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Renate Reinsve is the new face of Scandinavia: depression with a smile. Standing 5 feet 10 with open, friendly features, the Norwegian talent has a grin that makes her appear at once like an endearing everywoman and a large, unpredictable child. Reinsve zoomed to international acclaim with her Cannes-winning performance in Joachim Trier’s 2021 “The Worst Person in the World,” a dramedy tailor-made to her lanky, likable style of self-loathing. Now, Trier has written his muse another showcase, “Sentimental Value,” where Reinsve plays an emotionally avoidant theater actor who bounces along in pretty much the same bittersweet key.

“Sentimental Value” gets misty about a few things — families, filmmaking, real estate — all while circling a handsome Oslo house where the Borg clan has lived for four generations. It’s a dream home with red trim on the window frames and pink roses in the yard. Yet, sisters Nora (Reinsve) and Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas) aren’t fighting to keep it, perhaps due to memories of their parents’ hostile divorce or maybe because they don’t want to deal with their estranged father, Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård, wonderful), who grew up there himself and still owns the place, even though he’s moved to Sweden.

Trier opens the film with a symbolically laden camera pan across Oslo that ends on a cemetery. He wants to make sure we understand that while Norway looks idyllic to outsiders jealous that all four Scandinavian countries rank among the globe’s happiest, it can still be as gloomy as during the era of Henrik Ibsen.

More impressively, Trier shifts to a fabulous, time-bending historical montage of the house itself over the century-plus it’s belonged to the Borgs. There’s a crack in it that seems to represent the fissures in the family, the flaws in their facade. Over these images, Reinsve’s Nora recites a 6th-grade school essay she wrote about her deep identification with her childhood home. Having grown up to become terrified of intimacy, today she’s more like a detached garage.

Nora and Agnes were young when their father, a modestly well-regarded art-house filmmaker, decamped to a different country. At a retrospective of his work, Gustav refers to his crew as his “family,” which would irritate his kids if they’d bothered to attend. Agnes, a former child actor, might note that she, too, deserves some credit. Played in her youth by the compelling Ida Atlanta Kyllingmark Giertsen, Agnes was fantastic in the final shot of Gustav’s masterpiece and Trier takes a teasingly long time to suggest why she retired from the business decades ago, while her older sister keeps hammering at it.

Gustav hasn’t made a picture in 15 years. He’s in that liminal state of renown that I’m guessing Trier has encountered many times: a faded director who’s burned through his money and clout, but still keeps a tuxedo just in case he makes it back to Cannes. Like Reinsve’s Nora, Gustav acts younger than his age and is at his most charming in small doses, particularly with strangers. Trier and his longtime co-writer Eskil Vogt have made him a tad delusional, someone who wouldn’t instantly recognize his graying reflection in a mirror. Sitting down at a cafe with Nora, Gustav jokes that the waitress thinks that they’re a couple on a date. (She almost certainly doesn’t.)

But the tension between Gustav and Nora is real, if blurry. He’s invited her to coffee not as father and daughter, but as a has-been angling to cast Nora as the lead of his next film, which he claims he’s written for her. His script climaxes with a nod to the day his own mother, Karin (Vilde Søyland), died by suicide in their house back when he was just a towheaded boy of 7. Furthering the sickly mojo, Gustav wants to stage his version of the hanging in the very room where it happened.

His awkward pitch is a terrific scene. Gustav and Nora are stiff with each other, both anxious to prove they don’t need the other’s help. But Trier suggests, somewhat mystically, that Gustav has an insight into his daughter’s gloom that making the movie will help them understand. Both would rather express themselves through art than confess how they feel.

When Gustav offers his daughter career advice, it comes off like an insult. She’s miffed when her dad claims his small indie would be her big break. Doesn’t he know she’d be doing him the favor? She’s the lead of Oslo’s National Theatre with enough of a social media following to get the film financed. (With 10 production companies listed in the credits of this very film, Trier himself could probably calculate Nora’s worth to the krone.)

But Gustav also has a lucky encounter with a dewy Hollywood starlet named Rachel (Elle Fanning) who sees him as an old-world bulldog who can give her resume some class. Frustrated by her coterie of assistants glued to their cellphones, Rachel gazes at him with the glowy admiration he can’t get from his own girls. Their dynamic proves to be just as complex as if they were blood-related. If Rachel makes his film, she’ll become a combo platter of his mother, his daughter, his protégée and his cash cow. Nora merely merits the financing for a low-budget Euro drama; Rachel can make it a major Netflix production (something “Sentimental Value” most adamantly is not).

It takes money to make a movie. Trier’s itchiness to get into that unsentimental fact isn’t fully scratched. He seems very aware that the audience for his kind of niche hit wants to sniffle at delicate emotions. When Gustav’s longtime producer Michael (Jesper Christensen) advises him to keep making films “his way” — as in antiquated — or when Gustav takes a swipe at Nora’s career as “old plays for old people,” the frustration in those lines, those doubts whether to stay the course or chase modernity, makes you curious if Trier himself is feeling a bit hemmed in.

There’s a crack running through “Sentimental Value” too. A third of it wants to be a feisty industry satire, but the rest believes there’s prestige value in tugging on the heartstrings. The title seems to be as much about that as anything.

I’ve got no evidence for Trier’s restlessness other than an observation that “Sentimental Value” is most vibrant when the dialogue is snide and the visuals are snappy. There’s a stunning image of Gustav, Nora and Agnes’ faces melting together that doesn’t match a single other frame of the movie, but I’m awful glad cinematographer Kasper Tuxen Andersen got it in there.

The film never quite settles on a theme, shifting from the relationship between Nora and Agnes, Nora and Gustav, and Gustav and Rachel like a gambler spreading their bets, hoping one of those moments will earn a tear. Nora herself gets lost in the shuffle. Is she jealous of her father’s attention to Rachel? Does she care about her married lover who pops up to expose her issues? Does she even like acting?

Reinsve’s skyrocketing career is Trier’s most successful wager and he gives her enough crying scenes to earn an Oscar nomination. Skarsgård is certainly getting one too. But Fanning delivers the best performance in the film. She’s not only hiding depression under a smile, she’s layering Rachel’s megawatt charisma under her eagerness to please, allowing her insecurity at being Gustav’s second pick to poke through in rehearsals where she’s almost — but not quite — up to the task.

Rachel could have been some Hollywood cliché, but Fanning keeps us rooting for this golden girl who hopes she’ll be taken seriously by playing a Nordic depressive. Eventually, she slaps on a silly Norwegian accent in desperation and wills herself to cry in character. And when she does, Fanning has calibrated her sobs to have a hint of hamminess. It’s a marvelous detail that makes this whole type of movie look a little forced.

AI is driving the stock market to record highs, dominating countless debates about the value of human labor, and radically rewiring the way schools approach education. It’s also causing a stir in the art world, with media artist Refik Anadol poised to open Dataland, the world’s first museum of AI arts, inside the Frank Gehry-designed Grand L.A. complex in downtown Los Angeles next spring.

A first-look at the Infinity Room gallery at Dataland.

(Dataland)

The 25,000-square-foot museum was originally scheduled to open this year, but Anadol announced Thursday that the opening has been pushed back to spring 2026. Anadol also unveiled a sneak peak at the Infinity Room, one of the museum’s five discrete galleries. The immersive room features Anadol’s distinct swirling colors and images and will be infused with AI-generated scents, creating a multisensory experience powered by its very own AI model, called the Large Nature Model.

The Infinity Room design dates back to 2014 when Anadol created his first immersive data sculpture at UCLA. He described it as an exploration into the future of the Light and Space movement. It was essentially a 12-by-12-foot cube, with mirrored walls, ceiling and floors. Projectors emitted pulses of black-and-white imagery that used data as a pigment. To date, the Infinity Room has toured 35 cities and been viewed by more than 10 million people.

Another look at the Infinity Room, which has been viewed by 10 million people on tour.

(Dataland)

“The work emerged from my exploration of the idea that information can become a narrative material capable of transforming architectural space into a living canvas. The question driving me was simple but profound: What happens if there is no corner, no floor, no ceiling, no gravity?” Anadol wrote about his concept for the Infinity Room in a blog post on his website. “At DATALAND, Infinity Room enters a new era. This iteration embodies the technical and conceptual leaps our studio has made over the past decade. Where the original used generative algorithms, this new incarnation incorporates our decade-long research into what I call “machine hallucinations” — the dreamlike, surreal realities an AI can generate from vast datasets.”

The Infinity Room is meant to be a multisensory experience.

(Dataland)

In an interview last year, Anadol said “ethical AI” is essential to his practice. Unlike most large AI models, Anadol secured permission to use all of his sourced material, and said all of the studio’s AI research was performed on Google servers in Oregon that use only renewable energy.

