men

The snow was flying sideways and he had no jacket, but this lumberjack did not shiver. He stood about 25 feet tall, ax in hand, wearing a red hat and rictus grin. And he was made of fiberglass.

I stood at his feet on the Northern Arizona University campus in Flagstaff, full of the satisfaction that comes at having accomplished something truly trivial: At last, I was face to face with the original Muffler Man.

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

Easter Island has its stone-faced monoliths. China has its terra-cotta warriors. And we Americans have these roadside giants, also known as Paul Bunyans, Uniroyal Gals and most commonly, Muffler Men. Manufactured in Los Angeles, they first appeared on the highways of North America in the early 1960s as an advertising gimmick, often promoting car lots or car parts. Now they’re rising again, a battalion of restored and replica specimens, beloved by road-trippers, kitsch aficionados, artists, preservationists and savvy entrepreneurs.

“To me, they’re kind of instant friends,” said Amy Inouye, the designer and artist who rescued L.A.’s most iconic Muffler Man, Chicken Boy, a chicken-headed statue that stands atop her gallery in Highland Park. “They’re really tall and they just want to be accepted for who they are.”

The Northern Arizona University campus in Flagstaff includes the first oversize fiberglass Muffler Man, who has long been outfitted as a lumberjack.

These figures are especially plentiful along Route 66 this year as it turns 100 — there was a “pre-centennial frenzy” in the words of roadsideamerica.com, which coined the term “Muffler Men” and tracks them on a map. Nobody’s certain how many figures were made during the golden age of Muffler Men, but since 2020, the tally of giants has climbed above 250, including “a few dozen” rediscoveries since 2010, according to Doug Kirby, the co-founder and publisher of the site.

“Just in the last year or two, all these Muffler Men are being added,” he said. In addition, more than a dozen giants are currently in transition — that is, getting reconditioned or relocated.

1.) Cigars and Stripes BBQ in Berwyn, Ill., features a Muffler Man smoking a cigar and holding a jumbo bottle of barbecue sauce. 2.) The Gemini Giant stands along Route 66 in Wilmington, Ill.

On a recent westbound journey from Chicago on Route 66, I started seeing them almost immediately.

First, on Ogden Avenue in the Chicago suburb of Berwyn, there was the Cigars & Stripes Muffler Man. He stood on the roof of the Cigars & Stripes BBQ Lounge, brandishing a chicken wing and a fridge-size bottle of barbecue sauce while chewing on a stogie.

Next, in Wilmington, Ill., came the Gemini Giant, who stands 23 feet tall above a tiny park. Made for a Wilmington diner in 1965, he was auctioned off for $275,000 in early 2024 and placed in his current location later that year. He wears a clunky silver space helmet and holds a rocket in his hands.

I had come across a few Muffler Men before this trip, including Big Josh, who looks down upon Joshua Tree from the Station gift shop on State Route 62. But now I was paying more attention.

At first, I learned, these giants were all men, conceived around 1962 by a Lawndale entrepreneur named Bob Prewitt and made popular from the early 1960s through the mid-1970s by a company in Venice called International Fiberglass.

Made from a standard set of molds and held together by steel frames, most Muffler Men are assembled from three or four pieces. Besides those figures holding mufflers and tires, others were outfitted as cowboys, Indians, lumberjacks (often known as Paul Bunyans), astronauts, chefs, dentists, golfers, hot dog vendors, race-car drivers, pirates and service-station attendants. Then there were the jug-eared goofball characters, which some scholars of the art form call halfwits, while others prefer snerds.

As interest in this kind of advertising grew, female giants followed, including Uniroyal Gals and Rosie the Riveters. Oversized animals, including dinosaurs, bulls, roosters, hens and seals, also multiplied.

Juni Peraza, 25, works at the Meadow Gold Mack retail shop on 11th Street in Tulsa, Okla. She said she has only recently realized the possibilities that come with 11th Street being part of Route 66.

