry when it was an art form,” Bilson said. “It will never be the same.”

To describe a movie as including a ski mask, a camcorder and $50,000 in cash would certainly lead one to imagine a specific type of story. Add two men and sex work and the brain might roll around more pointed scenarios.

But none of that can prepare you for what micro-indie “Blue Film” has in store. The nexus of perversion, pain and sexual purpose driving writer-director Elliot Tuttle’s dark, discursive chamber drama is of a stripe rarely attempted in even the most self-consciously daring movies. Should you need a self-imposed break afterward from intimate two-handers, even Tuttle might understand, then wink in the general direction of his Pasolini posters. (I’m guessing at this provocateur’s wall art.)

Is it clear yet that “Blue Film,” set primarily in a house in Los Angeles over the course of a revelatory night, isn’t for everybody? Some of that “everybody,” incidentally, includes the festivals and distributors who rejected the queer filmmaker’s debut feature, despite having critical buzz, Tony-winning actor Reed Birney as one of its stars and indie guru Mark Duplass as a mentoring producer.

But certain subjects (spoilers ahead) are bound to trigger a different kind of scrutiny. Initially, our attention is on macho-posturing tattooed camboy Aaron (“Boots” star Kieron Moore), graphically boasting to his followers online of the big payday he’ll receive that evening from a submissive client. What he later encounters, however, at the door of a Craftsman on a quiet street is a masked, polite, older host (Birney) with a camera and, once it’s turned on, a lot of personal questions, the kind that begin to crack the facade of a young man used to being in control of his transactional life.

Then his client’s face is revealed and Aaron recognizes it’s his middle school teacher Hank, a convicted pedophile who once coveted him. Hank, who completed prison time for the attempted assault of a different boy, has made a cross-country trip to seek out the adult version of someone who could have been his first victim. He is still processing what he is, wondering if desire, even love, is available to him anymore.

The question is, will you care? Even viewed through Aaron’s cautious, clear-eyed empathy, it’s a steep ask. But you should. Tuttle’s fearless inquisition won’t insult your intelligence, ask your mercy or hogtie your feelings. Honestly, it’s refreshing to be repulsed and intrigued by a movie willing to plumb these psychological depths when Hollywood won’t. In its commitment to unvarnished talk — even if that leads to a clunky staginess — “Blue Film” has thoughts about identity, choice, sin and salvation. There’s a sincere engagement with humanity’s more difficult realities.

Needless to say, this type of graphically articulated exchange wouldn’t work if the performances didn’t land. Thankfully, Moore’s affecting portrayal of jumbled masculinity mixed with situational curiosity is well-calibrated, while Birney, a pro with a challenge, eases us into Hank’s weary self-possession (if not always the nauseating facts of it) before coloring outside the lines with a believably interesting philosophy about reckoning.

But “Blue Film” is tough, make no mistake. Awkward and searching, it exists in a filmic space that you could argue was opened up by last year’s courageous documentary “Predators.” And sometimes that gaze is just discomfiting, full stop. Tuttle wants that. He has room to improve but he’s someone to watch, plumbing the hard-to-fathom.

If, god forbid, there’s a natural disaster in L.A. in the near future, Jena Malone might be one of your first responders.

“I’ve been studying Community Emergency Response Team training,” the actor-musician, 41, said, drinking coffee in the living room of her home overlooking pomegranate trees and a canyon in northeast L.A. “Whether it’s fire management or building a neighborhood tool shed, it’s less important for me to hit career milestones now than to transform how I live on this planet. Let’s build something where we’re all taking care of each other’s needs through mutual aid.”

Those are galvanizing priorities from Malone, who’s led generationally beloved films like the sci-fi noir “Donnie Darko,” played the axe-chucking Johanna Mason in two “Hunger Games” tentpoles and recently co-starred in the lesbian bodybuilding revenge flick “Love Lies Bleeding.” For almost as long, she’s also made experimental folk and electronic records that toy with avant-garde noise and quietly poignant songwriting.