A man has been arrested on suspicion of starting the Pacific Palisades fire in Los Angeles that killed 12 people and destroyed more than 6,000 homes in January.

Justice department officials said evidence collected from 29-year-old Jonathan Rinderknecht’s digital devices showed an image he generated on ChatGPT depicting a burning city.

The fire was sparked on 7 January near a popular hiking trail overlooking the wealthy coastal neighbourhood.

The Eaton Fire, ignited the same day in the Los Angeles area, killed another 19 people and destroyed about 9,400 structures. The cause of that fire remains unclear. Mr Rinderknecht will appear in court in Orlando, Florida, on Wednesday.

The suspect allegedly started the fire in the Pacific Palisades on New Year’s Day. That blaze smouldered underground for days before it spread above ground.

Mr Rinderknecht was arrested in Florida on Tuesday and has been charged with destruction of property by means of fire, Acting US Attorney Bill Essayli said at a press conference on Wednesday in Los Angeles.

“The arrest, we hope, will offer a measure of justice to all those impacted,” Mr Essayli said.

Officials said further charges – including murder for those who were killed – could come in the future.

The suspect was familiar with the area because he was a former resident of Pacific Palisades, officials said. Since the fires, he relocated to Florida.

He lit the fire with an open flame after he completed a ride as an Uber driver on New Year’s Eve. Days later that fire spread and became one of the most damaging in Los Angeles history.

Officials said that the suspect had lied to investigators.

Among the thousands of structures destroyed in the fires were the homes of a number of celebrities including Mel Gibson, Paris Hilton and Jeff Bridges.

NEW YORK — When a black teen-ager was killed in the Bensonhurst section of Brooklyn last summer after a run-in with a gang of whites, mayoral candidate David N. Dinkins made it clear what New York should expect from its top leader: “The tone and climate of the city does get set at City Hall.”

The perception that Dinkins could soothe racial tensions was probably the single biggest force behind his election as New York’s first black mayor. The last few weeks have brought a series of racial problems that have put the mayor under intense pressure to deliver on the expectations that he built.

“Though we cannot eliminate racial and ethnic friction overnight, we must take the first steps. Our beginning will, of course, be marked by small–sometimes indirect–steps. But even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” Dinkins said Monday.

But the mayor who exults in his city as a multi-ethnic “gorgeous mosaic” is feeling the cut of its sharp edges.

Each day seems to bring worse turmoil. Dinkins appears besieged, encircled by his detractors and undercut by the expectations that he himself raised. Some black leaders have gone so far as to publicly call him a traitor.

Dinkins faces two potentially explosive controversies in Brooklyn: As two juries have deliberated almost a week in the Bensonhurst slaying of Yusuf Hawkins, angry demonstrators have rallied each day outside the Brooklyn courthouse, and some of their leaders warn that violence is inevitable if the panels return anything less than a guilty verdict.

Meanwhile, blacks in Flatbush continue a four-month boycott of two Korean grocers that started with a dispute between one of the grocers and a black woman customer. While it is far from clear who was at fault in the original incident–the woman claims to have been beaten and the grocer contends that he merely pushed her to prevent her from shoplifting–it unmistakably tapped long-festering bitterness. Demonstrators have chanted such epithets as “Korean bloodsuckers” outside the stores, and have spat at customers who try to shop there.

A few blocks from the store, a group of more than a dozen blacks on Sunday beat three Vietnamese whom they apparently mistook for Korean.

Elsewhere in the city, smaller disputes add to the tension. A black City University professor is preaching black supremacy, while a white faculty member at the same school is saying that blacks are less intelligent and more prone to commit crime than whites. A group of white students at St. John’s University in Queens stands accused of raping a black woman. And Jimmy Breslin, one of the city’s most prominent columnists, has been suspended by New York Newsday after making racial comments about another staff member.

Dinkins’ low-key and cautious approach, which had initially seemed a soothing balm to the abrasion of former Mayor Edward I. Koch, now is being criticized as weakness and indecisiveness.

Roy Innis, national chairman of the Congress of Racial Equality, said in an interview Monday: “We’ve got to have a commitment to telling the hard truth. David Dinkins is not strong enough to do it.”

Innis accused Dinkins of “reverse racism” for failing to denounce the grocery store boycott that is “reeking with raw and naked, palpable racism.” He attributed Dinkins’ reluctance to the mayor’s association with Sonny Carson, the self-proclaimed “anti-white” leader of the boycott, who worked for the Dinkins campaign before being dismissed for anti-Semitic remarks.

Other blacks, however, have accused Dinkins of pandering to whites, particularly after the mayor made a rare foray onto prime-time live television last Friday to appeal for tolerance. “We must repress our rage,” the mayor said.

“He is a lover of white people and the system. And last night, he bashed black people,” said C. Vernon Mason, a lawyer who has been involved in a number of racial cases. “He ain’t got no African left in him. He’s got too many yarmulkes on his head.”

Mason made his comments at a rally Saturday, where he called the mayor “a traitor,” and some people in a crowd of hundreds chanted, “Judas, Judas.”

Many of Dinkins’ critics seem to suggest that as a black, he should automatically hold sway over New York’s black community–a view that does not recognize the diversity of opinion and outlook among blacks in the city.

One source in Dinkins’ Administration noted that the mayor has alienated some factions, who say they are disappointed in the number of blacks he has appointed to key posts at City Hall. Others have not forgiven Dinkins’ denunciation of the Rev. Louis Farrakhan, the black Muslim leader who once described Judaism as a “gutter” religion.

Dinkins’ Friday night address won high marks from many quarters, however. Former Mayor John V. Lindsay described it as “superb.”

Nonetheless, any hopes that it might have turned the tide were dashed less than 36 hours later, when the three Vietnamese were beaten by the group of blacks who thought they were Korean. Police on Monday arrested two people in connection with the assault, which Police Commissioner Lee Brown said was not related to the boycott.

Dinkins and several state legislators Monday held a news conference to announce state legislation aimed at crimes committed by groups, and to make a new push for a bill to stiffen penalties for crimes that are motivated by bias.

PADDINGTON Bear bosses have sued Spitting Image over its parody of the nation’s beloved character.

The satirical puppet show has come under fire for the latest episode of its YouTube series.

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Comedians Al Murray and Matt Forde are behind the online spin-off of the TV show, which was a must-watch in the 1980s and ’90s.

Titled, The Rest is Bulls**t, Paddington is portrayed as a cocaine-using ‘Pablo Esca-Bear’.

Prince Harry was also parodied and portrayed as the co-host.

His puppet says at one point: “I’m here to tell my truth and make a s–t tonne of money out of podcasting as I don’t have any discernible talent.”

Meanwhile the deranged marmalade-loving creature boasts: “I am from Peru, motherf—–s. I am Paddington Bear from Peru.”

The red-eyed bear also says he enjoys “100 per cent Peruvian, biodynamic, organic, catastrophic cocaine”.

In the skit he interviews Elon Musk, advertises guns, robotic sex dolls, and refers to himself as Pablo Esco-bear in an upcoming Netflix show.

As reported by Deadline, StudioCanal has now filed a High Court complaint over the sketch.

Documents revealed the producer is claiming there were concerns with copyright.

The episode also faced fierce backlash from Paddington fans, who claimed the iconic children’s character had been “disrespected” and “ruined”.

The controversial puppet performance was similar to one in recent years which again portrayed Paddington as an erratic drug-user.

Idiots Assemble: Spitting Image The Musical, featured the quote: “Cocaine bear has got nothing on Paddington in Peru.

“Paddington’s back… and he’s been through a lot recently.”

In another advertisement on social media, Spitting Image creators wrote: “Are we sure it’s just marmalade in those sandwiches, Paddington?”

US President Donald Trump — in a baby’s bib — also featured beside the King in The Rest is Bulls*** episode, following the State Banquet in September.

Latex lookalikes of the Duke of Sussex and wife Meghan were also royally skewered in the episode.

An Angela Rayner puppet also gave property advice in the sketch, launching a website called Wrongmove.

An ad warns: “Your Cabinet position may be at risk if you don’t heed proper instructions and keep up your correct stamp duty payments.”

It came after the ethics watchdog ruled the real Ms Rayner, who had three homes including a grace-and-favour London flat, breached the ministerial code over £40,000 of unpaid stamp duty.

Studio Canal and Spitting Image were contacted for comment.

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Immigration and Customs Enforcement held a hiring fair last month in Provo, Utah, that drew hundreds of job seekers — in part with signing bonuses up to $50,000 and salaries of $50,000 to $100,000 a year. This follows recruiting events in Arlington, Texas, in August and Chantilly, Va., in June. Despite polls showing that most Americans do not like how the agency is doing its job, these expos were quite popular. “This is a highly desired career,” an ICE official told reporters at the Texas event. “A lot of people want to do this job.”

