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Hollywood has been cranking out films about unprepared men thrust into fatherhood since the silent movie days when Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp found a littler tramp on his doorstep and raised the ragamuffin as his own in 1921’s “The Kid.”

Since then, we’ve seen unwitting uncles (John Candy’s Buck), a triad of dads (“Three Men and a Baby”) and self-absorbed workaholics rethinking their priorities (Dustin Hoffman in “Kramer vs. Kramer”). But we’ve never seen an instant parent quite like Jordan Firstman‘s party promoter Peter in “Club Kid,” the Cannes Film Festival sensation that Firstman impressively directed and wrote for himself.

We meet Peter in a whirlwind, strobe-heavy blur of an opening sequence that takes us through a disorienting parade of coke-and-ketamine-fueled nights in New York’s underground queer club scene. Everyone wants a piece of Peter. His energy (and the drugs he sells) guarantee a good time. It’s a thrilling introduction, shot on 35mm on location in New York City, and the throbbing bass is still bumping around my skull.

When Peter stumbles back to his rent-controlled apartment, his downstairs neighbor Evelyn (Colleen Camp) gives him the once-over while telling him that she just finished Steven Spielberg’s “War Horse” and that “it’s as good as they say.” Peter doesn’t hear her. (Probably the bass is ringing in his ears too.)

“You ever just lose 10 years?” he asks Evelyn.

It turns out he has done just that. The night we’ve witnessed actually took place a decade ago. And one of its episodes included a hetero hookup, part of what began as a threesome with a hot dude and British tourist, Leonora (Paris Petitjean). Peter had forgotten about it until one of Leonora’s friends, Edison (Kirby Howell-Baptiste), knocks on his door, her arm around the beautiful 10-year-old recently orphaned Arlo (Reggie Absolom). Now this Peter (Pan) is going to have to grow up — fast.

If you know Firstman, it might be as an actor in the HBO series “I Love LA” or perhaps Sebastián Silva’s 2023 black comedy “Rotting in the Sun,” in which he played a heightened, vapid version of himself. You may also know him as an online provocateur, sharp and self-aware. Those familiar with that Jordan Firstman might be shocked to watch “Club Kid” and discover that the guy on the screen — and the creator behind the camera — is being utterly, hopelessly sincere with his feature film directorial debut. Get ready to wipe away a tear or two.

That disarming, open-hearted earnestness makes “Club Kid” a crowd-pleaser, albeit one that retains Firstman’s edgy comedy and insider knowledge of queer New York nightlife, as well as a lived-in awareness of how, over time, the nightlife can fray your soul. And just as Peter is ready to bid the scene an Irish goodbye, in walks Arlo, opening up an unlikely path to adulthood that astonishes Peter, a man-child who doesn’t own a single appropriate T-shirt that he can give to his newfound charge. (The one emblazoned “I love Björk and bareback” that Arlo initially picks out goes back into Peter’s closet.)

The thing is, Arlo really does love Björk, not to mention the Cocteau Twins, Elliott Smith and Massive Attack. Preternaturally poised and absolutely adorable, Arlo seems genetically engineered to fit into Peter’s chaotic life and thrive. He’s perfect. Too perfect. Given the tragic circumstances that brought him to Peter, you wait for the moment when grief and anger bubble up. That happens, if briefly. And then Arlo goes right back to being the coolest kid ever, except for maybe being lactose intolerant, but with all the plant-based swaps available these days, that’s hardly a deal-breaker.

Peter does tell Arlo that “it’s OK to be sad in my house,” confiding that he suffers from low self-esteem. This feels like Firstman trying to give some dimension to Peter, but it’s broad and lacking conviction. I’d say a bigger problem for Peter is that he drops $300 on some vinyl. Is there no Urban Outfitters near his apartment?

These issues nag a bit, but just a little because the loving chemistry between Firstman and Absolom is so real and tender. You can also forgive some of the shallower character notes because “Club Kid” is really funny, populated with a superb supporting cast that includes party girls Miss Benny, Alaska Riley and Saturn Risin9 as members of Peter’s rambunctious inner circle, Diego Calva as a child psychologist helping Peter (and, against his better judgment, falling for him) and Cara Delevingne, biting as a spiraling fellow promoter. Best of all is Eldar Isgandarov, playing a self-described “queer philosopher” who goes from couch-surfing at Peter’s place to moving in with Evelyn. He and Camp are so great together that, given the power, I’d green-light a spinoff feature pairing them without hesitation.

