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AUSTIN, Texas — One of the most anticipated events at this year’s SXSW Film & TV Festival wasn’t a movie at all, but a speaking appearance by director Steven Spielberg. The talk, a live taping of the podcast “The Big Picture” lead by co-host Sean Fennessey, covered many aspects of the Hollywood legend’s career, with a through line of sci-fi and space aliens in conjunction with Spielberg’s upcoming alien invasion thriller “Disclosure Day,” due June 12.

Though no real details about the new film were revealed, references to it peppered the conversation as if it were very much on Spielberg’s mind — the film he was ostensibly there to promote.

To an audience that included filmmakers Robert Rodriguez and Daniel Kwan, the event began with a clip reel that served as a reminder (as if anyone in the packed hotel ballroom needed one) of just how influential the 79-year-old filmmaker is. A selection of Spielberg’s work plays like a trailer for the idea of movies themselves; this one included “Jaws,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “E.T.” “Schindler’s List,” “Jurassic Park,” “The Sugarland Express,” “Catch Me If You Can,” “Munich” and many more.

Fennessey noted that Spielberg wanted to make 1977’s “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” his first sci-fi movie about the existence of aliens from other worlds, even before making 1975’s “Jaws.” Spielberg went further, saying he had actually wanted to make “Close Encounters” — then just referred to as “The UFO Movie” — even before 1974’s “Sugarland Express.”

Asked about President Obama’s recent comments about the possible existence of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe and how his own feelings may have evolved over the years, Spielberg said, “I think that for one thing, when President Obama made that comment, I thought, ‘Oh my God, this is so great for “Disclosure Day,”’ and then, two days later, he stepped back the comment and said what he believed in was life in the cosmos, which of course everybody should believe that because no one should ever think that we are the only intelligent civilization in the entire universe. So I’ve always believed, even as a kid, that we were not alone. So that just goes without saying. The big question is: Are we alone now?”

He added this interest was “reinvigorated” by a 2017 New York Times article about U.S. Navy pilots seeing unexplained aerial phenomenon, then by a 2023 Congressional subcommittee hearing on the topic.

“I don’t know any more than any of you do,” Spielberg said, “but I have a very strong, sticky suspicion that we are not alone here on Earth right now. And I made a movie about that.”

Spielberg and “The Big Picture” co-host Sean Fennessey taping a live podcast at SXSW on Friday.

(Tibrina Hobson / Getty Images)

As to how he feels about that possibility, Spielberg added, “I’m not afraid of any aliens, there or here. I have no fears about that, whatsoever. I think our movie does take into consideration, without giving too much away, the social dislocation that could occur, theologically, if it would be announced that there’s evidence — not only evidence, where it’s interaction that’s has been going on for decades, that we are not just now finding out about. It is going to cause a disruption in a lot of belief systems, but I don’t think it’s a lethal disruption at all.”

Among other topics that were discussed, Spielberg revealed he is developing a western that would shoot in Texas, though he was reluctant to discuss it in any further detail except to say it would contain “no tropes.”

He also said he is not on any social media, but did install Instagram on his phone once for two weeks and felt as if he had been abducted by aliens for the amount of time he lost.

To that end, he also noted, with comic frustration, how he himself has never had any sort of alien encounter.

”I made a movie called ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind.’ I haven’t even had a close encounter of the first or second kind,” Spielberg said. “Where’s the justice in that? If you’re listening out there, I’m talking to you.”

There was a brief moment of confusion when Fennessey asked Spielberg for his thoughts on AI and Spielberg wasn’t clear if he was asking about his own 2001 movie or the broader topic of artificial intelligence.

Once that was cleared up (Fennessey meant the latter, a serious labor issue in Hollywood), Spielberg noted he has not used AI on any of his own films. “I don’t want to go into a whole rant about AI because I am for AI in many different disciplines. I am not for AI if it replaces a creative individual.”