That seems to be true, which makes recent changes in ICE’s hiring and recruiting practices all the more troubling. Flush with cash from Congress, the agency is ramping up hiring while lowering standards for employment. ICE is using controversial slogans and imagery to attract new recruits. In its rush to expand, ICE is placing immigrants, citizens and its own agents in harm’s way.

Under the terms of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act that the president signed into law in July, Congress has given ICE an additional $75 billion in funding. The agency wants to hire at least 10,000 new agents as the administration seeks to fulfill its promise of deporting a million immigrants a year.

To meet this goal, ICE is lowering hiring standards. ICE agents can now be as young as 18, and there is no longer an age cap for new hires. The agency has also cut training time for recruits from 13 to eight weeks, by reducing Spanish lessons, firearms training and classroom hours. Working for ICE does not require a high school diploma, a military background or any law enforcement experience. An aspiring ICE agent only has to pass a background check, meet physical and medical requirements, and complete the abbreviated training course.

In contrast, many local police and sheriff’s departments have stricter hiring requirements. The Los Angeles Police Department requires its applicants to have a high school diploma, to complete six months of training and to be 21 at the time of police academy graduation.

ICE’s lower standards are alarming, given that agents have the power to make decisions with life-altering consequences. A teenager who formerly worked in a retail store or office workers bored with their daily routine could soon be out on the streets of L.A., carrying a gun and chasing anyone they think might be a migrant. New ICE agents might be placed in volatile situations without enough experience or judgment to make sound decisions. Immigrants — or anyone who looks like one — may be at risk of rookie ICE hires violating their constitutional and civil rights.

Unfortunately, we have been here before. Between 2006 and 2009, the Border Patrol scaled up quickly too. Hiring and training requirements were eased, with some agents rushed into training before background checks were completed. This resulted in drug cartel members being hired, corruption and a spike in agents being arrested for misconduct. With its ongoing rapid expansion, ICE is poised to repeat the same kind of mistakes.

ICE’s recruitment campaign is likewise problematic. “America has been invaded by criminals and predators. We need YOU to get them out,” is one such appeal, which plays on false notions of “invasion” and immigrant criminality. On its official X account, Homeland Security uses images of Uncle Sam, as though joining ICE were akin to a military mobilization. In one post, the agency asks, “Want to deport illegals with your absolute boys?” In another, it asks, “Which way, American man?” This meme appears to reference, “Which Way Western Man?” — a 1978 book by an avowed white supremacist.

ICE slogans urge job seekers to “Defend Your Country” and “Protect the Homeland.” But such language smacks of propaganda, not professionalism. Former ICE officials are rightfully concerned that such tactics might draw the wrong kind of recruits. Rather than attracting qualified applicants who want to serve in federal law enforcement, ICE may be appealing to people with antipathy toward immigrants, or who see themselves as helping defend the U.S. from demographic changes.

ICE performs a vital function for the government, with agents shouldering great personal risk and responsibility. Yet ICE’s current practices are far from ideal, with well-documented instances of agents using excessive force and engaging in physical and verbal abuse of suspected undocumented immigrants. So this is not the time for ICE to lower standards. The agency’s latest hiring and recruiting efforts will not bolster the agency’s image or effectiveness. Instead they raise serious questions about new agents’ readiness, ability and suitability for this line of work. To put it simply, do we really want teenagers participating in ICE raids?

To remedy the situation, ICE should slow down and properly train incoming agents. The minimum age should be reinstated to 21. More thorough Spanish-language instruction should be restored to curriculums. Otherwise, fast-tracked employees will be sent unprepared into communities that are already angry and fearful, which is potentially dangerous for everyone involved.

ICE’s hiring spree is reckless and irresponsible. As a matter of public safety, immigration enforcement should not be an entry-level job.

Raul A. Reyes is an immigration attorney and contributor to NBC Latino and CNN Opinion. X: @RaulAReyes; Instagram: @raulareyes1

“Is football a game or a religion?” the sports broadcaster Howard Cosell once asked with exasperation. The horror film “Him,” a striking but vacuous gridiron Grand Guignol by Justin Tipping (“Kicks”) takes it as faith that the answer is both. Any fan with a sacred good luck ritual and any player who’s thanked the man upstairs for a touchdown knows the two overlap as tightly as a freshly laced pigskin.

In the home of young elementary schooler Cameron Cade (Austin Pulliam), the fictional San Antonio Saviors quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans) is the messiah. Next to the TV, there’s even a shrine with devotional portraits of their icon. When White wins a game while suffering a nasty injury, Cameron’s father seizes the moment to deliver a sermon: “That’s what real men do,” he insists. “They make sacrifices.” The candles on the altar flicker ominously.

Tipping, working from a Blacklist script by Skip Bronkie and Zack Akers with Jordan Peele as his producer, considers the sports-as-religion idea so obvious that the film doesn’t bother analyzing why it exists. Instead, “Him” wonders what kind of spiritual practice it is: hero worship or a sinister cult?

Fourteen years later, Cameron (now played by Tyriq Withers) has grown up to become a star college quarterback in line to be the NFL’s top draft pick and take over Isaiah’s position on the Saviors. A violent concussion knocks him off course, but Isaiah, a living legend still leading the team, offers to vouch for the kid if he passes a private training camp at his intimidating desert estate. It couldn’t be more obvious that Isaiah doesn’t have Cameron’s best interests at heart if he blared a warning on the Jumbotron.

The film’s title comes from a bit of braggadocio — “I’m him” — that started sprouting up in sports leagues during the last five years. (It’s why you’ll sometimes see Lakers shooting guard Austin Reaves called “AustHIM” Reaves.) Anointing someone the GOAT, as in “Greatest of All Time,” has been around longer, but the silly thing about both compliments is they’re getting handed out like Halloween candy. Whether Cameron can become the next GOAT is the movie’s main obsession. Yet it resonates, albeit vague and unexplored, with biblical references to goat offerings and images of Jesus as a sacrificial lamb and the movie’s visual allusions to the goat-headed occult idol Baphomet. Plus, it offers us in the audience the thrill of wondering if someone will get spit-roasted.

Cameron enters Isaiah’s home to discover his host surrounded by what looks like taxidermy sheep skins. Nearly all of the film takes place in his compound, a circular warren that looks like a combination of an ancient temple and the Superdome. We’re continually happy to discover all the menacing delights that production designer Jordan Ferrer has concocted. Inside, there’s unnerving minimalist furniture, dramatic saunas and ice baths and an indoor football field with a throwing machine powerful enough to knock out a tooth. Even more terrifying, there’s Isaiah’s lifestyle-influencer wife, Elsie (Julia Fox), who stomps around with a pointy shard of jade that Cameron is supposed to stick up his rear. (You know, for peak performance.) Meanwhile, outside the gates, Isaiah’s cult followers — like visibly brain-fried Marjorie (Naomi Grossman) — are furious that their champion may retire.

Like “Kicks,” Tipping’s excellent 2016 feature debut about a kid who risks his neck for a pair of Nikes, “Him” is about the bloody quest for respect. It wants to be “The Substance” with jockstraps: a Satanic-tinged, steroidal “Rosemary’s Baby.” The film is so stylishly done that I could accept it on those plain terms. Every shot is a stunner, from stark images of eerily spinning footballs to goalposts that loom like devil’s horns. Editor Taylor Joy Mason and cinematographer Kira Kelly have put together queasy-brilliant montages with some kind of an eye-popping camera technique — a mix of thermal imaging, X-ray footage and visual effects — that seems to see right inside the actors’ bodies to their gristle and goo. Bobby Krlic (a.k.a. the Haxan Cloak), who also composed the music for “Midsommar,” wows us with a tragic, thundering score.

But the movie’s thoughts about pain and devotion and locker-room manipulation are still gestating. After I made it to the end of the story and ran it back, little of the plot hung together. I couldn’t with any conviction answer rudimentary questions such as how much does Cameron even want to play football? Or what in Hades will happen to the surviving characters?

Part of the issue is that Tipping and Withers have created a rising football player who might be too authentic. Withers moves with physical confidence and perfect posture and drilled obedience. Participating in a mock media training day, you buy that he was born to sell sneakers.

He speaks with an athlete’s guardedness, too, that post-game interview cadence where each wooden sentence tries to bore the camera into leaving them alone. Cameron describes his football career clinically and neutrally like he’s a product; he refers to himself “performing,” not “playing,” as the latter would imply he’s on the field to have fun.

Surrounded by trainers and doctors and his childhood hero, he acquiesces to pretty much everything, from receiving random injections to a brutal bludgeoning. (At least he doesn’t do you-know-what with that jade crystal.) I’m willing to blame some of that passivity on his head injury, but it’s hard to care about a character who only has a personality for three minutes.