So there’s a lot to like. So much that when the film’s inevitable complications arrive — because, c’mon, somebody has to question the wisdom of Peter raising this kid — you feel a lump in your throat the size of a coke pile at one of Peter’s parties. If that comparison feels a little indelicate, it’s very much in keeping with the freewheeling spirit of “Club Kid,” a sentimental journey where the house music plays all night long.

The suggestion caught Ross Newhan off guard.

The Angels had just reached the promised land, after more than four decades of wandering through baseball’s wilderness. Who better than Newhan, who had been there since Day 1, to write a first-person account of that long and winding road to their first World Series?

Newhan was reluctant. That would make the story about himself, which he despised. The editors prevailed, and within the story he delivered a sentence that struck deep within the heart of every loyal and long-suffering Angels fan.

“I can’t help but feel a sweep of emotions seep through the cynicism and dispassion that is the byproduct of being present for all or part of every Angel season,” he wrote on Oct. 14, 2002.

To this day, the Angels have one guy in the Hall of Fame: Vladimir Guerrero. The Times has two: Jim Murray, the Pulitzer Prize-winning sports columnist, and Newhan.

If Vin Scully provided the voice for the first half-century of Major League Baseball in Southern California, Newhan provided the words.

Newhan died on Sunday, at 89, after what his wife Connie called a “cardiac event.” His reporting — first at the Long Beach Independent Press-Telegram, then over 37 years at The Times — distinguished The Times as a national source for baseball coverage.

Ross Newhan, center, interviews Jim McGlothlin, left, and Jim Fregosi of the California Angels during the 1969 season.

(The Sporting News via Getty Images)

He was so renowned within baseball that the Dodgers, MLB, and the players’ union posted condolences.

Bud Selig, the former commissioner and occasional antagonist in Newhan’s columns, told The Times: “I mourn the passing of Ross Newhan. He was an excellent sportswriter, and I always had a great amount of respect for him personally and for his work.”

In his Hall of Fame acceptance speech, he reserved a special mention for a teacher at Wilson High in Long Beach, the one that envisioned a writer blossoming within a student dozing in class.

“If a high school journalism instructor named John Gartner hadn’t hollered my name and pounded my desk one day, I might still be sitting there asleep,” Newhan said, “with no real clue what I wanted to do in my life.”

Ross Newhan, receives the J.G. Taylor Spink Award from Jane Forbes Clark, chairman of the National Baseball Hall of Fame, in Cooperstown, N.Y., on Aug. 5, 2001.

(Associated Press)

In the 1990s, as a young reporter at the Riverside Press-Enterprise, I was among a small group of writers talking with Tony Gwynn, the San Diego Padres’ Hall of Famer. Newhan was there too, and as the group dispersed, he told me: “You ask good questions.”

Talk about inspiration: It was as if Clayton Kershaw had seen a kid throw a curveball and said, “Not bad.”

Behind a gruff and occasionally intense exterior, Newhan had a heart of gold. Mike DiGiovanna, the longtime Times baseball writer, called Newhan “a security blanket” for colleagues needing a fact check, a phone number or an introduction to someone famous.

“He was a giant without the giant ego,” DiGiovanna said.

Newhan trained former Times colleague Jason Reid on how to cover baseball. Reid affectionately called him “Boss Ross.” The two were such relentless reporters that, amid the wild initial days of the McCourt family ownership of the Dodgers, Reid got co-owner Jamie McCourt so frazzled that she actually said this: “This is bad because you guys remember everything and you write everything down.”

Newhan and Reid had reported on concerns with the McCourt financing before the ownership deal closed, and six years before Frank McCourt’s divorce attorney admitted in court that McCourt had put “not a penny” of his own money into the deal. That did not make Newhan and McCourt the best of friends, but neither did it make them bitter enemies.

“He seemed to take a sort of pride in being the guardian of Los Angeles baseball, for lack of a better term,” said Hall of Fame president Josh Rawitch, then the Dodgers’ publicist. “He had an ability to garner respect from people even when he was writing something you weren’t happy about.”

Said Mike Scioscia, on whom Newhan reported as a Dodgers player and Angels manager: “Ross was a true gentleman and had a real matter-of-fact way of asking questions that put you at ease.”

Ross Newhan shares a happy moment with his great granddaughter, Bailey, earlier this year.

(Courtesy of the Newhan family)

There was nothing flashy about Newhan, not in his writing, certainly not in the way he conducted himself. He let his work and its credibility speak for itself.