This is a wild time in L.A. for anyone concerned about the city and its culture industries, and Malone is deeply invested in both. Just before the release of her new Netflix series, the Duffer Brothers-produced “The Boroughs,” she’s released her first album in nearly a decade. “Flowers For Men” is an effects-shredded, future-primitive record, written after the birth of her son upended her obligations — and expectations — toward the men in her life and the world they’ll inherit.

“It changed everything,” Malone said, about raising a son. “I grew up learning to thrive and mask in masculine spaces. Grind culture is a masculine toxicity that I inherited and indoctrinated myself in. But parenthood offers you this opportunity to burn your entire life down in sacrifice to finding out what’s real. I had no idea what it was to be a man. All of my ideas burned down and not much was being raised back up.”

For millennial film fans, Malone’s been a consistently compelling, trust-anything-she’s-in actor since her child-star turn in 1997’s “Contact.” Few embody a tortured, beguiling Americana quite like her.

“The Boroughs” — a high-profile follow-up to “Stranger Things” from the masters of unreality, created by Jeffrey Addiss and Will Matthews — has a stacked cast that includes Alfred Molina, Geena Davis and Bill Pullman, set amid a bucolic retirement community under supernatural threat. A ragtag group of Duffer Brothers misfits teaming up to fight off eldritch horror might be the last safe bet in television.

Yet that’s also how Malone feels about the current climate of Hollywood — a once-stable neighborhood fending off malign forces. Institutional consolidation and retreat, spiraling costs, technological upheaval — they all add to a creeping sense that an era is over, and worse is coming.

“Film is in such a delicate transition. I think that where music was 20 years ago, film is now,” she said. “It’s like being on an elevator where every floor is on fire. A lot of the things that I loved about it no longer exist, even if what I love about it is still wildly potent. My stress levels go down and my creativity goes up when I’m building a world that does not rely on the film industry, even though it’s my main love.”

That feeling called her back to music on “Flowers For Men,” arriving nine years after her last LP. The ego-shattering experience of giving birth in 2016 and raising a son prompted reflections about what men’s inner lives were really like, and she wanted to write about them.

“I was raised by two moms, and I had this strange aspiration to become the dad,” Malone said, laughing. “I was the breadwinner of my family then. But being a parent was all brand-new to me. I kept seeing my father in him, my grandfather, these older relationships with men. It was asking me to look at him with curious, childlike eyes.”

“Flowers For Men” was written from a sincere curiosity about mens’ strictures, bad influences and better aspirations. To inhabit someone else’s life, she had to sound different, too.

“Film is in such a delicate transition. I think that where music was 20 years ago, film is now,” Malone said. “It’s like being on an elevator where every floor is on fire. A lot of the things that I loved about it no longer exist, even if what I love about it is still wildly potent.

(Evan Mulling/For The Times)

The most prominent instrument on the album is its layers of vocal treatments. Malone has a lovely natural voice — intimately whispered, with hints of ‘70s country rock. But here she douses it in pitch-shifted digital acid, like a late 2000s R&B record dropped in the pool at the Joshua Tree Inn.

It’s an uncanny combo, but its lends modern melancholy to “Barstow,” which has the narrative structure of a Townes Van Zandt banger but is corroded with bleary effects. “Create In Your Name” has a Billie Eilish-worthy late-night murk, with lyrics so devotional they almost sound consumptive. “Disaster Zones” is all blown-out ambience, and the LP closes on a showstopping cover of John Prine’s classic “Angel From Montgomery.”

“I just love that a man wrote a song where the first line is ‘I’m an old woman,’” Malone said. “As a female songwriter, it gives me so much permission. Now all the doors are open. If I was to give flowers to all of the different men that have touched or changed things that deserve celebration, John Prine would be one of them.”

That idea — celebrating men for the good they’re capable of — felt transgressive enough today that it cohered the album for her. But it also came with questions about how romantic partnership fit into her life. Settling into motherhood, she read up on relationship anarchy — which she sees as not abiding by tiers of connection. She bought books on ethical nonmonogamy (“Sex at Dawn” was a big one) to learn how other lives were not just possible, but maybe even more fulfilling.