At least Wayans gets to cut loose. His bullying Isaiah sprints from pep talks to threats in the same breath and runs around in nifty outfits covered in weighted beads. He’s in such peak physical condition that you believe Isaiah’s conviction that it’s possible to outrace Father Time. Realizing afterward that Wayans is 53 — almost a decade older than Tom Brady when he retired after announcers even more bold than Cosell treated him like Methuselah — you just might be tempted to bow down to Baphomet yourself.

A BALDING Prince Harry puppet is all ears in the new Spitting Image spin-off, The Rest is Bullsh*t.

Latex lookalikes of the Duke of Sussex and wife Meghan were royally skewered in the episode, available on YouTube from last night.

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Harry was seen cashing in on podcasting, saying he would “make a sh*t-ton of money”.

And US President Donald Trump — in a baby’s bib — also featured beside the King, following this week’s State Banquet.

Comedians Al Murray and Matt Forde are behind the online spin-off of the TV satire, which was a must-watch in the 1980s and ’90s.

Earlier this week we revealed how Trump took a subtle swipe at Prince Harry in his speech at the state banquet.

Speaking before the esteemed dignitaries, the President heaped praise on the King and the Royal family.

“This is truly one of the highest honours of my life, I have such respect for you and such respect for your country for many decades,” he said.

Trump added that King Charles had preserved “the glorious and unique character of this kingdom”.

But for all the showering of compliments on the Crown, the President’s comments have also been interpreted as an off-handed dig at Prince Harry.

When praising Prince William, Trump said that the King had raised a “remarkable son”.

This comment seemed to ignore Charles’ second son Prince Harry, who has stepped back from his Royal duties to lead a new life in America.

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COPS have released CCTV footage as part of an urgent hunt to help find a missing 18-year-old girl.

Concerns are growing for Lily Higgins, who was last seen leaving her home in Leicester, Leicestershire, yesterday afternoon.

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Video taken from her doorbell camera shows the teenager leaving her address in Torridon Close at around 2.30pm.

She was reported missing by her concerned family just before 8pm.

Drones have been deployed in the area as officers urgently search for the missing teen.

The youngster is described as being 5ft 2in, of a slim build with long blonde hair.

She was last seen wearing a black puffer coat, black jogging bottoms, a checked scarf and black trainers.

Leicestershire Police confirmed specialist teams were hunting for Lily.

The force said: “Police have released an image take from the home doorbell camera that shows Lily leaving the home address.

“A specialist search team are currently out looking for Lily.

“The police drone has also been used to assist with searching.

“Anyone who has seen her or has information that could assist in the police search, call 101, quoting incident number 621 of 17 September.”

More to follow… For the latest news on this story keep checking back at The Sun Online

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Robert Redford looked like he walked out of the sea to become a Hollywood god. He was physically flawless. Pacific blue eyes, salt-bleached hair, a friendly surfer-boy squint. Born in Santa Monica to a milkman and a housewife, his first memory was of sliding off his mother’s lap at the Aero Theatre as a toddler and running toward the light, causing such a ruckus that the projectionist had to stop the film.

He definitely grew up to grab the movies’ attention. He wasn’t just telegenic but talented, although that wasn’t a requirement for stardom when he emerged in the late ’50s when the industry was scooping up hunks like him by the bucket for television and B-movies. All a male ingenue needed to do was smile and kiss the girl. It would have been so easy to do that a couple times and wind up doing it forever. You can understand why so many forgotten actors made that deal, without realizing that forever can lead to a fast retirement.

But if Redford had sensed at 2 years old that he was meant to be onscreen, by his 20s, he insisted he’d only do it on his own terms. At 27, with nearly zero name recognition, he horrified his then-agent by turning down a $10,000-a-week TV gig as a strait-laced psychiatrist to do a Mike Nichols theater production for just $110. His rejection of the easy money was an unusual choice, particularly for a cash-strapped father of two.

To appreciate Redford fully, we have to applaud not only the work he did but the simple, feel-good roles he rejected. He could have become a celebrity without breaking a sweat as the war hero, the jock, the husband, the cowboy, the American ideal made incarnate. Yet, he had the rare ability to sidestep what audiences thought we wanted from him to instead give us something we didn’t know we needed: selfish victors (“Downhill Racer”), self-destructive veterans (“The Great Waldo Pepper”) and tragic men who did everything right and still failed (2013’s “All Is Lost”).

In spirit, Redford never strayed far from the teen rebel he’d been — a truant who’d skipped school, stole booze and crashed race cars — and the radical artist he hurled himself into becoming by quitting everything traditional (the football team, his fraternity, college altogether) to move to Paris where he took up oil painting and marched against the Soviets. He might have excelled at the sleazy roles that made Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino famous. On the outside, he knew they didn’t fit, either.

Sometimes Redford said no even when I wish he’d have said yes. Imagine if he’d agreed to face off against Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Instead, he told Nichols he’d rather tangle with Anne Bancroft in “The Graduate,” only to be rejected as too handsome for the role. “Can you honestly imagine a guy like you having difficulty seducing a woman?” Nichols told him.

Instead, Redford used his all-American good looks to make us question our flattering image of ourselves. In the 1974 adaptation of “The Great Gatsby,” he was the first person you’d think of to play the title role because he fully understood the point of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s book — how it felt to represent our country’s whole image of success while knowing it’s a phony put-on. I imagine him making a devil’s bargain with his face, vowing that he won’t hide behind goofy accents and stunt wigs the way other too-handsome oddballs do, if he’s allowed to use his appeal like a Trojan horse.

If there’s one thing that unites his roles, from 1966’s “The Chase” to “Lions for Lambs,” it’s his willingness to give the screen his full charisma — to let audiences stare at him for the whole running time of a movie — as long as we’ll agree to ask what’s lurking in his underbelly. Most often, we’ll find frustrated idealism just at the moment it starts to sour.

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The films of the 1960s and ’70s that made Redford an icon mostly cleave into two categories: scamps and truth-seekers. (The latter can overlap with suckers and stooges.) His antihero crooks in “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” and “The Sting” captured something in our national id, our not-so-secret belief that it’s OK to break a few rules to get ahead — that we can forgive a sin if we like the sinner. I like how those movies give you a guilty little tingle about rooting for Redford even when it means scratching off a couple of the Ten Commandments. (Thou shalt not steal unless you’re Robert Redford, who got away with it all the way through 2018’s “The Old Man and the Gun.”)

Lately, the Redford roles I’ve been thinking about are the ones where his all-American appeal makes us examine all of America, good and bad. The two that instantly jump to mind are his pair of political thrillers: “Three Days of the Condor,” in which he plays a CIA agent on the run from his own co-workers, and “All the President’s Men,” in which he doggedly uncovers the Watergate scandal. Both films believe in the power of getting the truth out to the press; neither is so naive as to think the truth alone will save the day.

But let’s not overlook “The Candidate,” a movie that has Redford as underqualified political scion Bill McKay, pressed to run for governor of California. “He’s not going to get his ass kicked — he’s cute,” his father (Melvyn Douglas) says. Meanwhile, his own campaign team cares more about the length of his sideburns than ideas in his head. Released in 1972, five years into former actor Ronald Reagan’s own governorship, the movie hammers home that superficiality might be democracy’s downfall — and the stakes are bigger than who is Hollywood‘s latest heartthrob.

Vice President Dan Quayle once said “The Candidate” inspired him, triggering its screenwriter Jeremy Larner to dash this off in an op-ed: “Mr. Quayle, this was not a how-to movie, it was a watch-out movie. And you are what we should be watching out for!”

In his later years, Redford became a filmmaker himself and I can picture him pulling Brad Pitt aside on the set of “A River Runs Through It” to whisper: You don’t have to stay in that pretty–boy box. Feel free to get weird. As an actor and director, Redford continued to create characters who uncovered our our hidden rot, whether in our purported national pastime, baseball (“The Natural”), or in our actual one, watching television (“Quiz Show”). His turn in “Indecent Proposal” as the wealthy man who offers to rent his employee’s wife lives on as shorthand for tycoons who assume they can buy whatever, and whoever, they want. When he eventually signed on for a superhero film, it was, fittingly, alongside Captain America, that upright paragon of virtue — and Redford played the villain.

What Quayle missed about “The Candidate” is that when it comes to a Robert Redford movie, truth is never as plain as what your eyes can see. There’s always a deeper level and there’s no guarantee that justice would win. In fact, I’d argue in Redford’s films, it rarely does.

HONOLULU — Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani and his agent, Nez Balelo, moved to dismiss a lawsuit filed last month accusing them of causing a Hawaii real estate investor and broker to be fired from a $240-million luxury housing development on the Big Island’s Hapuna Coast.