Speaking to the theatrical experience, Spielberg made a brief allusion to the flare-up around comments by Timothée Chalamet regarding the popularity of opera and ballet in relation to the movies.

He noted that he does not decry the at-home streaming experience and that he works with Netflix, but that “for me, the real experience comes when we can influence a community to congregate in a strange dark space. All us are strangers and, at the end of a really good movie experience, we are all united with a whole bunch of feelings that we walk into the daylight with or into the nighttime with. And there’s nothing like that. I mean, it happens in movies, it happens at concerts and it happens in ballet and opera.”

Here there was a round of applause from the audience. “And we want that sustained and we want that to go forever.”

Spielberg noted how many of his favorite filmmakers, including David Lean and Billy Wilder and more recent examples such as Paul Thomas Anderson and Christopher Nolan, are always making films that feel different from what they have done before. He sees himself as part of that same school.

“If we’re just not making the same sequel over and over and over again and they’re not the same Marvel title over and over and over again, we all get a real chance to experience something, which is freshness,” Spielberg said. “And that is why I don’t judge my accomplishments based on a single film.”

You can’t help rooting for Colleen Hoover heroines, bless their bruised hearts. The bestselling novelist specializes in women who have been kicked around by life. She’s the new name brand of tragic romance, picking up where Nicholas Sparks’ terminal diseases left off.

“Reminders of Him,” directed by Vanessa Caswill, is the third film based on a Hoover book in three years and the first that the author herself has adapted alongside co-screenwriter Lauren Levine. Like the others, its lead suffers heartily before falling in love with a hunk. The previous two, “It Ends With Us” and “Regretting You,” were about, respectively, domestic abuse and adultery. “Reminders” adds more tarnish to the poor dear: She’s an ex-convict who served six years for killing her boyfriend in a DUI.

Finally freed from prison, Kenna (Maika Monroe) has returned to Laramie, Wyo., the hometown of her dead lover, Scotty (Rudy Pankow). From what we see of Scotty in flashbacks, he was a buoyant blond goofball — exactly the kind of guy that the apparently friendless and family-less Kenna would have clung to like a life preserver. But she’s not here to lay flowers at his grave. In a salty touch, the first thing Kenna does is remove his roadside cross, claiming he hated memorial shrines.

But Kenna is desperate to meet their 5-year-old daughter, Diem (Zoe Kosovic), who was born months into her incarceration. The girl’s name comes from carpe diem, as in Kenna’s vow to seize the child she never got to hold, but the script has the restraint not to make a big standing-on-a-desk speech about that. Nevertheless, the kid’s grandparents, Grace and Patrick (Lauren Graham and Bradley Whitford), who never liked Kenna to begin with, consider a restraining order in fear that Kenna might actually kidnap Diem.

The stakes are plain: Can Kenna prove herself worthy to be Diem’s mother? Her only tentative ally is Scotty’s childhood friend, Ledger (Tyriq Withers), who thinks she’s hot and intriguing until he realizes who she is. Then he wants Kenna gone too.

Caswill sets the mood with a shot of a snow-capped mountain range, fitting for a movie that proceeds at a glacial pace. (The book moves faster, with Kenna and Ledger hooking up immediately and then discovering their unfortunate connection.)

The first stretch of the movie is strong, with Kenna, who is too broke for a car or even a phone, hoofing it around town in search of any job willing to hire a broke girl with a criminal record. A grocery store manager sends her away coldly after nattering on in corporate-speak about the importance of treating people with respect — an exchange that feels so real it gives you the shivers — but his beleaguered assistant, Amy (country singer Lainey Wilson in her promising, but brief, film debut), steps in and treats Kenna like a person. “What’s your trauma?” Amy asks her and somehow Wilson delivers that line with a lilt that keeps it from sounding corny.