(Perhaps this was not a stretch from an actor who played the wild child Lydia Bennet in “Pride and Prejudice.”)

“I had been under this societal understanding that hierarchical love, placing one partner above everything else, was the ultimate romantic expression. I could name hundreds of movies that brought that up,” she said. “But while I’m learning to take care of this child, I’m realizing that self-love is one of the most important parts of this equation. I need to have expression, some work in life that felt like another love. And then my family, and how important friends were. And all of a sudden there’s no world where I would just have one love, not even just romantic love.”

“I had been under this societal understanding that hierarchical love, placing one partner above everything else, was the ultimate romantic expression. I could name hundreds of movies that brought that up,” Malone said. “But while I’m learning to take care of this child, I’m realizing that self-love is one of the most important parts of this equation. I need to have expression, some work in life that felt like another love.

(Evan Mulling/For The Times)

“Flowers For Men” is, in her way, a bargain with that contradiction — to love men deeply, but never put them above all else, even as she got engaged to her partner, actor Jack Buckley, earlier this year.

She’s still sorting out how to present this album live. She said she’s a fan of the Dead City Punx model of renegade shows in forgotten corners of L.A. Maybe as the city seems to fall apart, she’ll find a leafy park or the back of a dingy bar that’s the right home for these strange, lonely yet hopeful songs.

“I want someone to walk into the bathroom and be like, ‘Whoa, why is there a woman singing to me?’” Malone said. “I like the idea that art makes you a little uncomfortable and you don’t have the previously held expectations to know how to hold it.”

On one of her previous visits to Los Angeles, Argentine filmmaker Lucrecia Martel found herself having a smoke on Hollywood Boulevard.

There, while she stepped over the famous concrete-embedded stars, an unhoused man struck up a conversation with her.

“He kept explaining to me that he was poorly dressed because he was currently living on the street after someone robbed him, but he had written a screenplay,” Martel, 59, recalls in Spanish over coffee on a morning in April at a West Hollywood hotel.

“He told me they had stolen a watch from him — not a Rolex but a known brand,” she continues. “The whole time he was trying to convince me he was a millionaire who just so happened to be on the street because of random circumstances.”

One of Latin America’s most indispensable storytellers, Martel is fascinated by how prevalent that dream still is in L.A. — that movies can change your life overnight.

“That particular fantasy is par for the course in this city,” she says, though she’s not above it. It’s the reason she’s back to promote her first documentary, “Our Land,” out Friday.

Unhurried when it comes to her output, Martel has only made four fiction features, among them 2001’s “La Cienaga” and 2008’s “The Headless Woman” (returning to theaters this month in a new 4K restoration). Her biting and formally audacious narratives examine class, politics and — a speciality — the interiority of women through enigmatic portraits of psychologically complex individuals.

“Our Land,” a piercing indictment of the enduring wounds of colonialism, chronicles the murder of Indigenous Argentine activist Javier Chocobar in 2009 and the prolonged trial of the perpetrators in 2018.

Chocobar was shot during a confrontation with armed men over land in the Tucumán province of Argentina where the Chuschagasta Indigenous community has lived for many generations. Martel explores the killing not as an isolated event in her country’s recent past but as part of a long history of dispossession.

“Racism is a foundational element,” she says of her homeland. “The only consistent thing in Argentina, from the country’s birth to the present day, is the rejection of Indigenous people.”

In Argentina, Martel explains, public education has indoctrinated the population into believing Indigenous people no longer exist. Yet many Argentines proudly claim a connection to the Europeans, Italians in particular, who arrived in the country in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

“When giving speeches, our presidents always say, ‘We are a country of immigrants,’ or ‘We came from the boats,’” says Martel. “They use metaphors like these because deep down Argentines feel much more indebted to European immigration than to our Indigenous population. But more than half of the people in Argentina have Indigenous ancestors.”

In 2020, Chocobar’s three convicted murderers appealed their guilty verdicts and were set free. “Our Land” premiered at the Venice Film Festival in September 2025, which brought renewed attention to the case. A month later, the sentence was upheld and two of the men returned to prison (one died in the interim).