Ohtani and Balelo were sued Aug. 8 in Hawaii Circuit Court for the First Circuit by developer Kevin J. Hayes Sr. and real estate broker Tomoko Matsumoto, West Point Investment Corp. and Hapuna Estates Property Owners, who accused them of “abuse of power” that allegedly resulted in tortious interference and unjust enrichment.

Hayes and Matsumoto had been dropped from the development deal by Kingsbarn Realty Capital, the joint venture’s majority owner.

In papers filed Sunday, lawyers for Ohtani and Balelo said Hayes and Matsumoto in 2023 acquired rights for a joint venture in which they owned a minority percentage to use Ohtani’s name, image and likeness under an endorsement agreement to market the venture’s real estate development at the Mauna Kea Resort. The lawyers said Ohtani was a “victim of NIL violations.”

“Unbeknownst to Ohtani and his agent Nez Balelo, plaintiffs exploited Ohtani’s name and photograph to drum up traffic to a website that marketed plaintiffs’ own side project development,” the lawyers wrote. “They engaged in this self-dealing without authorization, and without paying Ohtani for that use, in a selfish and wrongful effort to take advantage of their proximity to the most famous baseball player in the world.”

The lawyers claimed Hayes and Matsumoto sued after “Balelo did his job and protected his client by expressing justifiable concern about this misuse and threatening to take legal action against this clear misappropriation.” They called Balelo’s actions “clearly protected speech “

In a statement issued after the suit was filed last month, Kingsbarn called the allegations “completely frivolous and without merit.”

Ohtani is a three-time MVP on the defending World Series champion Dodgers.

“Nez Balelo has always prioritized Shohei Ohtani’s best interests, including protecting his name, image, and likeness from unauthorized use,” a lawyer for Ohtani and Balelo, said in a statement. “This frivolous lawsuit is a desperate attempt by plaintiffs to distract from their myriad of failures and blatant misappropriation of Mr. Ohtani’s rights.”

Lawyers for Hayes and Matsumoto did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

TORONTO — The smile is beatific, blissed out, even at an ungodly hour on our Zoom call from France. A week later, when I finally meet 43-year old filmmaker Oliver Laxe in person at a private Toronto celebration for his new movie “Sirât,” he radiates serenity. He’s the happiest (and maybe the tallest) person in the room.

“One of the first ideas that I had for this film was a sentence from Nietzsche,” he says. “I won’t believe in a God who doesn’t dance.”

Laxe goes to raves — “free parties,” he clarifies, indicating the ones you need to hear about via word of mouth. He’s thought deeply about what they mean and what they do to him. “We still have a memory in our bodies of these ceremonies that we were doing for thousands of years, when we were making a kind of catharsis with our bodies.”

It’s almost the opposite of what you expect to hear on the fall festival circuit, when directors with big ideas make their cases for the significance of the art form. But the body, the return to something purely sensorial, is Laxe’s big idea.

Steadily, “Sirât” has become, since its debut at Cannes in May, a growing favorite: not merely a critic’s darling but an obsession among those who’ve seen it. (The film will have an awards-qualifying run in Los Angeles beginning Nov. 14.) A dance party in the desert set at some vaguely hinted-at moment of apocalypse, the movie is something you feel, not solve. Its pounding EDM beats rattle pleasurably in your chest (provided the theater’s speakers are up to snuff). And the explosions on the horizon shake your heartbeat.

“I really trust in the capacity of images to penetrate into the metabolism of the spectator,” Laxe says. “I’m like a masseuse. When you watch my films, sometimes you’ll want to kill me or you’ll feel the pain in your body, like: Wow, what a treat. But after, you can feel the result.”

An image from the movie “Sirât,” directed by Oliver Laxe.

(Festival de Cannes)

Laxe can speak about his influences: cosmic epics by the Russian master Andrei Tarkovsky or existential road movies like “Zabriskie Point” and “Two-Lane Blacktop.” But he is not a product of a typical grad-school trajectory. Rather, it’s his escape from that path after growing up in northern Spanish Galicia and studying in Barcelona (he tried London for a while) that’s fascinating.

“I was not good,” he recalls. “I didn’t find I had a place in the industry or in Europe. I was not interested. I had bought a camera, a 16-millimeter Bolex, and I knew I was accepting that my role was to be a kind of sniper that was working in the trenches but making really small films.”

At age 24, Laxe moved to Tangier, Morocco, where he would live for 12 years at a monastic remove from the glamour of the movies, collaborating with local children on his films. The experience would grow into his first feature, 2010’s “You Are All Captains,” which eventually took him all the way to the prize-winning podium at Cannes, as did his second and third films, all of which came before “Sirât,” his fourth.

“Slowly, the things we were making were opening doors,” he says. “In a way, life was deciding, telling me: This is your path.”

Path is what “Sirât” means in Arabic, often with a religious connotation, and his new movie takes a unique journey, traversing from the loose-limbed dancing of its early scenes to a train’s tracks stretching fixedly to the end of the line. There’s also a quest that gets us into the film: a father and son searching among the ravers for a missing daughter, potentially a nod to “The Searchers” or Paul Schrader’s “Hardcore,” but not a plot point that Laxe feels especially interested in expounding on.

“Obviously I have a spiritual path and this path is about celebrating crisis,” he says. “My path was through crisis. It’s the only time when you connect with your essence. I just want to grow. So that’s why I jump into the abyss.”

“My path was through crisis,” says director Oliver Laxe of his steady rise. “It’s the only time when you connect with your essence. I just want to grow.”

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Laxe tells me he didn’t spend years perfecting a script or sharpening dialogue. Rather, he took the images that stuck with him — trucks speeding into the dusty desert, fueled by the rumble of their own speaker systems — and brought them to the free parties, where his cast coalesced on the dance floor.

“We were telling them that we were making ‘Mad Max Zero,’ ” he recalls, but also something “more metaphysical, more spiritual. A few of them, I already knew. There are videos of us explaining the film in the middle of the dance floor with all the people dancing around. I mean it was quite crazy. It’s something I would like to show to film schools.”

Shot on grungy Super 16, the production drove deep into craggy, sandblasted wastelands, both in Morocco and mountainous Spain, where the crew would make hairpin turns along winding cliff roads that would give even fans of William Friedkin’s legendary 1977 misadventure “Sorcerer” anxiety.

“It was my least dangerous film,” Laxe counters, reminding me of his “Fire Will Come,” the 2019 arson thriller for which he cast actual firefighters. “We were making the film in the middle of the flames, so I don’t know. I’m a junkie of images and I need this drug.”

There is a Herzogian streak to the bearded Laxe, a prophet-in-the-wilderness boldness that inspires his collaborators, notably longtime writing partner Santiago Fillol and the techno composer Kangding Ray, to make the leap of faith with him. But there also seems to come a point when talking about “Sirât” feels insufficient, as opposed to simply submitting to its pounding soundscapes, found-family camaraderie and (fair warning) churning moments of sudden loss that have shaken even the most hardy of audiences.

“The film evokes this community of wounded people,” he says. “I’m not a sadistic guy that wants to make a spectator suffer. I have a lot of hope. I trust in human beings, even with their contradictions and weaknesses.”

For those who wish to find a political reading in the movie, it’s there for them, a parable about migration and fascism but also the euphoria of a headlong rush into the unknown. “Sirât” is giving odd comfort in a cultural moment of uncertainty, a rare outcome for a low-budget art film.

Its visionary maker knows exactly where he is going next.

“I got the message in Cannes,” Laxe says. “People want to feel the freedom of the filmmaker or the auteur. What they appreciate is that we were jumping from a fifth floor to make this film. So for the next one —”

Our connection cuts out and it’s almost too perfect: a Laxian cliffhanger moment in which ideas are yanked back by a rush of feeling. After several hours of me hoping this was intentional on his part, the director does indeed get back to me, apologetically. But until then, he is well served by the mystery.

PETER Andre has said he isn’t perfect amid his ongoing fallout with ex wife Katie Price. 

The 52-year-old addressed his ‘nice guy’ image in a new interview, admitting “everyone makes mistakes”.

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The singer, who refused to speak directly about Katie for ‘legal reasons’, told The Telegraph: “’Well, look, nobody’s perfect. No-one’s perfect in this world. Everyone makes mistakes. But you get the measure of me by meeting me.

“You’ll either think I’m too talkative and annoying, or you’ll think, “he’s alright, he’s harmless.”

He added: “But over a period of time you build a picture of someone, it’s about consistency.”

His comments come just a few weeks after he publicly spoke out about his ex wife for the first time in 16 years. 

Pete and Katie have been devoted parents to kids Junior, 20, and Princess, 18, since their split in 2009 but the former glamour model has taken every opportunity to slam her ex.