Newhan is survived by his wife, Connie; his son, David, and daughter-in-law, Karen; his daughter, Sara, and son-in-law, Mike; five grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

The story about David is the one most often recalled Monday, because it really was a story about his father.

David, the kid that tagged along with Newhan when the Angels held spring training in Palm Springs, developed into a major leaguer. He had joked with reporters that he hadn’t been sure if rumors of his call-up were true because “as everyone knows, you can’t believe what’s in the paper.”

In 2004, as Newhan and I covered a game at Dodger Stadium, David appeared as a pinch-hitter for the Baltimore Orioles against the Colorado Rockies, in his first major league at-bat in three years. Newhan was glued to his laptop, where these words suddenly appeared: “In play, run(s).”

Waiting, waiting, waiting … and then I heard one of the loudest screams I have ever heard. Rawitch heard it too. Everyone in the press box heard it.

“Home run.”

The scream was out of character for a professional writer, entirely in character for a proud father. He aced both, and we’ll miss him.

MILWAUKEE — Milwaukee is going absolutely nuts. The Brewers have sold out Game 3 and Game 4 of the World Series.

The Tampa Bay Rays will host those games, but the Brewers invited fans to come to their stadium and watch on the big screen. The Brewers sold more than 31,000 tickets to each of their watch parties at $15 apiece. On Friday morning, StubHub offered them for resale, starting at $168.

There is nothing quite like a city uniting behind a team that never has won a World Series. Ask Logan Henderson.

Henderson, the Brewers’ starting pitcher Saturday in Milwaukee, grew up a huge fan of the Houston Astros. He was 15 when he saw his first World Series game.

“My parents had always said, if we were fortunate enough to be able to watch them go to the World Series, we’re going to do everything we can to get there,” Henderson said. “I was blessed that my parents got tickets to go to the games.

“There’s nothing like it. I’m on the other side of it now. I was a spectator and a fan, now I’m a player. It’s definitely surreal.”

Milwaukee Brewers pitcher Logan Henderson follows through on a pitch during Game 2 of the NLCS against the Dodgers in Milwaukee on Oct. 12.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

His first World Series game as a spectator and fan? Game 4 of the 2017 World Series.

“I went to the one before the crazy one,” he said. “L.A. ended up winning that game.”

In the crazy one, the Dodgers blew two four-run leads, tied the score with three runs in the ninth inning and lost in the 10th.

If we knew then what we know now, Game 4 would be the crazy one: Dodgers pitcher Alex Wood constantly changing his signs, suspicious that the Astros might be up to something, whatever that might be.

Dodgers pitcher Alex Wood delivers from the mound during Game 4 of the World Series against the Astros on Oct. 28, 2017, in Houston.

(Pool / Getty Images)

Wood was vindicated three years later, when a league investigation revealed the Astros had been cheating in 2017, stealing signs from a television monitor next to the dugout and relaying them to batters by banging on trash cans. The practice, according to the report issued by commissioner Rob Manfred, was refined during the regular season and extended “throughout the postseason.”

The scandal outraged the Dodgers and their fans. The Los Angeles City Council voted unanimously to demand Manfred award the 2017 championship to the Dodgers. Their players wanted nothing to do with that. A real championship, after all, would come with champagne and beer in the clubhouse and a parade through the streets.

Still, the players did not turn the other cheek.

“Everyone knows they stole the ring from us,” Cody Bellinger said.

“They cheated,” Kike’ Hernández said. “They got away with it. They got a ring out of it.”

When the Astros’ team buses arrived at Dodger Stadium for games during the pandemic season of 2020, when ballparks were closed to the public, Dodgers fans gathered outside to boo.

Dodgers fans boo Jose Altuve of the Astros after he struck out in a game on Aug. 3, 2001, at Dodger Stadium.

(Luis Sinco/Los Angeles Times)

Those were Henderson’s guys inside those buses: Jose Altuve, Alex Bregman, Carlos Correa, George Springer, Lance McCullers Jr. Those were the guys that brought home the Astros’ first World Series championship, as Henderson’s Brewers are trying to do for Milwaukee.

“Personally, as a fan, Hurricane Harvey hit Houston really hard, and the Astros brought a championship to the city,” Henderson said.

“That meant absolutely everything to the city. I hope that means what it did for me to the fans in Milwaukee here.”

The Rays also are trying to bring their first championship home to Tampa Bay. In 2017, hard as this might be to believe today, the mighty Dodgers had not won a championship in 29 years.

And now, as a major leaguer, Henderson has an acute appreciation of the little things that can mean the difference between victory and defeat, between a parade and another plaintive chorus of “wait ‘til next year.”