These female strangers share a moment of such sincere human connection that I would have happily watched a dozen more scenes of the two women leaning on each other while they endure their hard-luck lives. Alas, these nice detours don’t last long; the movie has a preordained higher parental purpose that’s bigger than anything else onscreen, from the Wyoming skies to the bond between Kenna and Ledger that’s the main reason an audience has bothered to come.

Where this is all going is as unavoidable as the fact that Scotty died on what seems to be only road in and out of town. As the title declares, there are traces of him everywhere, including Diem’s giggle.

To get anywhere with the film, you have to settle into the idea that Kenna and Ledger must slowly build trust in each other while spending most of the baggy running time talking about a little girl who is rarely around. (When Kosovic is, she’s charming.) Cinematographer Tim Ives snatches his rare opportunities to shoot the beautiful scenery, but most of the pair’s encounters take place in or near Ledger’s orange pickup truck, a totem from the book. Visually, these car chats get stagnant. At least Monroe and Withers generate decent chemistry, eyes shiny and gleaming as they try their hardest to put gas in this love story’s tank.

Ledger calls Kenna “the saddest girl in the world.” True, but the glumness of said world is central to Hoover’s zeitgeisty appeal — a point she underlines a few beats later, Kenna insisting that the radio only ever plays depressing songs. To prove her wrong, Ledger flips it on anyway and to his dismay, it plays one bummer after another, station after station, until finally, the two of them share a much-needed laugh. (Meanwhile, Tom Howe’s acoustic country score is adamantly winsome, even intercut with Coldplay covers.)

Hoover is a strong world-builder. When she writes about small towns with shuttered bookstores or dive bars with fetid pots of coffee, you feel that she truly knows these places and has made a principled choice to set her hard-earned happy endings there. Caswill gets it, keying into credible, lived-in details, like Kenna’s tiny glance at the price tag on a stuffed animal that she’s considering for Diem.

Monroe’s Kenna couldn’t be farther from the cliché romantic diva, usually a high-heeled glamazon who runs a cupcake boutique. Even her hair really does look like she fixed it in the squalid bathroom of the only apartment she can afford. The complex is called Paradise, an on-the-nose irony. The owner (Jennifer Robertson) cuts Kenna a deal if she promises to take a free kitten. (I never saw Kenna get a litter box, but the kitten’s pretty cute.)

Ledger is the fantasy: a former NFL player whose hobbies include babysitting Diem, wearing tight shirts and building himself a hilltop dream cabin that will someday belong in Architectural Digest. (He owns that dive bar but the cast stays Mormon-sober.) Withers, a former wide receiver at Florida State University, also played a football jock in the gorgeously made but narratively screwy horror film “Him,” and it’s a treat to see an actor who moves like a genuine athlete and has that “Yes, coach” politeness that comes from being humbled in a locker room. You don’t totally buy his character exists in reality, but Withers believes in it enough to get the job done.

Another Paradise tenant, Lady Diana (Monika Myers), a headstrong teenager with Down syndrome, is the closest thing the film has to comic relief. Bursting into Kenna’s quarters seemingly at will, she raids her near-empty fridge while bluntly shouldering much of the exposition. “Why are you so poor?” Lady Diana asks, following that up by wondering, “Why are you so sad?”

“Reminders of Him” could use a little more swooning, a little less of the endless middle stretch of driving and talking, interrupted by wet sprints through thunderstorms. The rain pours down so often that you can’t help but snort when the film cuts to Whitford’s granddad angrily watering his lawn.

Eventually, even the film itself seems over all of the dilly-dallying. It takes a narrative shortcut to wrap things up, leaving behind not much other than a few worthwhile scenes: Kenna and Scotty’s meet-cute at a dollar store, her and Ledger pushing through their morning-after guilt, and a powerful moment shortly after Diem’s birth when a fellow inmate gives her a friendly but stern pep talk that sums up everything this film takes nearly two hours to say.

Universal Pictures will now keep its new films in theaters for at least five weekends, a reversal from the studio’s previous policy of at least 17 days that was set during the pandemic.