Peter finally snapped in a blistering statement, following Katie‘s latest claims that their kids live with both Pete and her.

In her podcast, she claimed she had been frozen out of her daughter Princess‘s blossoming career, which includes glam photoshoots, brand deals, and a new ITV reality show titled The Princess Diaries.

In his statement Pete accused Katie of making “baseless accusations” against him, and claimed their children Princess and Junior have been in his care since 2018 “for their safety”.

Revealing plans to take legal action, Peter said: “Unfortunately, there are many more lies and baseless accusations that I have yet to address. Those will be dealt with in the coming months.”

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All about Peter Andre

The image is iconic — Kobe Bryant letting out a roar while tugging on his gold Lakers jersey after scoring 49 points during a playoff win over the Denver Nuggets on April 23, 2008.

It has been used in numerous murals around Southern California, including one that is being painted in larger-than-life form on the side of a future Eat Fantastic restaurant on the 700 block of North Pacific Coast Highway in Redondo Beach.

This particular painting, however, is a little different from the others, and from the original image itself. Bryant’s intensity is still there. His pose is exactly the same. He is still wearing a No. 24 jersey.

But in this version, that jersey is not gold with “Lakers” spelled across the chest in purple letters.

It’s white, with “Dodgers” across the chest in blue letters.

Gustavo Zermeño Jr. altered an iconic image of Lakers legend Kobe Bryant for a Dodgers mural he is painting in Redondo Beach.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

The altered version of the iconic image is just one portion of a sprawling mural paying tribute to the Dodgers’ 2024 World Series championship. It’s on the north-facing side of a former Carl’s Jr. building that will open later this year as part of the growing Eat Fantastic chain in the Los Angeles area.

The mural was conceived by artist Gustavo Zermeño Jr. and Eat Fantastic owner Efthemios Alexander Tsiboukas. It features some of the key figures from the Dodgers’ title run — players Mookie Betts, Freddie Freeman, Shohei Ohtani (with his beloved dog Decoy) and rapper Ice Cube, who is shown riding in a classic Dodger blue convertible as he did when he performed before Game 3 of the World Series.

And then there’s the late Lakers legend Bryant, whose inclusion in the piece was a must, Zermeño said.

“Each [Eat Fantastic] location has a Kobe mural, at least the ones that have a good wall,” said Zermeño, who is a huge fan of both the Dodgers and Bryant. “And for this location, [Tsiboukas] wanted to create something for the Dodgers’ championship team. That’s why Kobe has the Dodger jersey on, you know, staying on theme with the locations having a Kobe mural.”

Zermeño said the original idea was to paint Bryant wearing a Dodgers baseball jersey, as he did while attending the team’s games over the years before his shocking death in January 2020.

Lakers’ Kobe Bryant celebrates a three–pointer against the Denver Nuggets on April 23, 2008, at Staples Center.

(Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)

“So we looked up a bunch of images,” Zermeño said. “A lot of them are obviously cool images, but either they were very pixelated, or just didn’t have what we wanted, that really aggressive Mamba-mentality feel.

“So we found this image. And you know, this image has been done before in several murals. But with the Dodger jersey, we wanted to throw a twist on it.”

Tsiboukas said: “That’s my favorite picture of him. I have the exact same one [painted at the restaurant location] in Arcadia. He’s wearing the real jersey, though, the yellow one. So I wanted a replica of that same one I did in Arcadia, and do it in a Dodger jersey, because of the Dodger dynasty right now.”

The purple and gold may have been removed from the jersey, but Zermeño said he purposefully incorporated them into the sunset depicted behind Bryant as a nod to the Lakers.

Zermeño started working on the mural Aug. 7 and expects to have it completed next week, ahead of Bryant’s Aug. 23 birthday. The portion featuring Bryant is already done — and it has garnered mixed reactions.

“For the most part, I’ve gotten a pretty positive reaction over it,” Zermeño said. “You know, a lot of Laker fans are also Dodger fans, so I think that overlap is pretty consistent throughout L.A. But yeah, man, you’re always going to have some haters. I think a lot of it is more like playful taunting. …

“A couple of people driving by — I think they’re just trying to be funny, making a joke, like yelling ‘He didn’t play for the Dodgers!’ or like, ‘He was a Laker!’ And then some people are just curious why I made that change. I think the people that are curious are older, some of the older crowd that, I guess, doesn’t understand why I would switch it, you know?”

Tsiboukas said he has seen a lot of online discussion about it, including on the popular kobemural Instagram page.

“Maybe 70% love it, and 30% are like, ‘That looks like a Clipper jersey,’” Tsiboukas said. “It’s causing a lot of friction back and forth, but it’s good topic. It’s raising awareness. It’s keeping Kobe’s legacy alive.”

Gustavo Zermeño Jr. hand paints part of Mookie Betts’ mouth onto his Dodgers mural outside the future Eat Fantastic restaurant in Redondo Beach.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani and his dog Decoy, holding a Dodger Dog toy in his mouth, are depicted in a new mural by Gustavo Zermeño Jr.

(Chuck Schilken / Los Angeles Times)

Zermeño said he doesn’t mind the discourse over his artwork.

“It just, it sparks that conversation,” he said. “So regardless of whether people like it or not, I think it kind of breaks the ice for people to come up and ask questions and learn more about why we created it, and the process of putting it together. …

“It’s art, you know, and art’s meant to kind of create some type of conversation. And if we were to put him with a regular jersey, people would have been like, ‘Oh, that’s cool, but it’s been done X amount of times,’ you know? I’ve seen that photo in at least five different murals. So, yeah, I think switching it up definitely — I don’t want to say it elevated the piece, but it definitely created more conversation than there would be if we just kept the original jersey.”

On a wide, empty stretch of Venice Beach in 1980, seven Los Angeles architects — Frank Gehry, Thom Mayne, Eric Owen Moss, Coy Howard, Craig Hodgetts, Robert Mangurian and Frederick Fisher — gathered for a group portrait by photographer Ave Pildas. Clad in mismatched outfits and standing casually in the sand, they looked more like a rumpled rock band than the future of American architecture.

The resulting image, published in Interiors magazine, distilled a seismic moment in L.A.’s creative history. Those seven, gazing in their own directions yet joined in a sense of mischievous rebellion and cocky exuberance, represented a new generation that was bringing a brash, loose creativity to their work and starting to distance itself from the buttoned-up codes and expectations of the architecture establishment.

Each would go on to have a successful career, from Pritzker Architecture Prize winners to directors of architecture schools. And they and their compatriots would, for a while at least, help put a rapidly changing L.A. at the center of the built culture.

“That one photograph contains a whole world,” notes filmmaker Russell Brown, who recently directed a 12-part documentary series about that Venice architecture scene. “There was risk going on, and freedom; it was all about ideas.”

“It’s become a kind of reference point,” adds architectural journalist Frances Anderton, host of the series. “It just keeps reappearing whenever there’s a conversation about that period.”

The 1980 image is the jumping-off point for “Rebel Architects: From Venice to the World Stage,” produced by Brown’s nonprofit, Friends of Residential Treasures: Los Angeles. Four of the architects — now in their 70s and 80s — gathered for a (far less brash) new photo and an honest conversation about their early careers in L.A., and what’s transpired since for the series, which began streaming monthly on FORT: LA’s website July 1.

A native Angeleno with a background in feature and documentary filmmaking, Brown conceived of the concept after a chat with architect Robert Thibodeau, co-founder of Venice-based DU Architects. After a deeper dive into the image with Anderton, the idea for a reunion was born.

“We thought, why don’t we restage the photo and then use that as an excuse to get the guys together?” Brown explains.

He preferred a spontaneous, lighthearted group discussion to the typical documentary, with its one-on-one interviews and heavy production.

Frances Anderton, from left, Frederick Fisher, Craig Hodgetts, Thom Mayne and Eric Owen Moss catch up for “Rebel Architects,” a 12-part series.

(FORT: LA)

“It’s about the chemistry between creative peers,” says Brown. “The real legacy of these architects isn’t just in the buildings. It’s in the conversations they started — and are still having.” He added: “There’s a spark that happens when they’re together … They talk about failure, competition, teaching, aging. It’s a very human exchange.”

Episode 1, titled “Capturing a Moment in L.A. Architecture,” opens with four of the surviving architects — Fisher, Mayne, Moss and Hodgetts — recreating that seminal photograph for Pildas and sitting down for an interview. (Howard was interviewed separately, Gehry declined and Mangurian died in 2023.) The group dissects the photo’s cinematic, informal composition, in which Pildas aims down from a berm, the neglected buildings behind the eclectic crew shrinking into the horizon, merging with the sand. And they remember a time in which the city’s messy urban forms and perceived cultural inferiority provided endless creative fuel, and liberation.

