humor

The nominated Oscar shorts come in three categories — and a lot of subjects, styles and temperaments. It’s further proof that an award dictated by length needn’t be bound by anything else.

In the live-action category, a mixed bag of approaches — some inspired by classic literature — are burnished by inspired performances. Lee Knight’s “A Friend of Dorothy” may be a tad on the nose about the cultural and emotional impact of a lonely London widow on a closeted teenaged boy. But leads Miriam Margolyes and Alistair Nwachukwu practically shimmer with humor and warmth. “Jane Austen’s Period Drama,” a loving tweak of the writer’s oeuvre from Steve Pinder and Julia Aks (who also stars), is essentially a one-joke calling card to make feature comedies and it should do the job. Its cast is exactly the sprightly ensemble needed to land its what-if laughs.

Two others just miss the mark in terms of bringing their tensions to powerful resolutions yet benefit from who the camera adores. Meyer Levinson-Blount’s “Butcher’s Stain,” centered on a flimsy accusation against a friendly Palestinian butcher in an Israeli market, undercuts its gripping story with lackadaisical filmmaking and an unnecessary subplot, but lead Omar Sameer is commanding. The black-and-white future shock “Two People Exchanging Saliva,” directed by Natalie Musteata and Alexandre Singh, is an uneven Euro-art bath of unrealized intimacy and casual violence — kissing is punishable by death, slapping is currency — but is given exquisite tautness by the elegant, unrequited swooniness of stars Zar Amir and Luana Bajrami.

A scene from “Jane Austen’s Period Drama,” nominated in the live-action short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

Then there’s my favorite, Sam A. Davis’ likely winner “The Singers,” from Ivan Turgenev’s short story, which pays off handsomely in bites of soulful warbling that briefly turn a barroom’s den of anesthesia into a temple of feeling.

Most of this year’s documentary nominees deal with the grimmest of tragedies, as in “All the Empty Rooms” and “Children No More: Were and Are Gone,” which address the remembrance of children brutally killed. The former film, from Joshua Seftel, follows CBS correspondent Steve Hartman and photographer Lou Bopp on an essay project into the bedrooms of kids gunned down in school shootings, their private worlds heartbreakingly preserved by their families. The latter short, directed by Hilla Medalia, witnesses Tel Aviv’s silent vigils for Gaza’s children, protests marked by posters with beaming faces, and sometimes met with open scorn. These are dutiful, sobering acts of mourning — Seftel’s is the probable awardee. You may wish they were more than that, however, considering the issues (guns, war, political intransigence) that created the devastation.

Combat is what drove award-winning photojournalist Brent Renaud, killed in Ukraine in 2022. But his brother Craig’s memorializing of him, “Armed Only With a Camera,” is oddly uninvolving, more an excerpted flipbook of Brent’s far-flung assignments than a meaningful portrait of excelling at a dangerous job. A more affecting real-world dispatch (and my pick, if I could vote) is “The Devil Is Busy,” directed by Christalyn Hampton and dual nominee Geeta Gandbhir, also up for the feature “The Perfect Neighbor.” It observes a day in the operation of a carefully guarded, female-run Georgia abortion clinic as if it were a newly medieval world’s last chance healthcare outpost, getting by on grit, compassion and prayer. You certainly won’t forget security head Tracii, the clinic’s heavyhearted knight and guide.

A scene from “Perfectly a Strangeness,” nominated in the documentary short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

Your chaser is Alison McAlpine’s appealing, aptly titled “Perfectly a Strangeness,” sans humans, but starring three donkeys in an unnamed desert happening upon a cluster of hilltop observatories. The whir of science meets the wonder of nature and this charming, gorgeously shot ode to discovery (both on Earth and out there) makes one hope the motion picture academy sees fit to recognize more imaginative nonfiction works going forward.