Martel believes that outcome was a response to her film. “Communities wage the fight but cinema helps,” she says.

“I believe that we must use cinema for its enormous power to alter perception and not soothe the rich,” Martel says. “It’s not about delivering a message but rather about showing how an idea functions.”

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

For over 14 years, Martel worked on “Our Land” on and off. This time included periods when she focused on 2017’s “Zama,” her masterful period piece following a Spanish official in 18th century Argentina “who doesn’t want to be American,” she says, referring to the continent. In her mind, both “Zama” and “Our Land” come from the same impulse to dissect colonialism.

As part of her research process, Martel and her team created a detailed archive of documents related to the case that the Chuschagasta community now has at its disposal. Over the years, Delfín Cata, one of the Indigenous men present during the attack, would call Martel. He never asked about how her film was going, but the director sensed he was tacitly checking in on her progress, hoping that she was not losing faith.

“That was a confirmation that, beyond my own interest, there were people who needed this film,” she says. “I felt the immense satisfaction of knowing I was doing something that would be concretely useful.”

For Martel, the question of whether she was the right person to make this film (one she got in Venice) seems unfair. “It’s wrong to prevent a human being from speaking about their own history because they are not a woman, because they are not Black, or because they are not Indigenous,” she says. “It’s better to make mistakes trying to understand something than not to try at all. The chances of making a mistake are enormous in a film, no matter how good your intentions are.”

A key piece of evidence in the Chocobar case, prominent in the film, is a video that one of the attackers filmed, presumably expecting the Indigenous community to react violently, to justify firing his gun at them. The Chuschagasta men that faced them weren’t armed. As used by their aggressors, the camera functioned as a weapon.

Hollywood feels incompatible with Martel’s sophisticated, confrontational movies rooted in her country’s troubles. By Martel’s own admission, it doesn’t feel like a fit for her.

“I would have to force myself to create something outside my own country, outside my own language,” she says. “And that doesn’t really appeal to me.”

Still, Marvel Studios famously asked to meet with her when seeking a director for 2021’s “Black Widow.” Martel says she was among many directors they contacted, but she was curious to take the meeting even if she knew nothing would come of it.

“They wanted to do it over Zoom and I happened to be here in Los Angeles,” she remembers. “I told them I could come in, because I wanted to see what the whole process was like.”

Martel describes the month she spent in L.A. — an eye injury prevented her from flying home sooner — as a “lot of fun in the end,” even if no blockbuster emerged from it. More recently, another Hollywood offer did tempt her, but she ultimately passed.

“It was a good book suggested to me by an actress of undoubted talent,” Martel shares, careful to avoid names. “I considered it, but you very quickly have to picture yourself spending three years or at least a year and a half living in the United States making a movie. I have a thousand things in Argentina to worry about.”

Still, Hollywood, and its significance to moviemaking, has a singular, unnerving allure on her. Two of Martel’s favorite movies set in L.A. are David Lynch’s nightmarish “Mulholland Drive” and Robert Aldrich’s psychodrama “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?”

“There is something ruthless and utterly devoid of sanity at the heart of this film industry, and I’ve never felt that darkness as clear as in ‘Mulholland Drive,’” she says. “How can an industry that handles so many millions [of dollars] and such impeccably dressed famous people be so full of lunatics? That film captures that perfectly.”

And occasionally, she thinks, a big production breaks the mold, such as Todd Phillips’ “Joker,” which won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival in 2019 when Martel served as jury president — a controversial choice.

“It certainly had an impact on me,” says Martel. “I didn’t vote for it, though. I had another favorite, a Chinese film that stood no chance of winning.”

Phillips, she thinks, created a premonition for what was to come. “For me, the real killer clowns are Trump, Milei or Orbán,” Martel says, referring to polarizing leaders. “They expose themselves to ridicule and spout all sorts of nonsense. Those are clowns. And I think that movie captured that.”

Not one to mince words, Martel elaborates on the relation of Joaquin Phoenix’s social outcast turned supervillain and President Trump.