All that action faded in the 1970s. But in about 1989, the seeds of a new Muffler Man era were sown.

Kirby, Mike Wilkins and Ken Smith, who had worked together on the 1985 book “Roadside America,” were building a database for a follow-up project when they realized, “Hey, wait, this configuration of statue we’re seeing in a lot of places,” Kirby said. “We decided we’d better start keeping track.”

The first few they saw were holding mufflers. Thinking of the old nursery rhyme “Muffin Man,” and a Frank Zappa song of the same name, Kirby decided to call them Muffler Men.

When the roadsideamerica.com website launched in 1996, Muffler Men were part of it. By 2000, Roadside America had uncovered their origin story and interviewed Steve Dashew, former president of International Fiberglass. And readers had embraced the giants in a big way.

This fiberglass Rosie the Riveter figure went up on 11th Street in Tulsa in 2025.

“It was like a religious epiphany for some people. For years, they were driving past these things,” Kirby said. “As soon as they realized it was part of an uncharted network across the country … it’s like your third eye has been opened.”

Ken Bernstein, principal city planner for Los Angeles Office of Historic Resources, calls Muffler Men “monumental and distinctive representations of midcentury car culture, especially along auto-centric corridors where it was important to catch the eye of passing motorists.”

New giants, known as custom jobs, are being steadily manufactured now. There’s an entire economic community emerging around their restoration, replication, sales, transport and display, including companies like (Re)Giant and sculptor Mark Cline’s Enchanted Castle Studios. (To confuse matters, many Southern California mechanics woo customers by welding together mufflers to make human figures. Those creations, too, are often called Muffler Men.)

The American Giants Museum in Atlanta, Ill., created in 2024 by Bill Thomas of the Atlanta Betterment Fund and collector-historian Joel Baker, is devoted to the fiberglass figures. The museum, open April through October, includes four standing Muffler Men, with two more expected around Memorial Day.

Because the giants stand in the open air, visitors who show up after hours — as I did — can ogle them any time.

Atlanta, Ill., is home to the American Giants Museum, which celebrates the Muffler Men and Uniroyal Gals that were common roadside advertising features in the middle 20th century.

“I love history. I love anything to do with cars and old advertisements. I think it just takes people back,” said Lee Woods, 55, who jumped on the Muffler Men bandwagon about five years ago and owns the museum.

Woods and his wife, Diane, who have a fleet of tow trucks in Hot Springs, Ark., were collecting old porcelain gas station signs, gas pumps and old cars in 2021 when, on a drive through Illinois, they laid eyes on the Gemini Giant.

“I told my wife I would love to have one of them things to represent our tow company,” Woods recalled.

Before long, they had hired someone to build a custom tow-truck-operator Muffler Man. And before that Muffler Man was done, Lee Woods had bought another one — a Paul Bunyan in Oklahoma. Then in 2023 he got a hold of a Muffler Man Mr. Spock from Rainbow Neon in Salt Lake City. Now Woods has eight Muffler Men in Arkansas.

“Sometimes I get carried away, my wife says,” Woods said.

Last fall, he bought the museum, where he collaborates with Baker, who is founder of the American Giants website, creator of a Giants YouTube series and serves as a Muffler Man broker, consultant and transportation specialist.

“When people see these things, they think they’re the coolest thing out there,” Woods said. “Today we’ve had people from six different countries here.”

1.) Cowboy Bob, who is about 20 feet tall, plays guitar and wears a bolo tie, is one of several oversize fiberglass mascots along 11th Street in the Meadow Gold District of Tulsa. 2.) Meadow Gold Mack, a friendly lumberjack, is mascot for a shop of the same name on 11th Street in Tulsa. 3.) A Muffler Man near Gearhead Curios in Galena, Kan. 4.) The 2nd Amendment Cowboy is a fiberglass giant that stands at the entrance to a trailer park near the art installation Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas.