Animation, of course, thrives on the thrill of conjured worlds, like the one in Konstantin Bronzit’s wordless (but not soundless) desert island farce “The Three Sisters.” It owes nothing to Chekhov — though there are seagulls — but much to a classically Russian sense of humor and a Chaplinesque ingenuity. Elsewhere, you can watch the overly cute Christian homily “Forevergreen,” from Nathan Engelhardt and Jeremy Spears, about a nurturing tree, a restless bear and the dangerous allure of potato chips. The message gets muddled but this eco-conscious journey is charming.

It’s tough to predict a winner when the entrants are this strong, but John Kelly’s “Retirement Plan” feasts on wry relatability, as Domhnall Gleeson narrates a paunchy middle-aged man’s ambitious post-career goals, while the cascade of deadpan funny, thickly-lined and mundanely hued images stress a more poignant, finite reality. In its all-too-human view of life, this is, entertainingly, whatever the opposite of a cloying graduation speech is.

A scene from “Retirement Plan,” nominated in the animated short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

The spindly aged-doll puppetry in the stop-motion gem “The Girl Who Cried Pearls” marks a sly fable of need, greed and destiny, centered on a wealthy grandfather’s Dickensian fashioning of his poverty-stricken childhood in early 19th century Montreal. Filmmakers Chris Lavis and Maciek Szczerbowski find an enchanting balance between storybook allure and adult trickery. Maybe this one steals it?

Whichever the case, the animation that moved me the most is “Butterfly,” from Florence Miailhe, imagining the last, memory-laden swim of Jewish French-Algerian athlete Alfred Nakache, who competed in the Olympics before and after the Holocaust. In the cocooning fluidity of an ocean-borne day, rendered with thick-brushed painterliness and splashes of sound, we travel across flashes of community, injustice, achievement, love and despair. The visual, thematic constant, though, is water as a haven and a poetic life force that feeds renewal.

News of Eric Dane’s death Thursday was met with an outpouring of grief by celebrities, who expressed their admiration for the TV star’s mischievous on-screen charisma and his advocacy efforts during his battle against ALS.

Dane is best known for his role as Dr. Mark Sloan, or “McSteamy,” on “Grey’s Anatomy” and recently portrayed the dark and secretive father Cal Jacobs in HBO’s “Euphoria.” He died at age 53, less than a year after publicly announcing his diagnosis with the neurodegenerative disease.

Alyssa Milano, who was Dane’s romantic co-star on “Charmed,” shared a heartfelt message on Instagram praising his cheeky, yet tender spirit and deep love for his daughters.

“I can’t stop seeing that spark in Eric’s eye right before he’d say something that would either make you spit out your drink or rethink your entire perspective,” said Milano. “He had a razor-sharp sense of humor. He loved the absurdity of things.”

HBO Max shared a statement on Instagram, lauding Dane’s talent and saying the network was “fortunate to have worked with him on three seasons of Euphoria.” The show’s creator, Sam Levinson, shared a statement with Variety saying he’s heartbroken by the loss of a dear friend.

“Working with him was an honor,” Levinson said. “Being his friend was a gift. Eric’s family is in our prayers. May his memory be for a blessing.”

Former “Grey’s Anatomy” showrunner Krista Vernoff shared an Instagram post fondly reminiscing about when Dane returned to the set in 2021 to film a dream sequence featuring his character, who died in Season 9. Although it was shot during the pandemic, he “broke the rules” and gave her a huge hug.

“The thing I will remember most about Eric Dane are his hugs,” Vernoff wrote. “The best hugs. Oh my friend. I wish you peace.”

Dane was preparing to publish his memoir, “Book of Days: A Memoir in Moments,” later this year with Maria Shriver’s publishing imprint, the Open Field.

Shriver said Dane was heroic in the way he handled his disease and used his platform to raise awareness about ALS.

“He told me he wanted his family to know how much he loved them, and he wanted to leave them a story they could be proud of,” she said in a statement on X. “My love goes out to his family, and to all those battling this cruel disease, as well as all those caring for someone battling it.”