The change takes place immediately, the studio said Thursday. That means it will apply to its newest film, the Colleen Hoover romance “Reminders of Him,” which is out in theaters this weekend. Other upcoming films include Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey,” which will be released in July.

“Our windowing strategy has always been designed to evolve with the marketplace, but we firmly believe in the primacy of theatrical exclusivity and working closely with our exhibition partners to support a healthy, sustainable theatrical ecosystem,” Donna Langley, chair of NBCUniversal Entertainment, said in an email to the New York Times, which first reported the news.

Focus Features, Universal Pictures’ specialty film arm, will keep its existing theatrical exclusivity policies, which vary on a case-by-case basis. Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet,” for instance, was in theaters for 99 days, while 2024’s “Nosferatu” played for 58 days. The minimum is 17 days.

The amount of time films are available exclusively in theaters — known as “windowing” in industry jargon — has become a contentious topic of conversation in Hollywood.

That debate ramped up during the pandemic, when some studios shortened theatrical exclusivity periods in order to move films to release for video on demand or streaming.

Prior to the pandemic, those windows could be as long as 90 days. Now, the average is around 30 days.

Theater owners have argued that shorter windows cut into box office profits and train audiences to wait to watch a movie at home. Distributors have countered that a one-size-fits-all approach doesn’t necessarily work for smaller or mid-budget films, which may find a bigger audience via at-home viewing.

At last year’s CinemaCon trade conference, top theater lobbyist Michael O’Leary called on distributors to establish a minimum 45-day window, arguing there needed to be a “clear, consistent starting point” to set moviegoers’ expectations and affirm commitment to theatrical exclusivity.

The debate has become even more fierce as box office profits still have not recovered from the pandemic. Last year, theatrical revenue in the U.S. and Canada totaled about $8.87 billion, just 1.5% above 2024’s disappointing $8.74-billion tally.

Everyone’s getting into podcasts — even demons.

“undertone,” a muted, personal and static microbudget horror debut by Ian Tuason, takes place in the writer-director’s actual childhood home where he tended to both of his parents before they died. Both hospice and inspiration, it’s a stifling place decorated with floral wallpaper and crucifixes. The pain and exhaustion and grief are so real and oppressive, the camera never dares set a foot outside.

Upstairs, Evy (Nina Kiri), watches over her own terminally ill mother (Michèle Duquet). Tuason funneled his emotional gloom into this movie; Evy co-hosts a horror podcast with her overseas best friend Justin (voiced by Adam DiMarco). “This is the only thing keeping me sane right now,” she says. They’re words she’ll regret within the week.

Kiri and DiMarco have the comfortable, convincing chemistry of two old pals who have done a show for a while. One snippet seems to be an episode on Elisa Lam, the real-life tourist found dead in the rooftop water tank of Los Angeles’ Cecil Hotel. There’s also a reference to a website with a red-faced ghoul who hypnotizes victims into cutting off their ears. The latter may be Tuason seeding his idea for a sequel.

Here the central story is that Justin, who lives in London, has received an email with 10 audio files recorded by a couple named Mike and Jessa (Jeff Yung and Keana Lyn Bastidas) who are trying to understand what she’s saying in her sleep. The sender is unknown. (Possibly an evil spirit hoping for the exposure of a mattress ad?) Justin, the believer, is instantly alarmed by how these eerie tapes escalate from cute banter to ghostly crying babies and backward incantations. Evy is the skeptic who dismisses the noises as either an online hoax or bad plumbing.

Due to the time zone differential, Evy and Justin record their show just before he heads out to work in the morning, which for her is 3 a.m. Most of the movie takes place in that witching-hour window, an airlessly silent time where an at-home podcaster doesn’t worry about being interrupted by a leaf blower, an ice cream truck or a dog. Sound-designed by David Gertsman, “undertone” is so quiet that a tea kettle sounds like a fire alarm. Story-wise, it’s equally inert. One of the biggest action shots in the first hour comes when — eek! — a sink turns on.