“The origin of the Joker is social resentment,” she says. “Trump holds no resentment toward society because the system gave him everything. But he has exploited the people who do harbor resentment. That is where you see the kind of clown he is, one who knows how to use people.”

Artificial intelligence, far-right ideologies, voracious capitalism — all of it makes Martel alarmed, seeing it as pushing us collectively to the brink of collapse. But there is hope, she thinks.

“What we have invented is very dangerous but we can dismantle it,” she says. “That is the only thing I’m betting on, that, at some point, a consensus will emerge and we’ll go, ‘Let’s not do this.’”

“I believe that we must use cinema for its enormous power to alter perception and not soothe the rich,” she says. “It’s not about delivering a message but rather about showing how an idea functions.”

She points to one of her subjects in “Our Land,” an Indigenous man who told her he loves the 1959 Charlton Heston epic “Ben-Hur,” a passion she does not share but understands.

“That’s a blow for all of us who make auteur cinema,” Martel says with a laugh. “That feeling that ‘Ben-Hur’ evoked gave him the strength to continue fighting for his community’s territory.”

The night before our interview, Martel rode around L.A. on a scooter holding onto a friend. These days she uses a cane to help her with mobility. “The city has great light,” she says, still open to being surprised by it.

“Tracker,” one of TV’s most-watched shows, is uprooting its Canadian production and moving to Los Angeles.

The action drama, produced by Disney’s 20th Television, is among a slate of new and recurring series benefiting from California’s improved $750 million tax incentive program. The show’s fourth season, set to begin shooting this summer, will receive the state’s largest tax credit , at $48 million, according to the California Film Commission.

The production will film for 176 days in California, with 250 crew members and 275 actors on board. The tax credit is based on the show’s projected spending of over $129 million. Deadline first reported the news of the show’s relocation.

The show stars actor Justin Hartley and follows his character as he tracks down people for reward money. Ever since its 2024 premiere, the show has resonated with audiences. Its third season is currently airing and was the fourth most-watched program on linear TV as of late April, according to Nielsen.

“Tracker” is primarily set in the wilderness, making the move to California a fresh opportunity for the production to explore diverse landscapes as its backdrop. Due to the rural setting, the show is also eligible to earn an extra 5% tax credit bonus, in addition to the 35% base credit, on qualified expenditures incurred outside the designated 30-mile zone of the Greater Los Angeles area.

Before “Tracker” secured the highest TV show tax credit, season 3 of Amazon’s “Fallout,” which relocated from New York to Los Angeles, received a $42M incentive. Dan Fogelman’s new NFL drama “The Land” received $42.8M. Other productions that have benefited from the tax program include medical drama “The Pitt,” Disney’s new animated movie “Phineas and Ferb” and Netflix’s upcoming reboot of “13 Going on 30.”

More than 100 productions have received tax credits since the program was expanded last year in response to the continued migration of productions to other countries like Ireland, U.K. and Canada.

But film industry advocates say these efforts aren’t enough to fully revitalize U.S.-based productions and local film economies.

To that end, , U.S. Sen. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.) announced in March he is working on a bipartisan federal film incentive proposal that would be globally competitive.

“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.

Paramount Skydance Chairman David Ellison defended his commitment to release 30 movies a year once his media company swallows Warner Bros. Discovery — a goal that some industry observers view as overly ambitious.

During a Monday call with analysts to discuss Paramount’s first-quarter earnings, the tech scion said the target was achievable because his management team would maintain current levels of production. Paramount has doubled its film release capacity to 15 films this year, matching the number of theatrical releases planned by competing Warner Bros.

“The two companies are actually making 30 films to date,” Ellison said. “We really view our pending acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery as a powerful accelerant to our strategy.”

The company said it was on track to finalize its Warner takeover by the end of September. The $111-billion deal would transform the smaller Paramount into an industry titan with prestigious programming, including Harry Potter, “Game of Thrones,” “Euphoria,” as well as its current slate of Taylor Sheridan-produced franchises, including “Yellowstone” and “Landman.” The combined company also would own dozens of popular TV networks, including CBS, CNN, Comedy Central, Food Network and HGTV.