In 2025, Dane drew on his personal experiences with the condition to portray a firefighter living with ALS on “Brilliant Minds” and advocated for legislation to provide funding for ALS research and give patients early access to treatments.

He worked closely with the nonprofit organization I Am ALS to raise money to research new treatments for the disease, which currently has no cure.

“Eric brought humility, humor, and visibility to ALS and reminded the world that progress is possible when we refuse to remain silent,” the organization said in a statement. “Eric was more than a supporter of our mission — he was part of our family.”

ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, is a progressive disease that damages nerve cells controlling voluntary muscles, typically causing death two to five years after diagnosis.

Nina Dobrev, Dane’s co-star in the western romance movie “Redeeming Love,” wrote on her Instagram story that she was heartbroken by his death.

“He was warm, generous, prepared, and so passionate about what he did,” she said. “He led with kindness and made everyone on our set feel seen.”

Times staff writer Alexandra Del Rosario contributed to this report

The gorgeous, quirky and melancholy “The Love That Remains,” from Icelandic filmmaker Hylnur Pálmason (“Godland”), opens with an exhilarating shot from inside a long, empty seaside building, from where we can see the roof suddenly wrenched off by some exterior force. As it hovers in the air above, we get to consider the two parts of this one-time whole and how the light changes inside this deconstructed space.

In one respect, that’s the whole of the movie encapsulated, as we encounter a family of five living in the wake of a separation. Visual artist Anna (Saga Garðarsdóttir) looks to assert herself while still living in the rural home she shared with her teenage sweetheart. The increasing alienation leaves fisherman Magnús (Sverrir Guðnason) living offshore on a big trawler as his hold on domestic security slips. Their kids, meanwhile — teenage Ída and twin boys Grímur and Þorgils (the trio played by director Pálmason’s own children) — exhibit a healthy absorption of the circumstances, meeting moments of togetherness with plenty of humor and spirit.

What we glean of the past comes from the fragmented present, as if we’re leafing through a stranger’s exquisitely curated album (there’s only Harry Hunt’s piano score for sad commentary). Elsewhere we see that home-cooked meals, chores and foraging excursions occasionally bring this fractured family back together. But when Magnus pushes to stay for a while, Anna firmly claims her independence.

While apart, their working lives — his at sea, hers on land — speak to a confluence of the elemental and the man-made. Pálmason, who serves as his own cinematographer (and a great one with the 4:3 framing), revels in the sweep and heft of deep-sea fishing, a seasonal trade that gives purpose to Magnus’ days and nights but also fosters an increasingly unwanted solitude. Anna, meanwhile, devotes herself to earth art, turning machine-lasered iron cutouts laid on white sheets in the open air into large-scale, rust-patterned pieces. Getting her work appreciated, however, is another matter. In one painfully funny sequence, a visiting gallerist (and gasbag) barely seems to care about her art, showing more interest in a goose’s nest that has materialized in an enclosure.

Is love another natural element susceptible to age and wear? Across a running time tied to the shifting seasons, pocked by images of breathtaking beauty, Pálmason is after a feeling that only patient observance yields: a lasting reality about the passing of relationships. One of the director’s frequent visual cutaways is to a knight-outfitted dummy the children build on a picturesque spot, lashed to a stake. It’s an indelibly amusing and heartbreaking totem, suggesting play and suffering, and eventually manifesting wounds both real and internalized. (The director’s 2022 short “Nest,” which captures the building of a tree house over a year, is a precursor to his temporal approach to this feature.)

On the heels of Pálmason’s masterful “Godland,” a 19th century colonizer epic of faith and conquest that couldn’t be more different, “The Love That Remains” nevertheless positions this filmmaker as a gifted craftsman of adult storybooks, no matter the era or scope. This is a delicate, confidently imagined fiction made with the eyes of a naturalist, the heart of a believer in family, and a sensibility with room for both the Pythonesque and the Lynchian.