I’d love to understand why horror films that I find excruciatingly dull give others the heebie-jeebies. My working theory is that they tap into audiences with a preexisting suspicion that the world is wicked — they prove paranoia to be well-founded. My mental default is that the world is neutral-good, and that may be why I prefer movies with active villains scaring me out of my complacency. I spent “Paranormal Activity” and “Skinamarink” restlessly admiring the production design; here, my main thrill came from the soundscape, like when a vibrating cellphone made my chair rattle like it was a tractor, or a noise that can only be described as death-rattle ASMR.

When Evy slips her on headphones, she’s so focused making sense of the latest scary tape, playing it forward, reversed and slowed-down, that she’s oblivious to the bumps in the night in her own house, upstairs near her comatose mother’s bedroom. I suspect Tuason deeply relates to Evy, to the disassociation of living with death every day, and uses her resistance to explore denial. She refuses to admit that the supernatural is real, even as she repeatedly takes a break to steady herself and, as she puts it, “get back into character.” Her stifled panic makes it obvious that fear is taking over.

The screenplay also has a passing reference to Evy’s useless, off-screen boyfriend Darren (voiced by Ryan Turner). Their miserable dynamic is compelling but overall comes off like a plot point Tuason stuffed in his pocket and never got around to using. Our one peek into it comes when Darren phones Evy to pressure her to ditch her mom and come to a party. He claims he’s throwing a kegger to cheer her up. (A frozen lasagna on the doorstep would be better, dude.)

Evy does reluctantly leave the house — we don’t follow her there — and that one moment says as much about crossed-signals communication as anything else in the movie. It’s bullseye-accurate about how isolating it is to lose a parent earlier than your peers.

The film is so committed to its rigors — the two-person cast, the glacial camera pivots, the moody lighting — that it teeters on the line of becoming monotonous. When Tuason eases up a bit, say in a scene in which Evy pops on a sleep podcast that begins by describing a babbling brook and rapidly becomes a nightmare tale of bobbing corpses, he finally shows you that he has the potential for range.

But “undertone” is rooted in that slow-and-still horror discipline that holds its breath waiting for something to happen. It requires the audience to bring their own bad vibes to shots of religious icons on the wall and long takes of Evy clacking on her laptop, unaware of a flickering light behind her. (Rumor is Tuason has already signed on to shoot the next “Paranormal Activity” sequel.)

Mostly it puts the audience in the position of watching a protagonist so passive that chunks of the running time are watching her sit at a table waiting for Justin to look up things for her on Wikipedia. Like amateur detectives, we learn alongside them as they click around pages about Sumerian devils, Catholic saints and the origin of the nursery rhymes “London Bridge” and “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.”

As visuals go, “undertone” is so far removed from anything resembling the cinematic experience that I left with a fresh appreciation for campfire storytelling. At least then the listener gets to use their own imagination. But production designer Mercedes Coyle does dig up two satisfyingly creepy props: one, an antique speaking doll, the other, a small white statue that appears to be the Virgin Mary until we get a better look at her mouth, deformed by a hungry scream.

Despite my quibbles with how her character reacts when things really go awry, Kiri’s Evy has a clarity of purpose that holds our attention despite not having that much to do. In her strongest sequence, she and Justin take a few live callers on their podcast, some of whom bear bad news about Mike and Jessa, and another who phones up in the middle of a crisis that’s too big for these self-positioned experts to handle. Real violence is coming and these armchair ghosthunters are totally out of their depth. Yes, everyone is into podcasts. Maybe they shouldn’t be.

When Brazilian journalist Tatiana Merlino watched “The Secret Agent” — one of this year’s Oscar nominees for best picture — it felt like seeing scattered scenes from her own life.