But the proposed merger would saddle the combined company with $79 billion in debt, stoking fears that Paramount would need to make steep cost cuts to balance such a large debt load. During the quarter, Paramount lined up banks and other institutional investors to provide bridge financing to help pull off the transaction, the company said.

“We’re pleased with the momentum and will continue to take the necessary steps to bring this deal to completion,” Ellison told analysts.

Late last month, Warner Bros. Discovery stockholders overwhelmingly voted in favor of the deal, which will pay $31 a share to Warner investors. The company now must secure regulatory approvals in the U.S. and abroad, and that process is well underway, Paramount said.

Paramount has asked the Federal Communications Commission for permission to exceed a cap on foreign ownership for U.S. media companies. Ellison’s company is expecting $24 billion from three Middle Eastern royal families, who would become part owners of the combined entity. Those total funds will represent about 49% of equity in that new company, exceeding the current foreign ownership cap of 25%.

More than 4,000 filmmakers, actors and industry workers, including Bryan Cranston, Connie Britton, Kristen Stewart, Jonathan Glazer and Jane Fonda, have signed an open letter asking California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta and other regulators to block the deal, saying it “would reduce the number of major U.S. film studios to just four.”

Late last week, a small group of consumers sued to block Paramount Skydance’s acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery and unwind Ellison’s Skydance Media’s takeover of Paramount, alleging that both deals reduce marketplace competition.

For the January-March quarter, Paramount’s earnings beat Wall Street’s expectations. Revenue grew 2% to $7.3 billion compared with the first quarter of 2025.

Adjusted earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation and amortization (EBITDA) reached $1.1 billion, helped in part by growth in its streaming services unit. Paramount+ increased its revenue by 17% to nearly $2 billion, compared with the year earlier period when it generated $1.7 billion. The service added 700,000 subscribers, bringing the total to nearly 80 million.

With Warner’s HBO Max streaming platform, the combined service would boast more than 200 million subscribers.

Paramount reported first-quarter net earnings of $168 million, or 15 cents per share, compared with $152 million in 2025, which occurred before Skydance acquired the media company in August.

Executives pointed to “Scream 7,” a late February release that has topped $200 million in global ticket sales, as a success story. Studio revenue grew 11% to $1.28 billion for the quarter.

Television networks revenue declined 6% to $3.7 billion as Paramount’s cable channels continue to contend with the loss of cable cord-cutters, which reduces the company’s collections from pay-TV providers. Nonetheless, Paramount pointed to the strength of Sheridan’s “Landman,” starring Billy Bob Thornton, Ali Larter, Sam Elliott and Demi Moore, and the strength of the CBS television network, which currently has 13 of the broadcast industry’s top 20 prime-time shows, including “60 Minutes,” “Marshals,” and “Tracker.”

The company told analysts it would achieve $30 billion in revenue for the full year and $3.8 billion in adjusted EBITDA. Paramount said it would also make $2.5 billion in cost-cuts by the end of this year and reduce expenses by $3 billion in 2027.

Paramount said it ended the quarter with $1.9 billion in cash and cash equivalents. It also was carrying $15.5 billion in debt. The company had to draw $2.15 billion from its revolving credit facility to pay Netflix a $2.8-billion termination fee that Warner Bros. Discovery had agreed to pay under a previous deal to sell the company to Netflix.

Paramount released its earnings after Monday’s trading day. Its shares closed at $11.13, basically unchanged.

Everyone wants to be “The Devil Wears Prada 2,” as the 20-year sequel strutted to an estimated $77 million in the U.S. and Canada in its opening weekend, highlighting the spending power of women moviegoers at the box office.

The film, which returned stars Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci, nudged out Lionsgate’s “Michael” for the domestic top spot at theaters this weekend. In its second outing, the Michael Jackson biopic brought in $54 million, upping its overall North American total to $183.8 million and its cumulative global haul to $423.9 million.

Worldwide, Walt Disney Co.-owned 20th Century Studios’ “The Devil Wears Prada 2” brought in $233.6 million, according to studio estimates. The theatrical revenue, both domestic and worldwide, edged studio expectations. Already, the film has brought in 72% of the total revenue that the original movie made ($326 million).