Pildas recalls how the original shoot came together at the request of British design editor Beverly Russell, who was looking to capture “Frank Gehry and some of his Turks.” (The international design press was gaga for L.A. at the time. Anderton notes that her move from the U.K. resulted from a similar assignment, on the “subversive architects of the West Coast,” for the publication Architectural Review in 1987.)

At the time, most of the architects were working in garages and warehouses, forming their studios and collaborating with equally norm-busting and (relatively) unheralded artists in the scrappy, dangerous, forgotten, yet exploding Venice scene. In a later episode, the architects start listing the art talents they would run into, or befriend, including Larry Bell, James Turrell, Ed Ruscha, Fred Eversley, Robert Irwin, Robert Rauschenberg and Jean-Michel Basquiat, to name a few.

Basquiat was then living and working in Hodgetts’ building. “It was a spectacular fusion of all this creative energy,” Hodgetts remembers. “There was no audience, there were no guardrails, and one did not feel constrained.” He adds, later: “We all felt like we were marooned on a desert island.”

Pildas, who had studied architecture before switching to design and, eventually, photography, was uniquely suited to capture the group. He had shot some of the small, quirky experiments of Mangurian and Mayne, and knew most of the others through social and professional circles. (He even knew Hodgetts from high school back in Cincinnati.)

The first attempt at the photo seemed stiff, says Pildas, so he took out a joint, which all except Hodgetts accepted, he says. The icebreaker worked. In a later image, says Pildas, Fisher is hugging Gehry’s leg, the others huddled around. “It got pretty friendly in the end,” he jokes.

Pildas argues that the photo is much more layered with meaning (not to mention nostalgia) now than it was at the time. “Back then, it was just another magazine shoot. Now, it’s history,” he says. Adds Moss: “Its relevancy, or not, is confirmed by the following years. Otherwise it’s gone.”

Frederick Fisher, from left, Thom Mayne, Craig Hodgetts and Eric Owen Moss recreate their famous 1980 photo.

(Ave Pildas)

Each episode explores the image’s layers, and the unfolding stories that followed — the challenges of maintaining originality; crucial role of journalists in promoting their work; maddening disconnect between L.A.’s talent and its clients, along with the mercurial, ever-evolving identity of Los Angeles. The tone, like the photo, is unpretentious and playful, heavy on character and story, not theory. This was not always an easy task with a group that can get esoteric quite quickly, adds Anderton. “I was trying to keep it light,” she laughs. “I don’t think I even have the ability to talk in the language of the academy.”

“They’re cracking jokes, interrupting each other, reminiscing about teaching gigs and design arguments,” says Brown. “There’s real affection, but also a sense of rivalry that never fully went away.” Hodgetts doesn’t see it that way, however. “It was really about the joy of creating things. We wanted to jam a bit, perform together; that’s really life-affirming,” he says.

There are some revealing moments. Mayne, whose firm Morphosis is known for bold, city-altering buildings such as Caltrans HQ in downtown L.A., reflects on teaching as a way of “being the father I never had.” (His father left his family when he was a young boy.) He tenderly discusses the seminal role that his wife Blythe — a co-owner of Morphosis — has played in his career. Fisher reveals that Gehry was the chief reason he dropped everything to come out to L.A. (At the time, he was working as a display designer at a department store in Cincinnati.) “I remember seeing this architect jumping up and down on cardboard furniture. I could see there was something going on here. Something percolating,” he says. Moss opens up about his struggles to negotiate the demands of the practical world, while Hodgetts performs brilliant critiques of the others’ work, sometimes to broad smiles, others to cringes.

Notably absent from the reunion is Gehry himself, who is now 96. “He’s at a point in his life where trudging through sand for a photo wasn’t going to happen,” says Brown. “But his presence is everywhere. He’s still the elephant in the room.”

One episode explores how Gehry, about a decade older than the others, both profoundly influenced and often overshadowed the group — a reality that was perhaps reinforced by his nonchalant dominance in the photo itself. “Frank takes up a lot of oxygen,” Mayne quips. Still, all admire Gehry’s unwillingness to compromise creatively, despite often heavy criticism.

Another prevailing theme is the bittersweet loss of that early sense of freedom, and the Venice of the 1970s, with its breathtakingly low rents and abandoned charm. Today’s architects — wherever they are — face higher stakes, infinitely higher costs and tighter regulations.

“The Venice we grew up with is completely gone,” says Fisher. “But maybe it’s just moved,” noted Moss. Distinguishing L.A. as a place whose energy and attention is constantly shifting, he wonders if creative ferment might now be happening in faraway places like Tehachapi — “wherever land is cheap and ambition is high,” he says.

While Pildas was capturing the seven architects 45 years ago, he was also busy chronicling the city’s street culture — jazz clubs, boulevard eccentrics, decaying movie palaces and bohemian artists. All were featured in the 2023 documentary “Ave’s America” (streaming on Prime Video) directed by his former student, Patrick Taulère, exploring his six decades of humbly perceptive, deeply human work.

After reviewing the recreation of the photo — the architects are still smiling this time, but their scrappy overconfidence feels eons away — Pildas wonders who the next generation will be, and how they will rise.

“Maybe it’ll happen that they’ll have another picture someday with a bunch of new architects, right?” he says. “This is a fertile ground for architecture anyway, and always has been.”

Exposing that “fertile ground” to Angelenos of all kinds is FORT: LA’s overarching goal. Founded in 2020, it offers architecture trails, fellowships and a surprising variety of programming, from design competitions to architecture-themed wine tastings. All, says Brown, is delivered, like “Rebel Architects,” with a sense of accessible joy and exploration — an especially useful gift in a turbulent, insecure time for the city.

“Suddenly, you kind of think about the city in a different way and feel it in a different way,” says Brown. “This is a place that allows this kind of vision to come to life.”

Travis Kelce is done fighting for his right to party.

Or at least the 35-year-old Kansas City Chiefs tight end is ready to start toning down his party-hearty image — which is kind of big news for a dude who is known for his wild, celebratory, off-key renditions of the Beastie Boys classic “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party!)” and is often seen out enjoying life with superstar girlfriend Taylor Swift.

Kelce made the revelation during a lengthy interview with GQ that was published Tuesday morning.

“I’m starting to phase out of wanting to be known as the party guy,” the three-time Super Bowl champion and 10-time Pro Bowl selection said.

“When you see me hanging out at the US Open with Taylor, it may look like the two of us are partying. But I’m just enjoying the fun of being at this really cool event that I always wanted to go to with the person that I love.”

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce attend the men’s singles final match at the 2024 US Open last September.

(Sarah Stier / Getty Images)

He added: “I’ve become way more strategic in understanding what I am portraying to people.”

Following the Chiefs’ loss to the Philadelphia Eagles at Super Bowl LIX in February, Kelce didn’t immediately commit to returning for his 13th NFL season and the final year of his contract with the Chiefs. He acknowledged to GQ that he has been thinking about his life after the NFL, although he didn’t offer any details on what that might look like.

Kelce already has a high profile off the field, thanks in large part to his relationship with Swift but also from his appearances in countless TV commercials and on his successful “New Heights” podcast, which he co-hosts with older brother Jason. Incidentally, that podcast is sure to hit, uh, new heights in its number of listeners this week when Swift makes her first appearance on the show.

Part of Kelce’s new outlook on his image seems to have been influenced by Swift and the way she interacts with her immense fan base.

“People gravitate towards how she performs and how she makes it feel like the entire stadium is in a little room with her,” Kelce said. “She is so good at mesmerizing everybody and making everybody feel like it’s an intimate situation. I think that alone — there is so much calm and coolness. She’s beautiful. She’s up there making everyone feel at ease.

“Whenever I get in front of a crowd, I feel like I’ve got to be like, Woooo! Like, excited, bringing the energy. Then I saw that coolness and that calmness and that relatability that she is so good at presenting. I really grabbed that. Like, Man, I can use that side of entertainment as well. It’s not just always being the guy that brings the energy and creates these exciting moments.”

Kelce added that he and Swift share similar outlooks when it comes to their respective legacies.

“Nowadays I just want to be respected and loved by the people that I’m surrounded by in my work,” he said. “I want to leave it better than where it was when I started. And I see her having those same values.”

Travis and Jason Kelce are going to have a “a special episode with a VERY special guest” on their “New Heights” podcast this week.

That’s big news … because that mystery guest can be only one person, right?

Just to be clear, the person in question would be Travis Kelce’s girlfriend, pop superstar Taylor Swift.

Kelce and Swift have been an item for roughly two years now. And while the “Love Story” singer has become a fixture at NFL games to root for her beau, she has never appeared on the popular podcast the Kansas City Chiefs tight end hosts with his brother, a retired Philadelphia Eagles center.