From here, the giants seemed to come fast and furious. One in Galena, Kan. Two in Vinita, Okla. (which has since added a third). Five in Tulsa’s Meadow Gold District (including one with an 8-foot-long guitar).

Then in Weatherford, Okla., came a 30-foot astronaut. In Amarillo, a “2nd Amendment Cowboy” with a pair of big pistols at his feet. In Gallup, N.M., a giant on the roof of a used car lot.

By the time I’d reached Flagstaff, my count was 18.

Then came my snowy moment with the original Muffler Man, whose nickname is Louie. Experts agree that he was produced in about 1963 and sent to a Flagstaff cafe with a lumberjack theme (and yes, that cafe stood along Route 66).

Louie stood there until the cafe closed more than 10 years later. Then he was donated to NAU and stationed by the ticket office of the university’s Walkup Skydome. Another lumberjack stands inside.

But after Louie, I hit a drought — no more giant sightings in Arizona and none on the Route 66 alignment I followed into Southern California.

This seemed wrong, because there are so many giants along the byways of Southern California and because this is the land of their birth. Besides Big Josh, there’s the Paul Bunyan in Mentone, the empty-handed Muffler Man known as Kevin on Sherman Way in Van Nuys. There’s the flag-wielding Porsche Muffler Man in Carson (who previously served in the same spot as a club-brandishing Golf Man). And there are plenty of others.

It didn’t seem right to end the journey without another sighting. So I made my way to Highland Park to meet the one who rules the roost.

More specifically, I headed for 5558 N. Figueroa St., which was on the path of Route 66 for several years in the 1930s and which is the home of Chicken Boy.

Blessed with the customized head of a chicken, the body of a Muffler Man and a bucket in his hands (for eating chicken?), Chicken Boy stood for years atop the Chicken Boy fried-chicken restaurant on Broadway downtown, inspiring writer Art Fein to label him “L.A.’s Statue of Liberty.”

After the restaurant was shuttered in 1984, Inouye swooped in to rescue Chicken Boy and place him in protective storage — for years, as it turned out.

The fiberglass statue known as Chicken Boy stands on the roof of artist, designer and gallerist Amy Inouye’s studio on Figueroa Street in Highland Park.

In October 2007, after she and longtime partner Stuart Rapeport had bought the Highland Park studio space and pulled permits, Inouye put Chicken Boy back together again and set him up on the roof. There he remains, sharing space with a billboard, visible up and down the block between Avenue 55 and Avenue 56.

If a nomination by L.A. preservationist Charles J. Fisher goes through, Chicken Boy could become the first Muffler Man declared a city historic-cultural monument. And if you drop by the Future Studio Gallery on a Saturday between noon and 3 p.m. or 4 p.m., you’ll likely find Inouye, now 74, along with a trove of Chicken Boy T-shirts, patches, pencils and ceramic treasure boxes.

But seeing Chicken Boy is its own reward, especially after seeing so many of his fiberglass cousins. I got there on a balmy afternoon, beheld Chicken Boy’s beak gleaming in the sun, and knew my mission was complete.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Evan Mulling/For The Times)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Evan Mulling/For The Times)

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

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

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

Britain’s first gay surrogate parent, who co-owns Maldon and Tiptree football club, has “strenuously denied” grooming young men for sexual exploitation, a court heard

Britain’s first gay surrogate parent has “strenuously denied” grooming young men for sexual exploitation, a court heard. Barrie Drewitt-Barlow, 57, appeared at Chelmsford Magistrates’ Court on Friday alongside his 32-year-old partner, Scott Drewitt-Barlow.

The men, both of Danbury, Essex, face multiple charges including rape, sexual assault, and modern slavery trafficking for sexual exploitation. The alleged offences, which are said to have taken place in Essex and Manchester between April 2013 and January this year, relate to four different men, who cannot be named for legal reasons.

The defendants are alleged to have “recruited” young men before grooming them and subjecting them to sexual assaults including rape, the court heard.