It could be a pitcher that blows a throw he could make in his sleep, sending his team home for the winter. It could be a defense perfectly executing a seldom-seen play. It could be a ball that clanks off the roof and into play instead of flying into the stands for a home run.

It could be stealing signs and banging on trash cans.

“I would rather face a player that was taking steroids than face a player that knew every pitch that was coming,” Wood tweeted after Manfred’s report on the Astros’ cheating.

Henderson knows how hard this is to do. The Brewers haven’t appeared in the World Series in 44 years, and owner Mark Attanasio said nervous fans already are wondering whether their next appearance will be 44 years away.

So I asked Henderson if, all these years later, the scandal changed how he felt about those Astros.

He paused.

He exhaled.

He paused again.

“Maybe a little bit,” Henderson said. “It’s unfortunate. I try not to think about it or talk on it too much. I think now, being in the game, my perspective on it is a little different.

“I think for the kid in me — and the huge baseball fan I was — that team will always have a special place in my heart.”

Ron Duguay, a longtime New York Rangers star who finished his NHL career with the Kings, has died of cancer. He was 69.

The Rangers announced the loss of “one of the most popular players in franchise history” on Thursday morning after being informed by Duguay’s family.

“Ron’s signature skating style — with his hair flowing as he moved down the ice — captivated The Garden Faithful, and his skill, tenacity, and charisma earned him the admiration of all New Yorkers,” the team said in a statement. “We join the hockey community in sending our condolences to Ron’s friends, family, and loved ones during this difficult time.”

Former Alaska governor and 2008 Republican U.S. vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin, who dated Duguay over the last several years, posted on social media that the one-time NHL All-Star “passed away peacefully” Thursday “after a hard-fought battle with cancer.”

“It’s with a shattered heart, but also deep peace knowing Ron is with Jesus now,” Palin wrote. “He fought so hard. Love never ends.”

On Sunday, Palin posted photos that appeared to show her holding Duguay’s hand while he was in a hospital bed. “Prayers for Ron Duguay are felt & appreciated,” she wrote.

Born in Sudbury, Ontario, Duguay was selected by the Rangers at No. 13 overall in the 1977 draft. Known for his long, curly hair and flashy lifestyle — “why, he even danced with Cher at one of Manhattan’s best-known discos,” the New York Times wrote in 1983 — Duguay became a star during the six seasons of his initial stint in New York. He helped the Rangers make the 1979 Stanley Cup Final and earned his only All-Star nod in 1982.

Ron Duguay, front left, blocks out New York Rangers’ Carey Wilson as Kings teammate Marty McSorley winds up to shoot Feb. 27, 1989, at Madison Square Garden.

(Ron Frehm / Associated Press)

Duguay was traded to the Detroit Red Wings in the summer of 1983 and had the two best seasons of his career, including career highs of 89 points on 38 goals and 51 assists during the 1984-1985 season. He also played for the Pittsburgh Penguins and a second time for the Rangers before wrapping up his career with the Kings from 1988 to 1989.

Overall, Duguay had 673 points (305 goals, 368 assists) in the NHL regular season and playoffs. He went on to play in the minor leagues, including two seasons with the IHL’s San Diego Gulls, and spent 12 years calling Rangers games as an MSG Network analyst.

“Ron greeted each day with the biggest smile, an incredible zest for life, and a positive outlook that shone through everything he saw, everything he did, and every life he touched,” the NHL Alumni Assn. wrote on X. “He will be remembered not only for the player he was, but for the extraordinary person he was. His warmth, his laughter, his kindness, and his beautiful spirit will forever remain in the hearts of his family, friends, teammates, and the entire NHL Alumni community.”

The Kings reposted the alumni association’s statement and added: “Our hearts are with Ron’s family & loved ones and we join them in mourning his passing.”

In 2024, Duguay was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, which had started in his colon before spreading to his liver and other parts of his body, according to a post on the GoFundMe page set up by his three adult children to help pay for his medical and travel costs. He lived in Florida but had to make regular trips to Orange County for treatment.

“Early this morning, our beloved father took his final breath after fighting a long and courageous battle. He fought with everything he had, right until the very end,” daughter Shay Thomas wrote on Thursday in a separate GoFundMe post. “Our hearts are shattered, and the world feels a little less bright without him in it. He will be missed by so many, but we find peace in knowing that he is finally free from pain and suffering.

“He fought the good fight until his very last breath, and today, Heaven gained a truly special angel.”