As the movie follows Marcelo (played by Wagner Moura) — a professor fleeing from a vindictive businessman during Brazil’s military dictatorship (1964-1985), the story skims through old audio tapes and newspapers, reviewed by a researcher looking into how he died. Like her, Merlino also dug into the past to piece together how her uncle, Luiz Eduardo Merlino, a communist activist, was killed by the right-wing regime in 1971. Though it was initially reported as a suicide, the family soon found his corpse with torture marks in a morgue.

“It became necessary to fight for memory, truth, and justice, because these crimes committed by dictatorship agents weren’t punished at that time, and have not been to this day,” says the 49-year-old journalist, who first saw “The Secret Agent” in São Paulo, and made a career from investigating human rights abuses.

“When a country does not come to terms with its past,” she adds, “its ghosts resurface.”

Recent dictatorship-themed movies like “The Secret Agent” and “I’m Still Here,” which won the Oscar for best international film in 2025, were instant blockbusters back home in Brazil. While both films honor those who, like Merlino, still seek justice for the regime victims, their popularity also got boosted by the country’s zeitgeist.

To many Brazilians, these movies served as reminders of what could have been had former far-right President Jair Bolsonaro, himself a retired Army captain and a dictatorship nostalgic, succeeded in his 2022 attempt at a coup d’etat.

On Jan. 8, 2023, encouraged by Bolsonaro, hundreds of vandals stormed into the Three Powers Plaza, a square in the country’s capital, Brasília, that gathers the congress, the supreme court and the presidential palace. Neither he nor the vandals accepted the 2022 election — won by the veteran leftist Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, better known as “Lula.”

The uprising followed the same blueprint as the pro-Trump rioters behind the Jan. 6 insurrection in the United States. Although President Trump himself was federally prosecuted for election obstruction, the case was dismissed after his reelection in 2024.

Unlike the U.S., however, Brazil has charged, judged and arrested the conspirators — including Bolsonaro and members of his staff who participated in the coup plot.

“Bolsonaro doesn’t come from Mars,” said “The Secret Agent” star Wagner Moura to the L.A. Times in February. “He’s deeply grounded in the history of the country.”

In 1964, a U.S.-backed coup enacted a violent, 21-year autocracy run by the military, whose effects still resonate today, says Alessandra Gasparotto, a professor at the Federal University of Pelotas (UFPEL).

“It was a dictatorship that worked from a perspective of building certain legitimacy, keeping the congress functioning, but of course, after purging dissent,” explains the Brazilian historian.

“I’m Still Here,” for example, dramatizes the real-life quest of Eunice Paiva, a housewife whose husband Rubens Paiva, a former leftist congressman who had his tenure revoked after the coup, then disappeared in the hands of the military in 1971. To this day, his body still hasn’t been recovered.

In 2014, Bolsonaro, then just a congressman, spit on a bust of Paiva erected to honor his memory during the coup’s 50th anniversary in Congress.

“The cinema of all countries has the role of preserving memory, so if you take a look at the Holocaust, the American Civil War, or World War II movies, it has this role of almost an ally of history,” says writer Marcelo Rubens Paiva, son of Rubens Paiva and author of the book from which “I’m Still Here” is based. “There’s an old saying: History is the narrative of winners, while art is of the defeated.”

In the case of Brazil, the militaries who led the repressive apparatus of the dictatorship got away with torture and murder through a 1979 amnesty law. It was initially enacted to pardon alleged “political crimes” committed by the regime opposition and allow a transition to democracy — but it was also used to pardon the dictatorship’s human rights violations. Then, in the late 1980s, the military oversaw a slow, gradual shift to democracy, stepping down from power only in 1985.

“This new republic had more continuity than novelty, since many politicians who were central to the dictatorship moved to central roles in the democratic government,” explains Gasparotto. “That’s why they built this pact [to forgive the regime’s crimes].”