READ MORE: Barrie Drewitt-Barlow and husband charged with human trafficking and sexual offences

Defence barrister Oliver Snodin said the allegations against Barrie and Scott Drewitt-Barlow are “strenuously denied” by them both. Flanked by custody officers, the defendants, wearing hooded sweatshirts, spoke only to confirm their personal details.

The two men were remanded into custody to appear at Chelmsford Crown Court on June 5. Prosecutor Serena Berry said: “Barrie Drewitt-Barlow is in a relationship with Scott Drewitt-Barlow… they are what could be termed to be celebrities, who live multi-million [pound] lifestyles and have featured in many documentaries and reality TV shows.

“They own the Maldon and Tiptree football club, and they have other businesses in the Essex area and also abroad in other countries.

“It is alleged they have both targeted young males, they have recruited them, they have befriended them, they have groomed them. They have invited them to their home and other premises.”

Barrie Drewitt-Barlow became Britain’s first gay surrogate parent in 1999 and made a name for himself in the media. He was due to be in ITV reality show Up The Jammers.

The charges follow co-ordinated searches at premises in Danbury, Maldon and Braintree on Wednesday, Essex Police previously said.

He is charged with three counts of sexual assault on a male, four counts of rape of a man 16 or over, and two counts of arranging or facilitating travel of another person with a view to exploitation.

Scott Drewitt-Barlow is charged with one count of sexual assault on a male, one count of rape of a man 16 or over, and two counts of arranging or facilitating travel of another person with a view to exploitation.

Essex Police are appealing for information on the case and ask witnesses to contact them using the major incident public portal (MIPP) on their website, or by calling 0800 051 4526, or 0207 126 7612 internationally.

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CARA DELEVINGNE has dated a handful of famous blokes, including Harry Styles and Jack O’Connell.

And I bet they’ll be wishing it never happened, after she hinted they were bad in bed.

Cara, who has come out as a lesbian six years after saying she was pansexual, was speaking on stage at the “confessional” segment during Rosalia’s gig at London’s O2 Arena on Wednesday.

She said: “If you didn’t know this already I’m a lesbian and my weakness used to be straight women.

“I don’t know why, it’s just because they weren’t really straight. It’s the challenge but it’s also because I generally don’t think anyone is fully straight.

“Also, I don’t think men knew how to pleasure their girlfriends well enough.”

READ MORE ON CARA DELEVINGNE

I DON’T DO QUEUES

Watch as fuming Cara Delevingne has ‘do you know who I am?’ moment at PFW

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In 2013, she had a short relationship with Jake Bugg and was reported to have had a fling with Harry.

Cara had brief romances with Miley Cyrus and actress Michelle Rodriguez, before dating Skins actor Jack.

She’s been seeing Leah Mason, a singer known as Minke, for almost four years.

In front of the 20,000-strong crowd, she added: “I’m in a committed relationship but the thing is I used to always love being the dominant one, I love to take control.

“But I think it’s because I’m actually scared of being seen.

“I’m scared to be submissive because I didn’t want to receive love but now I think I’m ready.”

“All the President’s Men” was released 50 years ago this month, an anniversary that’s been greeted with equal parts rue and reverence by the journalists, political junkies and discerning cinephiles who have worshiped the film for five decades.

As a member of all three of those constituencies, I’ve done my share of genuflecting, most recently as chief film critic at the Washington Post, whose city room was as vivid and fully realized in the movie as Robert Redford’s Bob Woodward and Dustin Hoffman’s Carl Bernstein.

Like so many Posties of my generation, I’ll never forget the so-real-it’s-surreal experience of walking into the fifth-floor newsroom for the first time in 2002. By then, standard-issue electric typewriters and six-ply carbon paper had been replaced by far less visually interesting computers. But the office’s pervading atmosphere of hard work and quiet focus felt uncannily similar to its big-screen analog.