The 2006 original has become a cult classic, with lines like Streep’s infamous “that’s all” and Tucci’s “gird your loins” now millennial catchphrases. The popularity of that film has continued over time with repeat viewings on cable television and the Disney+ streaming service.

“Nostalgia is a big driving factor for movies like this,” Andrew Cripps, head of theatrical distribution for Walt Disney Studios, said. “It’s just one of those movies that got into the zeitgeist.”

The fashion-forward sequel had a production budget of about $100 million. The film notched a 77% approval rating on aggregator Rotten Tomatoes.

Women comprised the majority of the audience for “The Devil Wears Prada 2” this weekend, representing 71% of moviegoers, according to data from EntTelligence.

The strong showing for “The Devil Wears Prada 2” highlights the spending potential of female moviegoers, who have had few big movies aimed at them in the last few years.

Despite the billion-dollar blockbuster that was “Barbie” in 2023, Hollywood has largely failed to consistently deliver big films targeted to women. That’s led multiple box office analysts and studio executives to note that the industry is leaving money on the table.

In the past, comparable titles to “The Devil Wears Prada 2” would have been 2008’s “Mamma Mia” or the “Sex in the City” film, but those kinds of movies are now few and far between.

More recent female-focused fare includes last year’s “Wicked: For Good” and Taylor Swift’s “The Official Release Party of a Showgirl,” though “Wicked” has the benefit of also having a longtime Broadway fanbase.

“There haven’t been enough movies for females,” Cripps said. “When you can give them a good movie, as long as the movie plays well and I think this one plays brilliantly, there’s a big audience out there.”

Universal Pictures, Nintendo and Illumination’s “The Super Mario Galaxy Movie” continued its run with a third place finish of $12.1 million at the box office this weekend, followed by Amazon MGM Studios’ “Project Hail Mary” in fourth and Neon’s horror flick “Hokum” in fifth, according to Comscore data.

As artificial intelligence becomes more embedded in film production, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is drawing a clearer line around it.

In new rules announced Friday for next year’s 99th Academy Awards, the academy said screenplays must be “human-authored” to be eligible for awards consideration, and that only performances “demonstrably performed by humans with their consent” will qualify for acting prizes. The group also reserved the right to request additional information about how AI tools were used in a film and the extent of human involvement.

The academy’s Board of Governors reviews its rules annually.This year’s revisions arrive as the industry continues to grapple with how AI tools are reshaping the creative process — and how institutions like the Oscars should reward that work, if at all.

The new changes build on guidance introduced a year ago, when the academy said that the use of AI would “neither help nor harm” a film’s chances of receiving a nomination, while emphasizing that voters should consider “the degree to which a human was at the heart of the creative authorship.” At the time, the organization stopped short of requiring formal disclosure of AI use, even as the technology became a flash point across Hollywood.

Taken together, the updated language suggests an effort to more clearly define the boundaries of authorship at a moment when tools such as voice cloning, digital doubles and AI-assisted writing are becoming more common in film production. The emergence of synthetic performers such as Tilly Norwood reflects how quickly those questions have moved from theoretical to practical.

In announcing the new rules, the academy framed the changes as part of an effort to reflect the current state of filmmaking, while maintaining what it called a “commitment to honoring human authorship and artistry.”

Beyond the AI provisions, academy leaders approved several structural changes across different categories.

In acting, performers may now receive multiple nominations in the same category if their performances rank among the top vote-getters, aligning the category with other branches.

The international feature film category also saw a notable shift. In addition to the traditional submission process through individual countries, non-English-language films can now qualify by winning top prizes at select major festivals, including Cannes, Berlin and Sundance. The award will be credited to the film itself, with the director accepting on behalf of the creative team, rather than to a submitting country or region.

Other changes — including updates to voting procedures in categories such as cinematography, visual effects and makeup and hairstyling — were largely technical in nature.

The new rules will take effect with next year’s Oscars, scheduled for March 14, 2027.