For that reason, these movies still feel contemporary. “The Secret Agent,” for example, blends past and future through the records analyzed by a researcher, while “I’m Still Here” highlights Eunice Paiva’s post-regime fight for the recognition of Rubens Paiva’s death; without any corpse to officialize his death, he was just deemed disappeared.

When Merlino watched the movie, for example, Eunice reminded her of her grandmother, Iracema Merlino.

“I’m the third generation of my family fighting for memory, truth and justice,” says Merlino. “It started with my grandmother, who passed away, then it was handed to my mother, who’s now very ill, then to me.”

Nowadays, she awaits trial for the third lawsuit attempt of the family to hold her uncle’s torturer, Col. Carlos Alberto Brilhante Ustra, accountable — the two other cases against the accused were dismissed over the years.

Since Ustra’s death in 2015, the Merlino family is now suing his estate for reparations. Yet he still remains a hero to some; in 2016, while Bolsonaro was still a congressman, he shouted a dedication to the memory of the torturer during the voting of the impeachment of Brazil’s former President Dilma Rousseff — herself one of the victims of Ustra in the 1970s, but among the few who survived.

“These films make connections with the present because understanding the past is important for understanding today’s contradictions,” says Marcelo Rubens Paiva. “What happened before interferes in the conflicts a country lives in today.”

So if authoritarians like Bolsonaro don’t come out of the blue, the same goes for other autocratic leaders, like President Trump.

Although founded on democratic principles, the U.S. itself has a long, muddled history with the concept. The authoritarian turn the country is reckoning with is part of a long legacy of inequality that stemmed from the 246-year institution of slavery. Following its abolishment in 1865 came a near-centurylong period of tension marked by racial segregation that we now refer to as “Jim Crow.”

“With some exceptions, the South was governed by a then-segregationist Democrat party — with [rampant] electoral fraud, authoritarianism, use of local police for political repression, and no chance for opposition, even [by] moderates,” says Arthur Avila, a history professor at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) in Brazil.

Although the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 ended segregation and granted voting rights to people of all races — signed by then-President Lyndon B. Johnson, a Southern Democrat who broke away from the party’s history to spearhead progressive domestic policy — the decades that followed were ridden with manipulations of the electoral system. For example gerrymandering, or the practice of manipulating electoral district boundaries to favor one political party, is an ongoing, albeit controversial tactic among both Democrats and Republicans.

President Trump himself was federally prosecuted for election obstruction. The indictment alleged that, upon losing the 2020 election, Trump conspired to overturn the results and manipulate the public by spreading false claims of election fraud on social media. It argued that this, in turn, stoked a mob of his supporters into leading the deadly Jan. 6 attacks on the Capitol; but the case was dismissed upon his reelection in 2024.

In the lead-up to the midterm elections in November, Trump has pushed for federal control over elections, restrictions on mail-in voting and the addition of citizenship documents to vote, despite an existing federal law that already prohibits noncitizens from voting in U.S. elections. (He tried implementing the latter through an executive order in 2025, but it was permanently blocked by a federal court; a voter ID bill called the “SAVE America Act” is currently stalling in the Senate.)

“There’s a strong local authoritarian tradition in the U.S. that Trump himself feeds from,” says Avila.

Besides that, according to Avila, the country faces a growing “de-democratization” process from within. This shows in the rising control and dismantling of institutions by reactionary sectors — including efforts to block professional, educational and athletic programs promoting DEI, or diversity, equity and inclusion — from what many critics and scholars have cited as lingering resentment from desegregation, he says.

“We may see it as a slow authoritarian turn in North American politics that didn’t overturn the democratic regime yet,” Arthur considers. “But if this process goes on, and that’s a conjecture, in the next decade the U.S. may become a state of exception that keeps democratic appearances but has been stripped of any democracy’s substance whatsoever.”

As movies such as “The Secret Agent and “I’m Still Here” remind us, a great deal of maintaining a democracy has to do with keeping a good memory.