For the last two years, I have been researching a book about the making of “All the President’s Men,” whose production involved almost as many contingencies and unresolved questions as Watergate itself. Among the film’s many mysteries, one I’ve found particularly intriguing has to do with Katharine Graham, publisher of the Washington Post and CEO of its parent company during the Watergate investigations. As the movie amply demonstrates, it took guts for Woodward and Bernstein to persevere with their reporting in the face of terrified sources and their own growing paranoia. But, unbeknownst to many observers at the time, Graham was enduring even more withering pressures, with determination that was all the more impressive for being almost entirely invisible.

I’m still in the process of discovering why she remained invisible in “All the President’s Men.” For now, it’s clear that the backstory is more nuanced than mere oversight or, as many are quick to assume, simple sexism.

In fact, William Goldman’s first script of the film featured a sequence with Graham and Woodward, a scene that appeared in every subsequent draft. Based on an actual meeting between the two, it’s a cagey game of cat-and-mouse, with the publisher taking the measure of a nervous, still-inexperienced journalist, looking for reassurance that his reporting will prove out.

Earlier this year, at a January staged reading of “All the President’s Men” at Harmony Gold Theater in Hollywood — a fundraiser for the Stella Adler Academy — it was possible for fans to conjure what might have been. Mark Ruffalo played Woodward and Ethan Hawke played Bernstein in a version of the movie assembled from different Goldman drafts.

A high point of the evening was when Ruffalo and actor Susan Traylor brought the Graham-Woodward scene to tentative, tense and teasingly playful life. After grilling Woodward about his sources and coyly asking him about Deep Throat’s identity, Traylor’s Graham asked him if the truth about Watergate would ever be revealed. “It may never come out,” Ruffalo’s Woodward replied. “Don’t tell me ‘never,’” Graham laments, before bringing the meeting to a close with a gently peremptory “Do better.”

In poring over director Alan J. Pakula and Goldman’s papers, I’ve probably read that scene dozens of times. But when I heard it play out in real time, I was ambushed by the emotions it stirred — a mixture of pride in Graham’s legacy and deep sadness at how that legacy has been so inexplicably ignored in recent years.

I was also sad that Redford, who died in September, wasn’t there. He often expressed regret that Graham wasn’t a featured character in “All the President’s Men.” Keenly aware of how her spine and steadfastness made Woodward and Bernstein’s work possible, he wanted to honor that crucial support. When I interviewed him for the first time in 2005, he insisted that fearless owners were every bit as important in preserving democracy as the reporters he and Hoffman helped glamorize.

Over the next two decades, every time I saw Redford, he bemoaned the “downward slide of this thing,” by which he meant the constellation of institutions “All the President’s Men” celebrates: not just journalism and a robust First Amendment but a Washington where investigators, prosecutors, judges, the Senate and Congress did their jobs regardless of partisan loyalties, and a Hollywood where a studio as mainstream as Warner Bros. would agree to finance a tough-minded film about a contentious and still-raw period in recent history.

Granted, that film was based on a bestselling book and anchored by two huge stars. But today, with political and corporate leaders — including media companies — falling over each other to curry favor with President Trump, “All the President’s Men” feels like an artifact from a vanished age.

Nowhere is this more distressingly true than at the Post itself, where the newsroom immortalized by the movie has been slashed by more than a third, and where Jeff Bezos, who bought the paper in 2013, seems intent on erasing Katharine Graham’s legacy until it vanishes completely. During the first Trump administration, Bezos stood up to threats against the Post and the press at large that would make Nixon blush, or at least pea-green with envy.

Now, Bezos has become a one-man meme of what author Timothy Snyder calls “obedience in advance,” quashing an endorsement of Kamala Harris, ostentatiously grinning his way through Trump’s second inauguration, vastly overpaying for a promotional film about First Lady Melania Trump and staying conspicuously mum (at least publicly) when a Post reporter’s home was raided by the FBI in January.