That could change in a couple of days, based on a tease posted on the “New Heights” social media accounts Monday — and on Swifties’ interpretations of the tease. The text is straightforward, simply informing fans of the special nature of the episode and the guest and noting it will drop Wednesday at 4 p.m. PDT.

The real juicy bits, though — if Swift’s fans are to be believed — are apparently found in the post’s graphic. Over the years, Swifties have become pretty good at spotting and deciphering Easter Eggs, so here’s what jumped out at the “You Need to Calm Down” singer’s diehard fans (based on observations they posted on social media and Reddit):

1. A silhouette of a slender person with long hair appears between images of the Kelce brothers, and naturally fans are convinced it can only be that of one particular slender woman with long hair. One commenter on X insists they can see Swift’s bangs in the completely darkened image.

2. Jason Kelce appears to be wearing a shirt bearing Swift’s image. Swifties are noting that the garment is from the Eras tour and that Travis is wearing one from that tour as well. This reporter, who did not attend the Eras tour, has no reason to doubt them on this.

3. The graphic’s background color is orange and sparkly. This apparently is seen as a reference to a particular dress Swift wore during the Eras tour. (Although didn’t she famously change her outfit more than a dozen times during each performance? Or so we’ve heard.)

4. Travis Kelce has a giant smile on his face. OK, sure, he has probably smiled numerous times during his life — like, say, maybe after at least one of the three Super Bowls he won with the Chiefs. But apparently he has a special grin reserved for the “Lover” singer, which one X commenter refers to as his “Tay smile.”

There are many other observations — including several that involve numbers, math and calendar dates — all of which clearly add up not only to Swift being the podcast’s “VERY special guest” but also that she will be there to announce something else very special, like perhaps a new album. (Reminder: This is only a fan theory; please remain calm.)

It wouldn’t be the first time this summer that Swift has made an appearance during one of her boyfriend’s projects. In June, she gave a surprise acoustic performance of her hit “Shake It Off” at a concert linked to Kelce’s Tight End University camp.

Come to think of it, Swift was introduced onstage that night by singer Kane Brown as a “really, really, really special guest.” That’s pretty darn close to “VERY special guest,” don’t you think?

Hmmmm …

COPS are urgently hunting for a topless man after a woman was allegedly sexually assaulted on the Tube.

Police said that their suspect struck on a Jubilee line train travelling between Southwark and London Bridge on Monday, June 30.

The alleged sexual assault happened just before 5pm, when thousands of commuters would be leaving the office and getting on the London Underground.

Now, the British Transport Police (BTP) has released a CCTV image in the hopes someone can identify the person of interest.

The picture shows a middle-aged white man of medium build with short dark hair.

He is wearing black and white patterned shorts and appears to have a tattoo on his right arm.

A BTP statement said: “Officers would like to speak to the man pictured as they believe he may have information which could help their investigation.”

The statement added: “Anyone who recognises him is asked to contact BTP by texting 61016 or by calling 0800 40 50 40, quoting reference 500 of 30 June.

“Alternatively, you can contact Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555 111.”

Data released by Transport for London revealed over 800 reports of sexual assault on the London Underground were made in 2024.

This was an increase of 56 assaults when compared to the previous year, with 745 occurring between April 2022 and April 2023.

1

Thanks to a lazy pun that’s as uninspired as the jeans it’s meant to sell, a series of American Eagle Outfitters ads starring 27-year-old actor Sydney Sweeney have sparked a culture war.

In one of several videos associated with the retailer’s campaign, the accomplished performer who also happens to be a blond bombshell says, “Genes are passed down from parents to offspring, often determining traits like hair color, personality and even eye color. My jeans are blue,” she says, as the camera pans from her blue denim outfit to her blue eyes.

In another video, Sweeney defaces an American Eagle billboard that reads “Sydney Sweeney has great jeans,” crossing out the word “jeans” and replacing it with “genes.”

Jeans. Genes. Get it? Of course you do. It’s as basic as it gets. But that didn’t stop folks from assigning incredible complexity to the ads.

American Eagle Outfitters is accused of leaning into the language of eugenics to sell its mall wear. Eugenics is the absurd and bigoted theory that the human race can be perfected (i.e. made more Caucasian) through selective breeding. Eugenics gained traction in the early 20th century, most notably in Nazi Germany, where Hitler sought to create a master Aryan race, perpetrating unspeakable atrocities including the Holocaust.

Now there’s an argument across social media: Did Sweeney and the retailer play fast and loose with eugenics to sell jeans? Or is it just another distraction from a much scarier reality that “the great replacement theory” — a touchstone conspiracy among white supremacists that an “inferior” non-white population will displace them — is driving American policy and state-sanctioned actions? I pick Option 2.

Sleuthing for hidden white-power messaging in an otherwise playful commercial is easier than contending with the militarized xenophobia right in front of us. It’s happening on our streets, where immigrants with no criminal record are being kidnapped, then locked up and, in many cases, deported with no due process.

Too heavy? Let’s get back to the jeans/genes (again, who thought this pun was clever?). Commentary about the ad has proliferated across social media, where lefties, MAGAs and nondenominational Sweeney haters are chiming in, calling the ad a “Nazi dog whistle,” an excuse for a “woke freak out,” more evidence that “Western ideals of beauty” still dominate, and indisputable proof that Sweeney should remain a perennial target for those who still can’t separate the actor from the insufferable characters she played so well on “Euphoria” and “White Lotus.”

The American Eagle Outfitters’ fall campaign features “the Sydney Jean,” which was created in partnership with Sweeney, and revenue from sales of the jeans will be donated to the Crisis Text Line. According to its website, it’s a “nonjudgmental organization that champions mental well-being and aims to support people of every race, ethnicity, political affiliation, religion, age, sexual orientation, gender identity, disability, socioeconomic status, and other backgrounds.”

Hardly Third Reich fare.

Yet the clothing line’s ad has been called “regressive” and racist, and one critic wrote in Slate: “These days, a blond, blue-eyed white woman being held up as the exemplar of ‘great genes’ is a concept that maybe shouldn’t have made it past the copywriters room.”

Never missing a chance to complain about complainers, White House communications manager Steven Cheung posted: “Cancel culture run amok. This warped, moronic and dense liberal thinking is a big reason why Americans voted the way they did in 2024. They’re tired of this bull—.” Former Fox News host Megyn Kelly took the opportunity to troll the opposition when she wrote Tuesday on X, “I love how the leftist meltdown over the Sydney Sweeney ad has only resulted in a beautiful white blonde girl with blue eyes getting 1000x the exposure for her ‘good genes.’”

American Eagle posted on Instagram Friday that it stands by its campaign. “‘Sydney Sweeney has great jeans’ is and always was about the jeans. Her jeans. Her story,” said the statement. “We’ll continue to celebrate how everyone wears their AE jeans with confidence, their way. Great jeans look good on everyone.”

It’s not the first time Sweeney’s actions have been used as fodder in a culture war. Her 2024 hosting gig on “SNL” included a sketch where she was dressed as a Hooters waitress, complete with ample cleavage. The skit satirized her standing as a sex symbol. MAGA bros saw it as the end of woke because Sweeney is “hot” and she made a joke about her boobs. Yes, even that was politicized.

So now that I’ve spent all this space explaining the unnecessary freak-out over a jeans ad, can we focus on a campaign that should spur just as much, if not more, condemnation?

The Department of Homeland Security has been posting images on its X account with captions that the father of eugenics, Sir Francis Galton, would have approved. On July 23, the DHS posted an image of a 19th century painting titled “American Progress” depicting Manifest Destiny, the religious belief that it was the right and duty of the United States to expand from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean. The DHS caption (with its curious usage of uppercase letters): “A Heritage to be proud of, a Homeland worth Defending.” If you aren’t Indigenous, of course.

A week or so before that, “A Prayer for a New Life,” artist Morgan Weistling’s westward-expansion-era scene featuring a white family in a covered wagon making their way across golden plains. The DHS shared the image with the caption, “Remember your Homeland’s Heritage.” Aside from getting the name of the painting wrong, they inferred that this was the heritage we all share. There was no footnote for First Lady Melania Trump, Sen. Marco Rubio, Trump advisor Stephen Miller, Vice President JD Vance’s wife, Usha, SCOTUS’ Clarence Thomas and millions more whose American origin story doesn’t resemble “Little House on the Prairie.” So can we freak out about that, instead?

Apparently not, because now armchair Nazi hunters are pivoting to a Dunkin’ Donuts ad featuring “The Summer I Turned Pretty” star Gavin Casalegno, who delivers a tongue-in-cheek monologue about his role as the “king of summer.”

“Look, I didn’t ask to be the king of summer, it just kinda happened,” he says. “This tan? Genetics.”

Maybe just stick with the Ben Affleck Dunkin’ ad, where nary a g-word is spoken.