All of this has come at an enormous moral and material cost, with thousands of readers canceling their subscriptions and an alarming number of the Post’s finest reporters and writers leaving for other publications and platforms. As my former boss Marty Baron told my former colleague Ruth Marcus in the New Yorker in February, Bezos’ turnaround has been “sickening” to witness: “a case study in near-instant, self-inflicted brand destruction.”

Of course, that brand was built, in no small part, by “All the President’s Men,” which taught a generation how to walk, talk, dress and act like real reporters. (Hint: A good corduroy jacket and a pen in your mouth can’t hurt.)

In 1976, Pakula was interviewed about his dealings with Graham, whom he admired tremendously and with whom he would become close friends. “I could do a film about the Katharine Graham story,” he enthused. “It’s a superb story.”

Thirty years later, Steven Spielberg would bring Pakula’s idea to fruition with “The Post,” about Graham’s decision to publish the Pentagon Papers, a dress rehearsal for the even higher stakes of Watergate a year later.

“The Post,” which starred Meryl Streep in a shrewdly judged performance of aristocratic assurance and creeping insecurity, premiered in Washington less than a year into Trump’s first administration. Bezos attended that screening, which many of us saw as tacit acknowledgment that he was taking her lessons in character, comportment and competence to heart.

That was clearly wishful thinking. Graham may have finally assumed her rightful place in the newspaper-movie canon, but we’re still left to ponder her absence from the most iconic journalism movie of the 20th century.

It’s no longer the shoe-leather reporters who need a big-screen tutorial in how to do their jobs. It’s their bosses. A simple place to start would be to memorize the best two-word speech to never appear in a major motion picture: Do better.

Ann Hornaday was a film critic at the Washington Post from 2002 to 2025, when she retired. “All the President’s Men” plays at TCM Classic Film Festival Saturday at 2:45 p.m.

Shortly before 22:00 BST on 7 May, Lavryovych sent Pochynok a message on Telegram saying: “Look, we won’t talk much on the phone. At that address, there’ll be a car, need to check if it’s there. If it is there then basically today we’ll do the job. We’ll have money. And this week, if we plan everything well today, tomorrow there may be another one, we’ll make more money.”

ORLANDO, Fla. — White men have been discriminated against through diversity, equity and inclusion programs, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis said Wednesday after signing legislation which prohibits counties and cities from funding or promoting DEI initiatives.

The Republican governor defined DEI at a news conference as “an ideological construct that is designed to promote a particular political agenda, particularly to the detriment of disfavored groups.”

“The disfavored groups, No. 1, obviously, would be white males, and I think they’ve been discriminated against,” DeSantis said in Jacksonville. “And it’s like a lot of people are, ‘Oh that’s fine. That’s fine.’ No, it’s not fine. It’s wrong.”

While the governor is entitled to his opinion, his views differ from “everyone else’s,” said Evelyn Foxx, president of the NAACP branch in Gainesville.

“If you talked to 100 white men, they wouldn’t feel the same way” as DeSantis, Foxx said when asked Wednesday about his comments. “The governor is out of touch with people, and that is the bottom line.”

Supporters say the purpose of DEI is to remedy the effects of long-term discrimination against certain groups. A nationwide push by conservatives to limit diversity programs has led many companies, schools and governments to pull back on those initiatives, particularly during the current Trump administration, and DEI has been a frequent target for the governor.

DeSantis also said Wednesday that Asian Americans had faced discrimination in university admissions and that people should be judged on their merits. During his two terms in office, DeSantis’ administration has championed legislation which prohibits public colleges and universities from spending money on DEI programs and promoted the “Stop WOKE Act,” which restricts how race and sex are taught in schools.

Democratic lawmakers have warned that the legislation was overbroad and potentially unconstitutional.

Under the legislation, residents can sue local governments for violations. If local officials are found to have funded DEI initiatives in violation of the law, they can be removed from office.

“When people know there is accountability, they are much more apt to toe the line,” DeSantis said.

Schneider writes for the Associated Press.